Now We're Even (#Wattys2017)

vi) scars

Ali had no idea what was going on.

All he knew that James was alive, he was alright ... and he was terrified of Ali. He wanted to go after him, wanted to ask all the questions that were burning on his tongue, but someone was pulling on the hem of his shirt sleeve, forcing him to turn around-

"It's you, isn't it?" The woman's eyes burned with a ferocious heat.

"I... I'm not sure," Ali mumbled, confused.

"How dare you? How fucking dare you come here? You're a fucking arsehole, how can you even fucking think that it's alright to come here, after all that fucking bullshit you did to James, you should be rotting in fucking prison," her words came out in a torrent, so fast Ali had trouble keeping up. She was reaching out, like she was about to push him. He stumbled backwards a few steps.

"I-I'm sorry, I really... I really don't know what you're talking about." Still backing away, he tripped on the curb, and found himself sitting on someone's front lawn, landing hard.

"You... you what?" She was screaming, not bothering to quiet down despite the strange looks she was getting. "You tried to kill him! For fuck's sake, the least you could do is admit it!"

What? Something flickered in the back of his mind, a glint of silver, the brass of a doorknob. It vanished before he could make sense of it, though, and the strange woman's words were echoing in his ears, waiting for a response.

"I don't understand," was all he was able to manage.

"You." She leaned in uncomfortably close and grabbed the fabric of his shirt. "You tried to kill him. You stabbed him, left a massive hole in his stomach, and now you come here, a fucking year later? To what, beg for forgiveness? You ruined his fucking life, dickhead. Don't you ever think he's going to forgive you."

Ali didn't have time to wrestle from her grasp before his stomach turned in panic. He retched, and she let go of him with a wince. He flipped over, vomiting onto the ground. His shoulders shook, his whole body convulsing in a dry shudder as he heard the splashing sound. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe.

"Don't think you can get away with this," he heard, and his gaze immediately snapped back to the woman, still blazing with rage. "How the fuck d'you even find him anyway?"

"He... he used to live here. Before Mexico," Ali said before he could think. She didn't need to know that. She's going to call the police, have me arrested. "I... thought that there might be a chance he came back."

"Damn right, he came back. He came back to hide from you! Did you know he hasn't been working? Did you know that he still has his scars?"

"Scars?" The word hurt as he forced it through his mouth.  He wiped his mouth, his heart pounding in his throat. 

"The scars you gave him, you asshole. The ones all down his head! His back! His..." There was a pause. "His stomach. Where you stabbed him."

There was a moment of pure, blinding obliteration as Ali forgot how to breathe. He couldn't see, the world spinning away in a haze of white light. Where I stabbed him. Where I stabbed him.

I stabbed him, I stabbed him, I stabbed him, I stabbed him-

"You'd better get the hell out of here before I call the police," the woman said, and he somehow found the strength to look up at her. She was holding out a hand, but he didn't trust her enough to take it. He shoved himself up, still shaking.

"Why haven't you called them already?"

She paused, and he could see the effort that it took for her to swallow her anger. "I've had a few run-ins with the police before," she said after a moment. "I'd rather avoid being the one calling them on someone." Now that he was closer, Ali could see two star tattoos that decorated the outer crease of her right eye, almost invisible against her dark skin. "If you don't get out of here, I will fucking kill you. Understood?"

The panic that had seceded returned with a cracking force, and Ali almost burst into tears as he stared at her. His heart was so fast that he thought he might pass out, starting to feel light-headed. 

I have to go.

Somehow, he wrenched himself away from her. He forced his legs to move, to run as quickly as he could down the drive, across the road, as far away as possible.

He didn't get very far.

He slipped on the damp pavement and his head hit the ground with a heavy thunk. The world was retreating into blackness.

I tried to kill him.