Chapter 26 - The Face Behind The Mask

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Two weeks go by and I text Miranda everyday, just normal stuff so that Brett won't grow suspicious if he sees them. I wouldn't put it past him to check her phone. She texts me back, thankfully, so I know she's still breathing. But I can't stop the fear for her growing steadily in my heart every single day. I'm afraid one of these days Brett is going to take it too far, and I need to get her to leave him before that happens. I can't lose anybody else, I just can't. I refuse to.

Brett was home when I drove by a week ago in the pretense of borrowing one of Miranda's dresses. It was so weird seeing him knowing what he's really like. You think you know someone, but you never know what's lurking just beneath the surface. Never know how many secrets people are hiding behind a smile.

It took everything in me to not strangle him then and there. I was almost shaking with suppressed rage, looking in they eyes of someone I long considered a friend. Someone I rooted for with my best friend. I almost hurled right then and there.

But she's still adamant in her belief that Brett loves her and won't hurt her again. She believes he's going to change. I have no such faith. People can grow, sure, but once an abusive asshole, always an abusive asshole, at least where I'm concerned. I just want to see the bastard in jail.

Right now I'm at a late night run alone, since Landon is still at work and we had better stuff to do in the morning. I'm a mile from Miranda and Brett's house when my phone rings, interrupting the music. One ring and it stops, the music blasting in my ears again.

I freeze and check my phone. One missed call: Miranda. Shit. Shit shit shit.

I force my legs to go faster. I have to get to her fast. She could be in serious trouble if she's calling me.

I call Landon on the way, having trouble getting out the words in between my heavy breathing.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," he promises, his voice full of worry. "Be careful. And don't antagonize him. Please, babe, just... be careful."

"I'll try by best," I promise, my fingers trembling. "I gotta go." I end the call and grip the phone tight as I fly past street after street.

We don't know if Brett's beating the hell out of her or if he's gone for the moment and she's finally decided to leave him. I have no idea what I'm walking into, but I don't care. I just know i need to get there.

I reach their house in six minutes, my lungs on fire. I skip the steps up to the immaculate white porch and listen. I can just barely hear muffled sounds, so I press my ear against the wood, my heart thundering against my chest.

Someone screams. A high, terrified scream. The color washes away from my face. Miranda.

I quickly text Landon to call the cops, then braze myself. I start banging on the door, hoping to interrupt whatever is happening inside, having no idea what I'm going to do if Brett answers the door. A loud thump and a cry follows.

I run to the closest window but the curtains are drawn. The house has gone quiet.

I scan the yard and my eyes go to a picnic table set-up. Without giving myself time to think it through, I grab one of the wooden chairs and lift it up, swinging it against the biggest window with all my strength.

The glass shatters and loud curses sound inside. I use the chair to scrape away the remaining big sticks of glass and crawl inside, scratching my bare legs in the process.

I've just made it to the lounge when Brett storms into the room, Miranda running after him. She's limping her left leg, and one of her eyes is swollen shut. Her pajamas show old and new bruises on her legs, her arms. She's crying, looking from me to Brett in terror.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he walks toward me angrily, motioning with his hands to the broken window. His face has gone red with rage and he seems to tower over the whole room.

I've never seen him like this before and I have to admit, I'm scared. I have no weapon, nothing to defend myself with, since I just ran down here in a hurry. I didn't stop to think what would happen when I made it in. My best hope right now is to stall him long enough for the cops to arrive.

"Helping my friend," I answer, trying to keep my voice from shaking. Show no fear, I tell myself. Men like him thrive on it.

"You mean sticking your nose in matters that don't concern you," he snarls, taking a step closer.

"This does concern me. And you're done. You hear me, this stops tonight," I say through gritted teeth, taking back a step to keep the distance. My shoes scrape the glass on the floor.

Miranda whimpers behind him, her eyes darting between him and me in fear.

"You have no idea what you're talking about" Brett shakes his head at me, spit flying. "What exactly do you think is going on here, huh?"

"I have no idea?" I raise my brows, gathering my courage. "She's all bruised up! The evidence is all right there!"

I can almost see regret in his eyes when he looks at his cowering girlfriend. "It was an accident," he tells her. "I didn't mean to. Baby," his voice goes soft, "you know I didn't mean to. It's never going to happen again, okay? I promise."

Miranda just sobs, looking like she really want to believe him. Oh hell no.

"An accident?" my anger is palpable. "You don't hit someone on accident. And I know this isn't the first time, either. You have a problem, and you need help."

His eyes narrow. "I don't need anyone's help, and neither does she. We're fine. She's fine. You can get the hell out now. And you're going to pay for that window."

"I'm not going anywhere, at least not without her," I nod my jaw toward my friend. "Either she's coming with me or I'm staying right here."

"This is my house," Brett growls, his arms tensing at his sides, a vein on his forehead bulging. "You don't have any fucking right to be here."

I cross my arms over my chest, trying to stand tall. "What are you going to do, call the cops?"

He snarls, his hands forming fists as he takes another threatening step toward me. I have no more room to back away without stumbling out the window.

"Get out!" he shouts, looking deranged. "Get the fuck out, right now!"

I don't dare take my eyes away from him but I can hear Miranda crying harder and harder. No way in hell am I leaving her alone with this lunatic, not when he's in this state of mind.

"No," I say, hating that my voice shakes a little.

His muscles tense and that's all the warning I get. I throw myself out of the way just as he swings his right fist toward my face.

He growls with rage and I look up to see Miranda clinging on to his arm, trying desperately to keep him from attacking me. But she's so small, and he has no trouble shaking her off. He pushes her away hard enough that she lands on the floor with a cry, her head slamming against the floor.

"Fuck!" he screams, tugging at his hair with both hands. "Now look at what you made me do!" he tells her.

She curls into a ball and shakes, waiting for the next hit to land. My heart breaks at the sight.

"Get away from her," I take a step closer, raising my own fists. "Fight someone closer to your size for a change." Not that I'm anywhere as big as him, but at least I'm taller and stronger than Miranda. And I'm fast. I just need to last long enough for Landon to get here.

"You don't want to do that," Brett warns me, his tone mocking. "You're no match for me."

"Oh, I don't know," I muster up false bravado. "I doubt you've ever hit anyone that's not half your size. I think you talk a big game but in reality, you're a coward," I spit out the words, watching as his body shakes with rage. Good, keep his attention away from Miranda. 

"We'll see about that," he snarls, then turns to his sobbing girlfriend. "I'll deal with you later."

Miranda looks absolutely terrified, and that does it for me.

My anger floods and I jump at him, smacking against his back and making us both stumble. I fall on top of him and use my body weight to try to keep him down. We wrestle, rolling on top of the glass. I can feel it cut into my skin, but barely register the pain. 

I hold my own but in the end he's bigger and stronger and manages to flip us over, his body now weighing down mine. I struggle under him, fighting like a feral cat to buck him off.

My hands find his face and I try to push him away, but his fingers lock around my fists and he presses them above my head. So I do the only thing left; I headbutt him.

He howls in pain, but doesn't let go. My head aches from the hit but I don't get a change to recover as a hard fist slams into my jaw.

I've barely registered he's let one of my arms go when another hit lands on my nose and stars fill my vision. I feel my nose crack and blood spilling out. Miranda is continuously screaming somewhere close by, but my hearing is going in and out of focus as Brett keeps pummeling my face.

I manage to drag my arms down and over my face, but it doesn't him from trying to make mince meat out of my face. I thrash and buck, trying to squirm from underneath him. When that doesn't help, I raise my hands to his throat and push as hard as I can. The veins in his throat are straining, his face feral. He's completely lost it.

My fingers dig into his windpipe and he winces in pain but then his arms are around my throat, squeezing hard, and my strength fades.

"You should've stayed out of it," his face is twisted in anger and his fingers tighten. "Look what you made me do. You should've stayed out of it," he repeats, no sanity left.

I wheeze and try to claw his hands off, but his hands are like bars of iron, hard and unyielding. My legs thrash under him helplessly. He's too strong. I can't breathe.

I can't breathe. Panic starts setting in.

I can hear Miranda crying and trying to push Brett off me, but he doesn't budge. Dark spots fill my vision.

I'm going to die, I realize, dread filling me. His face will be the last thing I'll ever see. Oh god, oh god... Help me... mom, dad... Please. I don't want to die. Mom, I don't want to die.

Desperate, I flail my weakening hands on the floor, hoping to find anything, anything to use as a weapon. I can't I can't I can't, not like this, please. 

Hope flares in my heart when my fingers finally curl around a sharp piece of glass. Yes. I squeeze it as hard as I can and slash it in the direction of his body, no longer seeing anything but darkness and spots.

The pressure around my throat lessens and the weight of his body disappears.

Miranda screams and I suck in huge gulps of air, sweet wonderful oxygen filling my lungs. My throat is burning, and I can't stop the dry coughs that rack my body.

Miranda's face hovers above me, tears falling down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

I stare up at her with one eye, the other having swollen shut just like hers.

"You're okay, you're okay," she cries, grabbing my shoulders and squeezing gently.

I turn my face to the dark lump on the floor next to me. A long piece of glass sticks out from Brett's side, and blood is pooling under him.

"Is he...?"

"I don't know," she sobs, her crying turning into a full-blown hysteria. That's when the front door is busted in and people run into the room.

"Avery!" a familiar voice yells and I turn to the voice, carefully sitting up. I feel stinging all over my body then and wince.

Landon kneels in front of me and takes my face in his hands. He looks relieved. "I thought you..." He doesn't finish. I can see the fear in his face.

"I'm fine," I rasp through the tightness in my throat. He draws me into a hug and I lean against him, not caring that it hurts. Pain is good. Pain means I'm alive.

"The ambulance is on it's way," a forty-something police officer comes to us, taking in my injuries with gentle eyes.

It turns out I have lacerations and scrapes all over my body from all the glass on the floor, and my neck would bruise and probably hurt for days. My nose is broken and my whole face will soon resemble a mushy eggplant. I also gripped the shard I hit Brett with so tight that my palm is pretty torn up. I won't be using my right hand for a while. But none of that matters. I'm going to live. 

The officer takes pictures of me and I look over his shoulder to where another cop is escorting Miranda out, trying to calm her down. A third officer is bent over Brett, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Did I—" my voice is hoarse and it hurts to say the words, "Did I kill him?"

The cop tending his wounds hears me and looks over. "No. He's alive."

I close my eyes, feeling both relieved and terrified. I didn't want to kill him, just stop him, but now it's possible he'll try to hurt Miranda again in the future.

Landon squeezes me tighter and I lean my head against his chest, not knowing how to feel.

The paramedics arrive shortly after and load Brett in the back of an ambulance. Miranda is also taken to the hospital, though in a separate car.

I want to drive with Landon but am told I really need my injuries to be looked at properly. I might have internal bleeding and they don't want to risk it, so I end up climbing onto a third ambulance.

My cuts are tended on the way and my right hand is wrapped up. It hurts to move my fingers, the glass having cut deep. My voice should return to normal in a few days, the paramedic tells me. It seems like Brett didn't manage to cause any lasting damage. To me, that is.

Miranda suffers from a broken rib and a sprained ankle on top of all the cuts and bruises scattering her whole body. The most damage was done on the mental level, however. She'll need tons of therapy to heal herself.

The cops tell us that Brett is having surgery but he should make it. And he's under arrest. They will prosecute him, as well, since they have enough evidence and Miranda has agreed to testify against him. Watching him strangle me made her realize just how badly he needs help. It's anything but easy for her, but she's starting to see him as he really is: a violent broken man. I'll need to testify, as well, being both a witness and a victim.

Nate and Sophie are the first ones to arrive at the hospital, Landon having called them on the way from Brett's. They rush in all worried and hug me fiercely before asking a million times if I'm really okay. I assure them I'm fine, even if I don't quite feel fine. No need for them to worry when there's nothing they can do about the internal turmoil I'm facing.

Mr. and Mrs. Durham, Brett's parents, run in at the same time with Miranda's folks, and they're all shocked. None of them had any idea what was going on. We've all been blind.

Thankfully the Durhams don't try to justify Brett's actions, but offer their sincere apologies to everyone involved. Mr. Durham has a lot of pull with the police, but he won't be using it. He's outraged his own son would beat a girl. That he almost killed me. I think they're seriously considering disowning his sorry ass.

Miranda is released from the hospital the next day, and her parents pick her up. She's been crying continuously since yesterday, feeling guilty and awful.

We had a long talk, just the two of us, after we were fixed up and hugged enough last night. I repeatedly told her none of it was her fault, that she's the victim here, but I don't think she quite believes it. She has a long way to go, but she's on her way.

Two weeks later I'm still trying to come to terms with the fact that I could've died. Going like that, terrified and seeing your killer's face as the last thing you see... Especially since that person used to be your good friend...I shiver every time I think about it.

I've started having nightmares again, this time of Brett instead of my parents, and Nate has encouraged me to start seeing a therapist again. For once I listen to him, knowing I have a lot of baggage to deal with. But I am dealing with it.

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