Home > Mess Me Up

Mess Me Up
Author: Jaxson Kidman

1

 

 

I open my eyes.

The apartment is empty.

Not actually empty, but empty of the man in the black mask with a gun.

You fucking stay away from him and the life. This is your only warning. You’re in too far and you’re going to fucking die. Got that, bitch? Got that?

I cover my ears like he’s still in the apartment.

And I scream.

As loud as I can.

I kick my feet and when I take my hands from my ears, I punch the air.

I look for my phone and it’s right where I had left it.

I can’t move.

I’m sitting on the floor. My floor. In my apartment.

I keep touching myself, checking for a wound. Or a bruise.

I look down at my clothes, afraid I’m going to see clothing missing or feel pain down there…

But I’m okay.

I’m physically okay.

My eyes look to the door.

My teeth chatter.

If you wanna die, bitch, then you keep doing what you’re doing. And if you fucking tell him, I’ll come right back.

Tears roll down my cheeks.

My right hand shakes as I touch my cheek.

I look at my hand and for some reason expect the tears to be blood.

There’s no blood.

I’m not bleeding.

This wasn’t that kind of attack. Or message.

It was mental.

I force myself to turn and I crawl.

I’m crawling across the floor. My apartment floor.

I’m home.

I should be safe here.

It’s my fucking apartment.

My fucking home.

I reach for my phone.

The room starts to spin.

I fall to my left side and burst into tears.

I can’t shut my eyes because when I do, I see the door opening. I see the man coming back in. This time with a baseball bat…

I scream again.

And then I’m silent.

My eyes are open for so long they begin to burn.

I stare at the wall where it meets with the carpet.

My eyes focus on a crumb or clump of dust.

My cleaning person sucks…

I laugh.

I roll to my back and laugh. And cry.

My emotions don’t know the difference between anything because fear is now the puppeteer. Dangling strings over me, reminding me that I came this close to dying.

I finally roll back to my belly and put my hands to the floor.

I push myself up and grab for my phone.

I lean against the table.

I look at Mac’s name on my phone.

My thumb moves to text him.

There’s a banging at my door.

 

 

I scream.

I drop my phone.

I throw a chair to the floor and step back.

Then I fall over again.

The banging continues.

“Jolie?”

“No!” I scream at the door.

“Jolie, it’s me,” a voice says.

Then the door opens.

I scream again but stop when I realize it’s Mac.

He looks around once and then runs toward me.

I put my arms up like I’m completely helpless.

“What the fuck is going on here?” he asks me.

“He was here,” I say. “He came at me and I fell to the floor…”

“Who? What happened?”

Mac’s eyes are wide. Angry.

Deadly.

I shake my head.

Mac gently touches my face. “What’s going on here, Jolie? Who was here? Who hurt you?”

“A man,” I say. “He was in all black…”

My stomach flips.

I cough.

“I have to throw up,” I say.

“Fuck,” Mac whispers. “Come on, sweetie.”

Mac scoops me up in his strong arms.

I cling to him and cry.

I feel so weak as I cry.

But I don’t know what else to do in that moment.

He takes me to the bathroom and gently sits me on the edge of the tub.

I look at him.

I can feel my face, cold and pale.

“What happened, sweetie?” he asks.

“There was a knock,” I whisper. “I thought it was you. I opened the door and he was there. He had a gun. He was in all black. He had a beanie with holes cut in it for his eyes, nose, and mouth. He came after me…”

I dry heave and then lean forward.

Mac touches my back and I get sick.

My face is now burning red.

Puking in front of Mac? Not on my to-do list for maybe ever.

But it’s too late now.

I’m throwing up like I’ve been drinking all night.

And Mac rubs my back.

He’s silent.

But I can feel him seething. The anger is like a pulsing heat.

I reach forward and flush the toilet.

I lift my head and Mac stands up to get me a towel.

He drops to one knee before me and when I try to take the towel, he shakes his head.

I’m embarrassed as he dabs the towel to my mouth.

Then he gives it to me to hold.

“I’m going to make a call, sweetie,” he says. “Just sit here. You’re safe now. You’re never going to feel unsafe ever again.”

He stands up and I grab his hand. “Mac… do you know who it was?”

His face drops.

He’s hurt.

Hurt that I would just assume it was related to him.

Which we both know it was.

Mac swallows hard. “I have no idea who did this to you, Jolie.”

I sob.

“But, sweetie, I’m going to find out who did this and fucking kill them.”

 

 

“Here you go, darling,” Taz says to me as he sits down on the couch with a cup of tea. “I put a little something in there for you. You need it.”

Taz is big. Mean. Almost kind of an ugly cute kind of guy. Not sure if that makes sense or not. But you look at him and you just know he’s messed up and not afraid of anyone or anything.

He should scare me.

But he listens to Mac.

He and all the other guys trust Mac.

It’s kind of crazy to see sometimes.

I put the cup near my mouth and the steam hits my nose.

“How much whiskey did you put in this?” I ask.

“A little,” Taz says. He holds up his thumb and pointer. He smiles. “Just drink it.”

I sip the hot tea.

It’s soothing… and full of whiskey…

I blink fast as I swallow it down.

Taz just sits there and looks at me.

His hands are balled up into fists. Giant fists.

I move my gaze elsewhere.

There’s Aric and Raf.

Aric is at the door.

Raf at the window.

Raf has a gun in his hand.

It still makes me uneasy to see a gun.

Or have one pointed at me. Because he came at me with a fucking gun. Making me run backwards until I fell.

I don’t even realize I’m crying again until Taz touches my back.

“Ah, fuck, darling, come here,” Taz whispers.

He takes the tea from my hands and puts it on the table. He pulls me toward him.

I have no idea why I trust him… just like I trust Mac.

“Nobody can hurt you when we’re here,” Taz says. “I’ll fucking twist someone’s neck right around if they bother you.”

“Thanks,” I whisper.

“No need to thank anyone,” he says.

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