“Let’s hope so.”
Chapter Ten
Kristen
Seeing the tears from Vincent’s eyes made me want to die. He wasn’t happy about hearing I was pregnant with his child; he was torn. The tears from his eyes and the pained expression on his face said as much. I thought about rushing Marty. I could try to tackle him out the window. Or wrestling the gun out of his hand. He’d probably end up shooting me but fine, let him shoot me.
Vincent broke his gaze from mine. He drooped his head and his body went limp in his restraints.
Was he dead? Oh god no.
“Stop this Marty! He needs to go to the hospital!”
Marty turned away from Vincent to face me. He started walking toward me with fists clenched. “Why didn’t you say that when he was beating me up?”
“I tried! I stopped Vincent from hitting you. Don’t you remember?” Seeing Marty approach me, broke me out of a spell. I suddenly feared for my life again. “Please don’t hurt me, Marty.”
His face softened. “Hurt you? Why do you think I’d hurt you? I told you. I love you. Do you still love me? You must since you protected me.”
“Please, don’t. We broke up. Protecting someone doesn’t mean you love them.”
“Did you love me before?”
“I don’t know.”
“How could you not know?” he shouted. “All those times together. Everything we shared. I loved you. I still do.”
“Marty, our relationship was very rocky. We were breaking up and getting back together constantly at the end. I’m still trying to figure out what my emotions were like at that time.”
He shook his head. “Do you love him?” he asked frantically. “Do you love Vincent?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes or no, Kristen.”
I recalled the sad look in Vincent’s eyes. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered. I thought I’d escaped Marty but he had known where I was the whole time. I lost Vincent. I was going to lose my job. I was going to lose my life. I was going to lose my baby.
“Yes! I do love Vincent.”
His features hardened into a scowl. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” I said, mustering up my remaining strength. “I truly love Vincent. I don’t care what you say, Marty. Threaten me all you want. I don’t love you.”
Marty ran a hand through his hair, staining it with the blood on his fist. Vincent’s blood. “You’re so frustrating, Kristen. You know me. You know how I feel about you.”
“No I don’t. I don’t understand you at all,” I cried.
“Stop crying. Stop being afraid of me. I can’t take it when you do that.”
“I don’t care.”
“It’s because you’re carrying his child. That’s the reason, isn’t it?” Marty approached me, backing me into the couch. His eyes were on my stomach.
“No, don’t come near me.” I stuck out my hands and feet, trying to shove him away.
“You can’t keep me away.” His eyes were still on my stomach.
“Don’t hurt my baby!”
“You’re making me angry, Kristen. You already know you don’t want to make me angry.”
A loud crack sounded. Where did it come from? It sounded like a wooden plank snapping. Was the couch about to break?
“Marty, no!”
Marty balled his fist.
“Somebody help!” I screamed as loudly as I could.
“Shut your mouth, Kristen. You’re out of your mind.”
Another loud crack.
Marty raised his fist. I crossed my arms to shield my body, hoping that the flesh and bones in my limbs would prove sturdier than an apartment wall. He was going to punch my stomach. He was going to punch the baby.
“Forgive me, Kristen. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t have to.”
In a blur, Marty vanished behind the couch. I sat up, realizing someone had tackled him.
“Vincent!” I screamed.
How had he gotten out of the handcuffs?
I leaped from the couch to see Marty and Vincent rolling into the kitchen and crashing into the oven. The force from the impact shook the stovetop and the hot water I’d been boiling in a saucepan for tea tipped and poured over Marty’s head.
Marty screamed and frantically swiped at his face with his hands. His face was steaming.
Vincent was groaning and rubbing his head with the heel of his palm. His hands were mangled, his thumbs twisted inward. That’s when I realized what happened.
The two loud cracking sounds I heard were from Vincent breaking his own thumbs to escape his handcuffs.
I rushed over to Vincent to try to help him up. He was dazed and couldn’t stand up on his own. I hooked my arms beneath his shoulders and tried to drag him to the apartment door but it was difficult to move him. He’s so damn heavy. I thought about escaping just by myself but I knew I couldn’t leave Vincent alone with Marty. Not like this. By the time I came back with the police, Vincent would probably be dead.
Marty blindly reached in front of him, knocking over a jar of sugar and a spice rack on the kitchen counter. White dust and parsley spilled across the counter and the kitchen tile. I’d dragged Vincent a foot when Marty found a towel hanging from the oven. He wiped his face vigorously and opened his eyes.
Before I could react, Marty lunged at us, landing on top of Vincent. I fell backward and smashed into a kitchen table chair.
“You bastard!” Marty cried as he began wailing on Vincent.
Vincent snapped out of his daze and raised his arms to shield his face, shifting his head from side to side to avoid a direct blow.
Frantic, I stumbled to my feet and picked up the kitchen chair with both hands, raising it over my head. Marty leaped from Vincent and rushed me. He swatted the chair out of my hands, making it crash across the kitchen table into the corner. “Don’t fight me, Kristen!” he shouted. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Then he shoved me away. I toppled over the coat rack and into the pile of shoes.
Sprawled over a bed of flats and heels, I spotted the a silver object lying beside the couch. The pistol. It must’ve flown out of Marty’s hand when Vincent tackled him. Crawling on my hands and knees across the sea of footwear, I neared the couch and reached for the gun.
The sound of a punch landing on flesh and the sound of a male voice groaning in pain made me realize Marty had mounted Vincent again and was attacking him.
I picked up the gun with shaky hands.