Extraction

I'm A Monster

Again, I dreamed of the beach. Again, I dreamed of the voice. It was louder this time, more tangible. I knew it was a man who was calling out to me, and now, some distance down the beach, there was someone standing with their hand stretched out to me.

A loud crash startled me out of my sleep. At first, I thought it might've been part of the dream itself, but I quickly realized the opposite when I heard the muffled grunts and thumps of bodies hitting the floor and walls.

I jumped up and lunged for the gun Tyler had left on the dresser. I froze for a moment, feeling the weight of it. I swore to myself that I would never pick up a gun- I'd never even raise my fists- for fear of becoming my father. It wasn't just the metal weighing my arm down, it was the knowledge that, if I left that room, that I would kill somebody. I would have to. The choice of never becoming a monster would be stripped away. But I also knew that Tyler needed help.

I snuck out of the room, the gun drawn but no idea if it was loaded or cocked or even if the safety was on or off. It wasn't until I reached near the end of the hall that I heard Gaspar's voice. 

"What are we doing, man? Huh? Come on, stay down." he panted. 

He was the one fighting Tyler. I didn't want to imagine why. With every bit of courage I managed to scrounge up, I leapt around the corner. 

They were at the bottom of the stairs, Tyler struggling to stand while Gaspar stood over him. Suddenly, Tyler jumped up at his 'friend' who body slammed him into the coffee table behind them. Gaspar climbed on top of him and started throwing punches, hard, knock-a-grown-man-out punches. 

"ENOUGH!" I yelled, keeping my voice as steady as possible. 

Gaspar's eyes moved slowly upward. "Hey, kid." He stood, holding his hands out.

"Don't fucking move." I warned, nervously glancing at Tyler.

"I know it looks bad. I know it looks bad." 

"I said, don't move." I repeated myself, taking a shaky step back.

"Okay, okay..." he said, clearly sizing me up. The look in his eyes was one of a mad man, one out for blood. 

Tyler was barley to his knees much less to his feet. I was on my own. 

Gaspar charged at me, taking one, two large steps. And I squeezed the trigger. One, two times.

He staggered, then fell backwards into the recliner. The sounds of him gasping for air sent a chill through me. I couldn't take my eyes from him as the blood seeped through his shirt.

I did that.

Tyler stood at last, his hand outreached. Slowly, he walked to me and eased the gun from my hand. I trembled, eyes welling with tears, as I watched the life escape Gaspar with one final huff. 

I collapsed onto the stairs beneath me. "I..." my throat closed, refusing any noise through besides shuttering breath. 

Hesitantly, Tyler's hand found my shoulder, pulling me to him ever so slightly. 

"I want to go home." I sobbed, throwing myself against him. 

His arms tightened around me. "I'll get you home, lass." he said after a moment. "I'll get you home."

It wasn't until he had led me back to the bedroom that I noticed the tears in his eyes. 

"Do you know Sanju's number?" he asked.

"Oh, Tyler..." It's official. I'm a monster. "He was your friend, I'm...I'm so fucking sorry."

"He was going to kill you." he said quietly and in a tone as if to convince himself. "Sanju's number?"

I suddenly regretted my plea for 'home' as a lump gathered in my throat. Still, I cleared it away and recited the digits that were my ICE on every piece of paperwork since I could remember. 

I stared at the floor as Tyler put the phone to his ear. "Get dressed." he ordered simply, coldly, before stepping out of the room. Behind the closed door I heard his gruff voice say "I've got the girl. I need your help." 

There's no going back now...

I shuffled through the dresser drawers and found some men's clothes that fit me well enough, then pulled on my shoes. I reached for the doorknob, my hand shaking. I wanted more than anything to escape out the window so I didn't have to return home, return to my father. 

But, I had cost Tyler multiple friends, caused him to be severely injured, and have stranded him in Bangladesh with a blood-thirsty drug lord on our tail. I owed him enough to disappear from his life on his terms. If I left, he'd look for me, I knew.

I pulled the door open, surprising Tyler, who was mid-knock. 

He cleared his throat, "Ready?"

I just nodded, not trusting myself to speak to him again just yet. 

We got in the car, Gaspar's car, and started off to god knows where. My heart raced the entire time, my palms sweating as they played a phantom piano. 

Jump out. Jump out and just run. Run and run and run until you die of exhaustion. 

"I should've let him kill me." I whispered not entirely on purpose. I inhaled sharply at the surprise of my mouth betraying me.

I lurched forward as Tyler slammed the brakes, having to brace myself on the dashboard to stop myself from headbutting it. I turned to look at him, his hard gaze already on me. 

"If he so much as laid a fucking finger on you, I would've put him in the ground myself." 

Tears stung my eyes. "Why don't you hate me?" I asked the question that had been plaguing me since he refused to dump me in town.

A twinge of vulnerability ran through his face, lifting his eyebrows ever so slightly and softening his eyes. I dared to believe what his stare was telling me.

Severing the moment, he looked forward and resumed driving. I began playing again, my fingers following a new tune;

The tune of my mother's favorite love song.