When I got home, Chloe was humming,
watering plants, dreaming of her future. She
frowned when she saw me. My clothes were
dirty, there was some blood, but I was
otherwise unharmed. She put down the
watering can, her voice cold. “Tough luck. Why are you so damn lucky?” She assumed they’d let me go, muttering about useless thugs. She didn’t notice my eyes, the glint of excitement in them. The last time I’d looked
L
like this was in the ring, facing a desperate
man fighting for his life. It had been my best fight. I wondered if Chloe would give me that
thrill again.
She went inside, returning with a gleaming kitchen knife. “I didn’t want to get my hands dirty,” she said, her voice smug. “But you’re a tough little nut. I’ve always believed you make your own luck. So, I’ll just take care of you myself. For old times‘ sake, I’ll make it quick.”
She lunged, aiming for my stomach, not my
throat. She was lying. She wanted to torture
- me.
But I caught her wrist, squeezing until she
cried out, the knife clattering to the floor. Her
<
face contorted in disbelief. “You weren’t
crazy! You were faking!” I smiled. “You figured it out too late.” I pinned her wrist,
then grabbed her hair, slamming her head
against the coffee table. Blood welled up, and
I frowned. Messy. I kicked her in the stomach,
and she vomited. Then I strung her up on a
coat rack, using her as a punching bag. I
hadn’t trained in a while; this was good
practice.
Thirty minutes later, I was breathing hard, Chloe a limp, whimpering mess. I slapped her face. She looked up, her eyes venomous.
“Just you wait. I’ll tell Aunt and Uncle, and you’ll be sorry.” I laughed. “Thanks for
reminding me. But you can’t tell tales without
<
a tongue.” Her eyes widened in horror. I
picked up the knife, holding it to her lips.
“Help me! Please…spare me…help…”
Ten minutes later, I’d cleaned up, wiping the
blood off Chloe’s face. She’d passed out. I
dragged her to the alley, where Scarface and
his crew were waiting. I brushed my hands. “It
was a fight. They tried to assault her, she
fought back. They cut out her tongue to keep
her quiet. Right?” Scarface nodded
obediently.
At the hospital, my parents found Chloe
bandaged and unconscious. Mom sobbed,
clinging to the bed. “First Ashley, now Chloe! Why are my girls so cursed?” she wailed.
“Chloe loves to sing! She’ll never sing again!
How could anyone be so cruel?” Dad’s jaw
was clenched. “I won’t let those thugs get
away with this.” Chloe whimpered, her
bloodshot eyes fixed on me. She was trying to
tell them: Ashley’s faking, she did this. But
who would believe her? I was just a
traumatized, fragile girl. My parents, thinking
she wanted to see me, pushed me closer. Out
of their sight, I gave her a wicked smile. She
flinched, tears welling up. How satisfying. She
was afraid of me.
