Page 54 of Surface Scratch
V stuffed the barrel of the gun into her mouth, the metal clinking off her teeth. “Say one more God damn word and I will pull the trigger.”
A heavy, sweet scent glided into Caleb’s nostrils. Gasoline. The memory flooded into his mind, embracing the fear and panic as it attempted to overwhelm him. His brother’s agonizing shrieking echoed in his mind. Nick’s leg had been shattered, stuck beneath the crumpled wreckage of the sedan’s dashboard, and Caleb had been powerless to help him, trapped by his own web of jagged metal and glass, blood blinding one eye as the pain of the fire licking at his shoulder took hold. He’d been helpless in that moment—all he could do was scream with him.
He wouldn’t be helpless again.
Without thinking, he lunged forward, throwing the entirety of his weight against V. He winced as they both hit the ground, half expecting the gun to go off. Fists flew and fingers clawed into each other’s skin, desperately looking for purchase. His heart thundered in his chest, each beat louder than the last as one single thought screamed through his head:I will not lose anyone else.
The heavy thud of Caleb’s fist connecting with V’s jaw reverberated through the air, sending a rush of pain up his arm and causing his knuckles to split along where they had begun to heal. V brought his forearms up in front of his face to block the next blow before hooking his arm behind Caleb’s neck, dragging his face toward the ground.
For a split second, the world turned upside down and held there, hanging as if in slow motion. Then the wind was knocked out of him as he hit the ground back first. Calloused fingers wrapped around his throat and clamped down on his windpipe, an impossibly heavy weight crushing his chest. He clawed at the hands around his neck, gasps and screams dying in his throat.
The edges of his vision grew hazy.I can’t die like this.Caleb’s every muscle quivered with desperation as blackness engulfed his sight and dots of light danced in front of his eyes. With a surge of energy, he launched his arm up to claw at V’s face and kick with all his remaining strength. But it was too late. V pressed his knee harder into Caleb’s chest, pinning him down.
“Just fucking stay down,” V said through his bloody teeth, his veins bulging out of his neck and forehead.
V’s grip on his throat tightened further, making the bones in his neck feel strained and his Adam’s apple crunch against his larynx. His lungs felt tight, like they were being squeezed and overinflated, burning inside and out. His movements became sluggish and disjointed as his life seemed to fade with no hope of reprieve.
He should have felt relieved. There had been so many nights after his mom passed away that he went to sleep on his couch and hoped he would never wake up. He used to imagine the quiet escape bringing him closer to his mother in whatever existence awaited him. Maybe Nick would be there. Caleb never liked to think about how his brother had fared after he left that night, but a part of him knew that he probably hadn’t lasted long as an addict on the streets.
But Caleb wasn’t ready to die anymore. Not yet. Not after meeting Marcus. There was so much left to do. To experience.
He mustered the last of his strength, his arms burning in protest, and slammed his weak fist against V’s chest. Much to his surprise, V’s grip suddenly vanished, the pressure against his chest falling away. Caleb drew in a sharp gasp, pulling himself along the carpet as fast as he could to get away from him. He held a hand to his throat, the pressure of V’s fingers lingering on his skin.
V’s scream pierced the air, like a wild animal in pain.
Ophelia had her forearm against his throat, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist with her ankles locked against his stomach. Caleb’s mouth filled with bile as she tore a chunk of flesh from V’s cheek and jaw, a river of red running down his neck and blossoming across the front of his shirt.
She spat the chunk of flesh toward Caleb. “Get his fucking gun!” she shouted, her face smeared with blood.
V jumped to his feet, trying to grasp any part of her he could get a decent grip on. Caleb scrambled on all fours, his vision still hazy and doubled as he coughed, trying to see where the obnoxiously large gun had landed.
He heard a loud thud against the wall, pictures and decorative plates hanging from the wall rattling and shaking. Caleb looked back at them as V started screaming again, Ophelia’s fingers clawing into the thin skin around his eyes as he slammed himself and her on his back into the wall over and over.
“Caleb!” she shouted again.
He scrambled to pull himself to his feet, holding on to the arm of the floral couch as his legs burned and ached, desperate to drop him back down to the ground. She needed his help.
V managed to grab a fistful of her hair and pull her forward, shifting his weight and flipping her small frame down onto the ground like a rag doll. A low moan escaped her throat as her eyes rolled up into the back of her head.
“You stupid fucking traitor!” V screamed at her, his face contorted in a mask of pure hatred. Her head lolled to the side and her eyelids fluttered. He drew his leg back, preparing to kick her.
Ophelia was tough, but she wasn’t take-a-kick-to-the-head tough. Caleb pulled the switchblade from his pocket, popping the blade from within the handle as he threw himself at V again. They tumbled into the ofrenda, crashing into its legs and sending a flurry of photographs and onions cascading around them. Caleb felt his heart pounding in his chest as V pinned him down, their bodies half beneath the table.
V slammed Caleb’s wrist against the ground and punched the inside of his elbow. A jolt of pain ran up his arm into his shoulder and his fingers relinquished the knife. V’s hands wrapped around his throat again, a wildfire burning in his eyes and sweat pouring down his face.
Caleb clamped onto the wrist of the hand around his throat, his other hand feeling blindly for his dropped knife. He had to find it soon, or he’d never get himself and Ophelia out of the situation alive.
His fingers found the edge of the blade, the razor-sharp metal slicing into his skin. He tried to gasp for breath, digging his nails into V’s wrist in a futile attempt to loosen his grip as the black dots edged into his vision again.
I’m not dying today.
He grimaced through the pain as his fingers inched the switchblade closer, forcing himself to stare up at V through his watering eyes until his palm wrapped around the blade. He ignored the steel’s searing bite as it sliced through his palm and slid his hand down to the handle. Even as more of his vision darkened, he could hear another groan come from where Ophelia lay.
We’re not dying today.
“Just stop fighting, kid,” V growled, the vein in his forehead looking like it was about to burst. “We’re trying to help you!”
He squeezed his burning eyes shut, gathered every last bit of strength in his body into his arm, and swung it up in an arc until the tip of the blade met something solid. His arm shook from the explosive force of the impact.
