Page 9 of Burn
I’m watching, getting angry as they come to a stop and the doors remain closed. If she’s staying in that vehicle under her own free will, she’s just as dumb as I’m being, just by being here.
“Come on Phoenix, come out where I can see you.” I whisper in my helmet, watching her door with a gaze like laser beams that could cut through the metal of the car.
It seems like forever, with time slowing as I keep my gaze on the car and my ears on the utter silence of the dark night. Light from the moon barely breaks through the canopy of the trees above, filtered out by the leaves that are still like death. It’s like mother nature is also waiting with bated breath to see what will happen and if her greenery is at risk of the fire that will engulf it if I see fit.
As if there were any other option, which I know there isn’t, the peace is shattered by a high-pitched squeal from inside the car. It rocks on its suspension, and the windows fog up. It’s not the vocalization of passion though, she’s not screaming in ecstasy, she’s wailing in fear.
“Fuck.” I grumble, climbing off the bike, tightening the Velcro on my gloves, slapping down my mirrored visor with a flick of my head.
The dirt and pebbles crush under my shoes as I stalk slowly towards the shaking sedan. It’ll do me or her no good if I lose my cool. Taking a deep breath in, I stop at the driver’s door and look in. He’s on top of her, leaning over the middle console, his hands groping her, his dirty slobbery mouth all over her scared face. She beats at him with the heels of her hands, but he’s much bigger than her. She’ll never escape him without help. He’s going to rape her if I don’t step in. He’s going to turn her into garbage, and that, that’s unacceptable, even if I am perturbed with her for putting herself in this situation to begin with.
“I’d better not be saving a whore.” I sigh as I knock on the glass with my knuckle, rocking back and forth on my heels to distract me from the energy flowing through me in the preparation of the kill.
I’ve never killed a man before, always women, whores, drug riddled moms who are pieces of shit, but never a man. I didn’t have a father growing up, and maybe that’s why. I never had a face or a person to attach my hate towards, but this dude is changing that.
“Fuck off.” His voice comes through the window, his hand waving me off behind him as he continues to lick and drool on her pretty face that’s twisted in fear.
The anger of years of abandonment by a man, and the sight of him tarnishing the girl I’m growing infatuated with is bubbling up in me. I can feel it rising from my toes up my body, into my face. My cheeks flush with warmth as I grab the door handle and yank it so hard I could break it off.
“I said fuck off.” The guy yells roughly, but his testosterone laden words become a shrill yelp as I grab him by the belt and pull him from the car.
“You just a rapist, or a killer too?” I ask him as I lift him to his feet, setting him down in front of me, watching his eyes scan over me in a combination of rage and annoyance.
He’s not afraid of me like the women are, he’s bigger than me, and broader, relying on his size to protect him. I may be leaner and more cut, but I have crazy on my side.
“What?” He spits out, his fists clenching at his sides, his spittle hitting my visor.
“Did I fucking stutter?” I growl, grabbing the front of his shirt, drawing him closer to me so that he can see his reflection in my helmet.
A breeze picks up, tousling his sandy hair, like the earth knows what’s going on. She’s preparing her land for the brimstone brewing inside of me as I shake him and slam him up against the side of the car, slamming his door shut. The bang makes Phoenix crawl further away, her back pressed against her armrest, her legs tucked up, protecting her body. With a sly smile, I open my visor, lean around the asshat in my grasp and throw her a wink.
His bones creak loudly with the first blow to his chest, my gloved hand hitting him squarely on his sternum. The wind blows from his mouth, and he curls forward, his forehead banging on the front of my helmet, his hands feebly trying to guard himself and swing out at me at the same time.
“Awww big boy can’t fight? You just use your size to intimidate people but can’t back it up.” I laugh heartily in his face as he lurches forward at me, not reaching me with my arm still holding the front of his clothes, keeping him just far enough away that his punch misses my helmet. “Go ahead, punch it, it’s carbon fiber. You’ll only break your hand.” I add, sneering at him as I click the visor closed again.
I don’t want blood splashed on my skin. He could be sick in more than just the head. I mean a rapist doesn’t usually worry about wrapping his dick, and who knows how many other women he’s done this to.
Ugh gross.
“Fuck you, you freak.” He growls, swinging at me again, this time making contact with the side of my helmet, his screech of pain echoing around us at the cracking of his knuckles on the hard surface.
The sound is arousing, the crunching of bones against the side of my protected head. I can hear everything as they snap and pop. I barely have to touch him. He’s a bully and a brute and hurting himself in his inability to control himself.
“Stupid idiot. I warned you.” I chuckle, slamming up against the car again like a rag doll as he grips at his bloodied hand. “Fuck, don’t touch me with that.” I say batting his hands away from me as he flails in his discomfort.
The sounds of the woods around us cease again, the crickets that had begun their songs fall silent, and the wind stops. The earth is holding her breath once more, waiting for the moment I lose my cool with him, which is approaching quickly.
He curses and spits, spreading his rapist filth like a mist around me, trying to infect me with his disease. He’s trash just like the bitches I burn in the alleyways and underpasses at home. He’s no better because he’s a man, in fact he may be worse. Whereas the whores put themselves in the situations that cause their demise, this piece of shit forces them into it. Phoenix, huddled in the car, her face hidden behind her knees is the proof. He was about to turn a young med student, who has her life ahead of her, into useless garbage.
My father must have done the same to my mother. I wonder if she was normal and pure when he met her. I wonder if she never touched drugs until she was left alone with me, to shoulder all the responsibilities that he left her with.
Could I be the reason she became what she is? Is it my fault? Did I make her as crazy as I am?
Rage at the thought of me being the reason my mother turned to drugs and whoring herself out overwhelms me. My face heats and sweat forms over my brow, being sucked away by the padding in my helmet before it can drip into my eyes. I’m losing myself to the thoughts as the douche bag still struggles in my hold against the sedan, his legs kicking at me, his reddened hand pushing at me, trying to release my hold on his shirt.
Did she whore herself out, selling her body to afford raising me? Did a man make her make that choice by forcing her to have me? Are men just as evil as the opposite sex?Should I be burning them too? The pimps and dealers, the rapists and other killers? Does that not make me as bad as them?
“Stop fighting. I’m thinking!” I shout in his face, the heated anger boiling in me, making my right eye twitch.
