The Eyes Of Wonderland

#Chapter12-01

#Chapter12-01

"You're a f*****g mess, Isaac Reid," Delilah screamed as she flung another mug at me. It missed, shattering against the wall, spraying shards against the checkerboard tiles. Throwing my arms up to shield my face as another followed in quick succession, the pain from the nicks that had caught me barely registered.

"You bastard," came her next slur. Shaky hands clutched around another cup, the supply on the draining board behind her running thin, but she didn't throw it. Not yet. Her arm kept twitching, lifting, threatening, but it eventually fell back to her side. "You f*****g bastard."

Tears ran freely, burning a path down her blotchy cheeks. Her breathing ran ragging, conflicted between a state of hysterics and hiccups. Misery and anger waged a war across her face. Fought a good fight. Anger won and she launched the glass. It hit my shoulder. Hurt like a mother fucker, but didn't shatter until it met with the floor.

"Enough," I shouted, throwing my arms down and shoving out of the corner she'd back me into. It was so not the time to be thinking of the ruined cutlery, but there was the fleeting, sadistic bite of spite that hit as my shoes crunched against the bed of shards. She'd moved out of her asshole father's house on a shoestring budget, whilst only managing to rake in minimum wage. She didn't have the cutlery to waste; she was going to be eating from paper plates if she kept it up.

"f**k you." Another weapon of the dining variety was plucked up. Hurled. Missed. Hit the picture on the wall. Both of them broke. Both of them hit the tiles.

"Oh look," I drawled out, trying to ignore the way my hands had formed fist. Trying to ignore the way molten lava was eating away at me from the inside. "You got a two-fer. You should try your look at the carnival games. Heard they were looking for a clown anyways."

Yup. Note to self. That was sooo not what you said to an already pissed off woman. Not if you wanted to live, at least.

With a screech that would have made a banshee pause and incline their head out of respect, the dumb b***h threw herself at me, fists hammering against my chest. Stumbling back, my footing almost going, I went for her hands, trying to restrain them. I managed to cage one against my chest, but the other was still going all jackhammer.

"Stop," I ordered her, wincing as she let out another demonic wail. Her hair, a chocolate brown, whipped around, smacking against my face like a kiss from a razor blade.

And what do ya know? The crazy b***h ignored me. Heck, I think she even tried to bite me.

"You're f*****g insane," I snapped, fighting against her to shove my forearm under her chin to keep her yompers away. "No wonder nobody else will ever want you. Ain't nobody stupid enough to love somebody like you."

They said bad things came in threes. If the reaction that followed was anything to go by, they weren't wrong. She stilled. Limbs falling limp, she stumbled back a pace.

Tears. Not the angry kind. The my-heart-just-shattered-into-more-shards-than-the-glass-on-the-floor kind. Lips trembling, she tried to speak. Failed. Choked on a sob.

Guilt needled away at me as I met the shiny pools that had consumed her eyes. She suddenly seemed so small. So heartbroken and insecure. It almost had an apology forming. Almost — I wasn't sure what had caused this argument. The daft cow had just lost her s**t over nothing and exploded. She'd started shouting, nothing of sense, and slamming doors and giving attitude. And that had all been fine until I had reacted. Then World War Three broke out.

The final horsemen of the triage of badness was when that mask, that insecure little girl fragment, was eclipsed. The vulnerability was stripped, and the fire-breathing b***h was back with a vengeance. Throwing herself at me again, adrenaline and purpose giving her a quick dose of strength, her blows rained down with more precision this time. My ears buzzed from the force of her insults. My shoulders ached from where her fists repeated on themselves.

The final straw was when pain sliced through my cheek. My vision burned red. Breathing stopped. The cries of anger were replaced by a shriek of pain when I shoved her hard enough that she went skidding across the floor.

Trembling, choking on my own breath, my hand lifted to my cheek where she'd clawed at me. Came away wet. Crimson.

"Eyes . . .." She let out a whimper, glancing down at her arms. They were punctured with glass, a stream of red bubbling from her palms.

Time slowed. Everything spun. I should have helped her. Should have checked she was okay.

I left.

Spinning on my heels, I left. Disrupting furniture as I went, flipping ornaments and kicking the umbrella stand against the wall, I slammed the front door as I left. It was a ground level flat, and as I burst out onto the street, gulping down the icy blasts of fresh air, I couldn't give a damn about the looks that were issued from passerbyers.

Stumbling into a walk, my breathing erratic, ragged and struggling to flow, like I'd just sprinted a marathon, I used my sleeve to wipe at my face. It was burning. Stinging like hell. Dabbing at it had my teeth clenching.

I debated turning back to check on her. Considered calling just to see if she was alright. Then decided 'f**k her'.

Yanking my phone out of my pocket, I dialled up my main boy Micah. I needed a distraction. I needed to ease the tormented scream for anarchy that hatched within. He was a poor substitute for the role of best friend, but after demoting Blake, I couldn't afford to be picky. He didn't answer. I was reminded once again why he irritated the f**k out of me. He was never there. Unreliable. And held no qualms about dropping people like hot rocks when they inconvenienced him.

But he was familiar, and familiar was my only anchor.

With a scowl, I rang Blake.

He answered on the second ring. I threw a mental middle finger to Micah.

"Sup?" His tired voice came through the speaker, crackling in my ear.

"Where are you?" I demanded, flipping off a car as it honked the horn at me for stepping out into the road. Puddles splashed underneath my feet, but the day had settled into a clear hue, drying up and lingering at a near tolerable temperature.

There was a pause. "Work. Why? You good?"

That loyalty, that concern, it was something else that Micah lacked. Some days, Blake made it so damn hard to stay pissed off; it made me hate him even more.