The Lady Loving Women | COMPLETED

12. Anger

“f*****g open the door!”

She groaned as his shouts got louder by each second, his fists slamming the wooden door like a his life depended on it.

Slipping her arms off Amity’s sleeping body, she turned to her night stand checking the time.

She groaned even louder as she read the digital alarm clock, 06:05 AM — what a ungodly hour.

“Why does he always try to act like a f*****g hero?” she complained throwing her bed covers off her body.

Stretching her limbs she faced sleeping Amity, how she envied her sleeping through such noise — unlike her she had awoken once his fists began hitting her door and his insults flying out his mouth.

With a sigh she quietly made her way out the room to deal with her idiotic brother.

“What do you want Michael?” she asked peeping her head through the tiny space she let open. A foot against it ensuring the dimwit couldn’t enter.

“What do I want? My freaking wife!” he hissed trying to push open the door, but Scarlet’s firm hold wasn’t budging easily.

“Go home you bastard.”

Trying to close the door in his face, he pushed through making Scarlet stumble back and the door flying open.

“I’m not leaving her with likes of you!”

“Like you are any better!” she spat back glaring at the man before her.

But his attention wasn’t attention wasn’t on her rather the feminine figure behind Scarlet, watching the whole scene unfold.

He pushed Scarlet out the way, his blood boiling of anger. “Come on, we are going home.” he grabbed her by her wrist tightly pulling her towards the exit.

Roughly she pulled her arm out his deadly grip. “I’m staying.” she resisted placing her feet firm on the ground, her glare unmoved by his at all.

“I said—”

“If she said no it means no b***h, get it through your head.” she grabbed him by his collar like a dog, pulling him away from Amity to the wide open door.

With a shove from the man she let her grip slip, releasing him. “It does not involve you!” the man shouted shoving her out of his way again.

“Well it does — now leave.” she spoke blocking his way through to Amity.

It irritated him, she irritated him. She wasn’t anyone mighty to self introduce herself in their problems, it was between him and his wife.

Clenching his right fist, he punched her across the face just adding fuel to flames.

She retaliated immediately, punching him in the face at least twice then she pinned him to the wall.

“What part of leave her alone don’t you get, huh?” ignoring the fading sting in her cheek, she gripped onto his collar while gifting him a slap on the same cheek she punched. “Go to your whores!”

“Like you are any better f*****g around with married women!” he spat. Her hand imprinted on his cheek turning it red, the bruise on his eye and cheek slowly gaining colour.

“I do not have an obligation to anyone. I am not married to anyone!”

“You could have been, sadly your fiancée chose me — that is how pathetic you are! You can’t keep a woman so you steal.”

She had enough of him and his not welcomed self. That she grabbed his throat dragging him out the door, then immediately threw him to the floor in the hallway.

“We are riding in the same boat because you can’t keep her at all — leave.” she hissed kicking him at his foot.

“I’m getting my—”

Stopping him in mid sentence she punch his face again, this time she most certainly knew something broke from the snapping sound.

“Call her your wife one more time and I’ll the thing between your legs.”

In panic he stared down to his palms — a drop of crimson liquid tainted his skin, drop by drop. Staring up to the girl, a bruised face and a clearly broken nose he clenched his fists.

“You—”

Dodging his punch she poked her brother on the shoulder, as hard as she could causing him to stumble back.

“You have no right to call her yours when you keep disrespecting her and making a fool of her. Get the f**k out my sight before I commit murder.”

Instead of listening once in his life he went ahead and slapped her across the face, not leaving quite the mark she left but a smear of blood.

“f*****g b***h—”

Punching him in the gut he fell to the ground breathless, curled up in a ball hugging his legs and coughing.

Weak and defeated, he was but that did not stop her. Kicking his shin before stepping over his body, she walked to her apartment door and immediately closed — locked — it as she walked through.

She wasn’t going to allow herself to go to jail for murder — at least not yet, and mostly not for the death that i***t.

“You should really divorce him.” she breathed out, back pressed against the wooden door.

“Your face—”

“His blood, not mine.” she clarified trying to wipe away the dried up blood.

“Scarlet—”

“Stop worrying about me.”

Only sighing Amity stopped talking and simply walked up to her. “I won’t.” she spoke grabbing her the hand she used to punch Michael repeatedly. Letting the her arm fall to her side, she closed up studied her face, tilting it to the side. “Your face is a bit bruised, your hand is not broken but sore — you’ll survive.”

“I always forget you do this for a living.”

Pulling her by forearm she glanced over to her. “First aid kit?”