Page 51 of Behind the Lyrics
What the fuck?I lowered my hand and rubbed my neck, fighting anger and jealousy. Was she really in there with another guy? Had I been wrong the entire time?
His voice rose.
Still, I hesitated, something in his tone spiking a primal instinct through my bones. It didn’t sound like he spouted undying love. I leaned my ear to the door and held my breath.
“Please,” Angela cried. “Don’t hurt—”
Fear and adrenaline slammed into me, and I twisted the knob.
It wouldn’t budge.
“Fuck!” I pounded my fist on the door. “Angela. Open this door.”
At the same time, the man yelled, drowning out my words.
I knew what I needed to do. In the movies, the heroes give the door a swift kick and it falls off its hinges. It took three solid blows before I could get it to budge. Finally, the frame separated from the door enough where I could push my way through the splinters.
My lovely, brave, proud angel lay on the floor, blood pouring from her nose. A burly man bent over her, his fist in the air readying for another strike.
“Don’t you touch her, you fucking twat.” I plowed into him, squeezing his middle in my arms, twisting around, and throwing him through the living room.
His body sailed over the couch and crashed against the coffee table.
He shook his head and moaned, preparing to stand.
I didn’t give him time to make another move. I jumped the sofa and grabbed his shirt in both of my hands, dragging him to the floor. With a rough shake, I slammed the back of his head against the carpet. “You fuckingpunchedher, you sorry piece of shit.” My fist connected with his nose, creating a satisfying crunch and spray of dark, scarlet blood.
His eyes watered, and he clutched at my hands. A strong whiff of alcohol hit me. “Wait. She’s my wife.”
“What?” I almost slammed him into the floor again.
“Ex-wife, you asshole.” Angela’s shadow fell over me.
I twisted my head enough to give her a quick stare. “So, this is Jeff?”
She nodded and pinched the bridge of her nose.
Why did he look familiar?The drunk guy at the concert last night. This was the fucking bloke who tried to make it onto the stage and attack me. An evil smile curved my lips. “I told my angel if I ever got my hands on you, I’d beat you to a bloody pulp, Jeffy Boy.”
His bloodshot eyes widened. “Wait, this isn’t what it looks like. I was just trying to explain how she—”
“I don’t give one fucking fuck what you were doing. Youhurther. Not just tonight, but in the past.” I squeezed his neck, hating him with everything inside of me. Not just for what he’d done to her, but because he was fucking like me—an addict. Disgust curled my lip, and I dropped him to the floor.
Control.I needed to take a moment to get myself under control.
His face relaxed somewhat, and he wiped at his gushing upper lip and nose.
“Get out of here, Jeff.” Angela pressed herself into my side.
Jeff stood, his gaze on the both of us. “I hope you rot in hell, thebothof you.” He turned to leave.
He and I might’ve shared the same vices, but I wouldneverbe him. I’dneverhurt a woman, and I’dnevergive in to the cravings. I’d finally realized I had a problem and took control. Him? I doubted he would ever learn his lesson.
A sinister urge overcame me, and my careful control snapped. Before he reached the door, I leaped forward, grabbed the back of his shirt then threw him to the floor. Being taller, leaner, and relatively healthy compared to his apparent beer gut, I had the upper hand and let him have it.
Each swing of my fist and subsequent contact of his saggy skin became the high of a sweet drug, and I relished each cry and plea. He didn’t stand a chance against my furious pounding.
“You enjoy hurting women, you scum?”Bam.“How do you like this?”
