𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 | 𝐛. 𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐳

𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 | 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧

      I WALK THROUGH THE HALL CAREFULLY, searching for Tate and Lennon. My grip on the bat is unfaltering, white-knuckled, terror. I'm high off of the pure rage flows through my veins as I listen for Lennon. I walk slowly, trying to keep the sound of my feet on the floor quiet. If Tate is trying what I think he is, he's going to be cautious, careful, quiet. A muffled noise from the end of the hall grasps my attention. I run in that direction, not caring about my feet anymore. My feet nearly come out from beneath me as I slide on the rug in the hallway.
"These damned paper cuts," A woman says weakly.
"Lennon!" I exclaim, stepping into the lobby of the hotel.
A small group of people, probably a family, stands at the counter. The mother, I assume, stands at the counter, hissing. The noise I heard wasn't Lennon. It was the mother cutting her finger on her checkbook. The family flinches, staring at me nervously. I grimace, shaking my head. I hold my hands up in apology.
"Sorry, I thought you were someone else," I say. "Uh, enjoy your stay?"
I back away from the awkward encounter, stepping back into the hallway I was in. I walk slowly again, looking back and forth through the hall.
I probably terrified that family... How often is it that a baseball player runs into a hotel lobby holding a baseball bat and screams the name of someone he's looking for? My nerves are shot, every small noise I hear is another nail in my coffin and another family or group of people I manage to scare. Cal runs towards me, an eyebrow raised.
"Any luck?" He asks, looking around with me now.
      I shake my head. Where the Hell could they have gone? He must have a room here—he might have used his key and snuck away into his hotel room.
      "Help!" A muffled scream echoes out down the hall. "Help me!"
      I look over at Cal, eyebrows raised. We run in the direction of the scream, panting frantically. The scream for help wasn't a joke, or a gag. It wasn't a scream of fun, or excitement, it was a scream of unfaltering, genuine terror. This scream was a genuine scream for help, one begging for someone to do everything in their power to do the following task—help.
      "Lennon!" I exclaim, running ahead of Cal. "Lennon, where are you?"
       "Help me, please! Stop! No, stop!" She screams, terror in her tone.
        I look at Cal as I run, knowing my duties in this moment. My duties as a friend to Lennon, as someone who once held her heart in the palm of my hand, as someone who once promised my future to her, is to make sure that whatever happens tonight doesn't end with the words, 'I'm sorry for your loss'. My job is to protect her, stop whatever is causing her harm, and make sure that tomorrow morning, her heart is still beating and she can still function as a person.
      "Go get someone who has a key that can unlock the door, and have them call 911." I say.
       He nods, running towards the front lobby of the building. I run to each door, listening for Lennon and Tate.
       "Lennon!" I exclaim, shouting her name. "Lennon, where are you? Please, answer me!"
       Doors of rooms in the hallway open, their occupants stepping out, watching me.
       "Benny!" Lennon screams, her voice echoing from a room beside me.
        I run to the door, grabbing the door knob. I push and pull, begging the door to give way and allow me to help my friend. I step back and kick the door. The recoil sends a jolt of white-hot pain up my body, although my adrenaline blocks most of it out. I kick it again, grunting as I do so. The door groans from the impact against it. My heart pounds in my chest as I kick it. The door flies open, colliding with the wall as if swings a full 180. I run inside, my grip on the bat tightening. My heart stops at the sight before me. Lennon lay trapped on the bed, Tyler on top of her. She whimpers beneath him, her face red and streaked with tears. I drop the bat and grab hold of Tate, ripping him off of her. I throw him against the wall, punching him in the face, left, right, left, right. The skin on his face splits with each punch, his nose bloody, his cheek ripped open on the cheekbone, his lip split. I reach down and take the bat in my hands. I pin it against his throat, using the bat to hold him against the wall.
      "What did you do?" I ask, an eyebrow raised. "What the Hell did you do?"
      "Benny," Lennon whimpers weakly, grasping my full attention.
      Cal and a desk attendant stand in the doorway, watching the scene before them. I nod to Cal, letting him take over with Tate. I walk to Lennon, crouching beside her. Her lip is split and her hair clings to her skin, wet from perspiration and tears. Blood drips down her lips, dripping off of her chin. Her neck is black and blue, a large bruise in the shape of handprints stretching side-to-side. Her dress is torn open, the golden fabric ripped to shreds. Her chest and stomach are exposed, the pale skin causing a flood of nausea to pool in my stomach. I remove my jacket, wrapping her in it, covering her skin. I reach down and lift her off of the bed carefully, one arm supporting her shoulders, neck, and head, the other supporting her beneath her knees. I nod to Cal and exit the hotel room. The hotel guests in the hall, as well as the desk attendant stare at me.
      "Sorry about your door," I say to the teenager girl in the hotel uniform. "I had no other choice."