Rolling out of my bushel, I started for home down the alley. This alley was littered with glass and isles of garages and was the kind of place that mother told you not to walk down ever, so in this circumstance I was able to slip away unmolested. I stopped however, when I heard tires roll into the gravel in front of Clementine’s home. Peeking back, there was a black Buick SUV scattering the gravel from the driveway into the grass and sidewalk, Bruce was home. Doors swinging open, the sun glittering blinding light from them, four men jumped out.
“Bruce, what- what is this?!” I heard Clementine shriek.
“My raise, baby; I bought us that car we always wanted!”
“How much did this fucker cost you?! What about the car we already have, Bruce. Huh? We don’t need that thing!”
There was something off about him, I thought, narrowing in my sights; Bruce slurred his speech and smiled too often, the way his footing was made to look difficult gave away that he was wasted. His buddies faded out of sight, my glare focused of the hand Bruce wrapped around her hip. “I see you kept yourself busy.”
“I planted flowers.”
“Good girl. You miss me?”
“Yes.”
“You wanna get busy again?”
“What?”
He pursued her, she resisted, “Bruce, stop! We’re outside. For god sakes.” He kissed her neck, made it look like he was eating her. She crumpled under him, he was going way too hard. Clementine pushed him off and sprinted into the house, the door slammed.
“Oh. Don’t be like that babe.” He called after her, he heavily sauntered to the door. I heard his fist on the screen, and then he began to break into it and he was inside.
I stopped breathing when Clementine screamed. Things were getting pushed around and glass broke, besides that, I didn’t hear much else. My first instinct was to react, maybe be a hero and charge in after them; but I know better, I know that I’m a weakling. I couldn’t help her if I wanted to. Anguish is a bitch but I shouldered it for all I got and marched down the alley. Maybe I’ll call the police and complain about a possible break in, but wait, my house is a block away, what if they asked me how I knew? I can get caught for stalking- I mean –watching out for Clementine. In passing a stranger garage I was tripped, a foot jutted out from the side and I found myself at the feet of Bruce’s three pals.
“You looking to snitch, bitch?” The bigger guy said.
“No, please. I’m not going to say anything.”
“I think you scared the pussy,” said the middle guy, the one that tripped me, “I think we should help him out.”
“No! Don’t worry about it I’m okay, really.”
The larger one grabbed me up, and I was suspended in the air like a rag doll. They tried knocking the lights out of me, but I was too stubborn to go so easily. The white asphalt below us began to catch drops of my blood as one by one they threw fists in my eyes. One of them launched the knee of his jeans hard into my stomach, my body flew back into a trashcan. Rolling over to all fours, their big shoes rocketed under me, nearly stopping my breathing with each blow. Someone removed the lid of the metal can and batted my head with it, my head snapped to the left, then the right, then hearing became difficult. I curled up, feeling my organs explode inside me. I told them I had enough, just audibly enough before I coughed my last out; I was done.
The middle one was stocky, he had short brown hair and reminded me of a rejected Backstreet Boy, “You don’t come by Clem no more, hear?” he said, bending down so I could hear better. I reluctantly nodded, my throbbing insides knowing it was a lie. He put his dirty shoe bottom on my cheek and gave me one last shove, I rolled over and exposed my stomach again. He turned on a heel, the two others following him like Crabbe and Goyle back to the house. I waited on the blistering ground feeling like a shrimp sizzling in the oven. I heard the sound I was looking for, despite my hatred for the very sound, I waited until it had faded before I let myself crawl to my full height and walk home. The sound was cosmic; one could only hear it with certainty if they had the misfortune of experiencing the tragedy themselves. I’m talking about sound of Clementine being forced on by drunken men.
