Cuffed. [Norman Reedus]

17*confusion.in.1999

Chapter Seventeen::: Confusion.in.1999

{*UNEDITED*}

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date - August twelfth, 1999.

"Norman!" 

my ears are open, and I can hear my mother's pleads as she stands in horror behind me. but my head isn't listening. I don't latch onto the words she yells. I barely even acknowledge their presence. they just pile on to the multiple noises and distractions going on around me. the only focus my head seems to lock onto is the punches that my fist's land on the man's swollen cheeks.

"Norman, please! Stop!" her fingernails trail down my back, trying to get a grip on me and pull me away, my sweaty white shirt stuck tightly to me.  and as much as I would like to listen, I continue to ignore my mom.

the consequences of my actions don't phase me. the adrenaline pulsing through me at a mile a minute is keeping my head occupied. I don't think that I will go to prison for this; the only thing I think is "how much harder do I have to hit him to finish the job."

a scary moment is what it is. this moment in time. as my arms pump and swing, each blow to the man's face becomes stronger than the first. I've been at it for nearly a minute now, knocking him unconscious a good thirty or so seconds ago. but a pinch in my nerves urges me to continue; I urge myself to continue until I can no longer pull my elbow back in the air--until I am physically unable.

"Norman," my mother's yells turn into sobs as she weeps to her knees, her legs finally giving out from under her.

my face is a messy mixture of blood and sweat. the entire room reeks of must and terror, the dark walls adding to the insane scenario. but once again I'll say: these are mere distractions in my eyes. my only obligation is to kill the man that's already lifeless underneath me.

the cries of my mother go on for a countless amount of time, and each swing of my arm becomes weaker than the one before it. I can feel my veins start to burn, the adrenaline supposedly wearing off. before I know it, my knuckles and hands throb, ache, and quiver. 

the room around me becomes quieter, but louder at the exact same time. my ears persist a tight ringing noise, and my breath's become heavier.
soon, I let my weak arm drop to my side as I drop my head back and focus on my breathing. the man underneath me is no doubt dead, and somehow fighting every human instinct, I feel GOOD about it. I feel accomplished. I feel safe.

and that's a terrible thing.