Page 35 of Undefeated

Confused, he looked at me and squinted. I raised my hands in a defensive boxing posture and clenched my jaw. I took one step in his direction.

“Utility room,” he said softly as he nodded his head toward the kitchen.

“Don’t go anywhere,” I laughed, knowing he probably couldn’t even stand.

I walked into the utility room and found two tool boxes on the shelves above the washer and dryer. I opened one. It contained pliers, hammer, wrenches, screwdrivers, electrical tape, and basic repair type tools. Perfect. I opened the other. It contained gardening tools and chemicals. I removed the pruning shears from the gardening box and placed them into the first tool box and closed the lid. I walked into the kitchen and opened drawers until I found dish rags and towels. I grabbed a few towels and stuck them in my back pocket.

As I walked into the living room, Buster was sitting against the couch on the floor.

“Nice selection of tools. I’ll make this quick. Well, it’ll be kind of quick. You’re going to need to listen again,” I said as I placed the tool box between the chair and the couch.

“Okay. I’m going to say this now, later it’d make no sense to you,” I looked down at him and smiled.

He looked up confused.

“If you go to the hospital or the doctor, they’re going to ask questions. You have a knot on your head that’s six or so hours old. You have other fresh wounds. They’ll want to know what happened. You could tell them about me coming here. If you choose to, my buddy will come find you. He makes me look like a real pussy. He’d probably go ahead and kill you, but do it really slow. If you have any great ideas or plans to get even, or try anything, you might want to remember that he knows you, and he hates you more than I do. I volunteered to come here – to save you from him,” I pressed my index finger to my lips and thought.

“Okay, so yeah, probably no trips to the doctor. And Kace is not going to file charges against you for what you’ve done or what you did today. This is your punishment. It’s just easier this way,” I paused and turned away for a second.

“So, this might sound really bad at first, but I want you to think about it for a second before you answer. No rash decisions. I’m going to let you decide what we do next, okay?” I said softly as I turned around to face him.

Without speaking he nodded. I bent down and opened the tool box. I removed the hammer and the pruning shears, holding one in each hand.

“Okay, I’ll let you pick. I can either cut the tip of your index finger off, or hit you in the mouth with this hammer, and knock out a couple teeth. Which one sounds better?” I asked as I rotated the tools in my hands in front of him.

“Oh God. Please. I’m gonna throw up,” he moaned.

“Well, if you have to you have to,” I said.

“You’re crazy. Seriously, you’re crazy. My finger?” he complained as he held his ribs.

“Not your finger, just part of it. And crazy? No, let me tell you about crazy. Crazy? Crazy is you being the man in a relationship with a one hundred pound woman that only wants to be loved and cherished,” I paused and shook my head.

“And beating her, intimidating her, and taking things from her just to control and manipulate her. Taking her phone, her Kindle, her freedom. Choking her. Not letting her see her parents. And beating her until she’s down to the floor, and kicking her teeth out. Kicking a woman in the face after you beat her and she’s lying on the floor. All to a fucking girl. Someone that trusts you, someone you’re supposed to protect. You manipulative piece of fucking shit,” the more I spoke the angrier I became.

I looked down at him as he sat against the front of the couch. I clenched my jaw and shook my head. This motherfucker wants to call me crazy?

Without a second thought, I leaned forward and swung the hammer toward his mouth. Having never hit anyone in the mouth with a hammer, I didn’t quite know what to expect. It felt like I was hitting a piece of wood, driving the hammer through it - splintering the wood. His teeth snapped off as soon as the hammer made contact with them.

I tossed the hammer behind me several feet and bent down to look at his face.

“Don’t you dare get blood on my jeans,” I snarled.

With his hands cupped over his mouth he screamed and cried. Rocking back and forth onto the front of the couch, he blubbered tears and spit blood. Blood ran down his arms and dripped from his elbows onto the floor.

“Move your fucking hands, let me see what kind of damage we’re talking about,” I said as I reached for his hands.

As tears ran from his eyes and blood dripped from his elbows, he cried and sobbed.

“Hands!” I screamed.

“Holy fuck. God damn. Now that’s the way to knock out teeth, huh? Shit. There’s maybe five or six of them fuckers gone. Get you a mouthful of these,” I said as I smiled, exposing my gold tooth.

“You know, I’d have let you pick – either your mouth or your finger. You should have picked one. But God damn it. The more I talked about what you did to that poor girl, the madder it made me. And just looking at you is irritating as fuck,” with the pruning shears still in my hand, I sat down beside him on the floor.

I reached over and grabbed his right wrist. As I pulled his hand toward my chest, he moaned. I’ve never had my teeth knocked out with a hammer, but I suspected he was in shock, semi-conscious from the beating, and incapable of speech due to the mouth full of teeth and the mangled lips. All he had left was crying, and he began to do a lot of that.

As he sat and sobbed, I pulled a towel from my back pocket and wrapped his hand in it, leaving only his index finger exposed. I squeezed his wrist and as I did, he attempted to close his hand into a fist.