From Circus to Mafia

I Punched a Window

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I realize this is a terrible thing to do.

"BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHABAHAHAHAGHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA" I laughed.

"YOU SHOULD'VE SEEN YOUR FACE GAHAHAHAHAHAHA" I let out.

Oh come on! He just stood in the doorway, frozen and horrified as ever. I can't believe he actually bought it!! He actually thought I was dead!!

My laughing stopped as I looked up and I saw his face. If he wasn't mad before, he definitely is now.

"Look, I only got you back for locking me in this room," I tried to explain myself. He was no longer looking horrified, no, he looked horrifying.

He stalked closer to me. "I. Thought. I. Told. You. To. Behave. "

He let the words out through clenched teeth as he kept taking steps closer to where I sat on the bed. Oh, no. This didn't look good for me. I was in deep doo-doo now. What was he going to do? Was he going to hurt me? That's what the ring master always did...

"Well, ya see, I meant to behave, but there were way too many other options,"

When I said it I thought it would agitate him more, but he cracked a smile. This guy actually smiles? That's good, I guess.

"What did you put on my shirt?" He must have seen my evident confusion because he said, "to turn it red, I mean."

Here we go. Should I lie? No, it's good to be truthful. "Ketchup." I lied.

His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes seemed to turn darker. "There's no ketchup in here. I know blood when I see it, who'd you stab?"

Wow, he thought I stabbed someone! That's so flattering I was almost embarrassed. I was going to blush, really, I was, but then I remembered that I don't blush. I can't believe he actually thought that I had it in me to stab someone. That's so nice of him. I didn't peg him as the type to give compliments.

Well, I did almost stab him when I was stuck in that cleaning closet. Still, that was a special circumstance entirely.

"Awww, you think I could stab someone? Thanks, but it's actually my own blood."

It took him a minute to process this, and when he did, he looked enraged. If his mood was dark before, it was like the sun went out. His pupils dilated and he took a step closer to me.

I'm not a fool, I can feel fear. People have done this to me before, walking slowly toward me, growling mean things. I knew what was going to happen. With every step he took forward I took one back, but like the princess gets the prince, this was like any other story. The victim always runs out of room to crawl away. My back hit the wall and he kept coming at me.

One of his muscular, tattooed arms reached up and grabbed my chin.  he turned my head back and forth searching for cuts, or bruises, something.

"Who? Who touched you? Where?" He said it in a low, deep voice (that kinda turned me on). His dark eyebrows dipped lower as he waited for my reply. I could clearly see his other hand shaking, shaking with rage.

His grip on my chin was tightening. The man in front of me was beginning to scare me. He was overreacting. Why was he so angry with the thought that someone had hurt me?

"I did.  I punched the window." I said it so quietly and my voice shook. I felt so weak. All he had done was touch my face and I'm already this afraid.

His face turned to shock and he stepped away, his hand dropping from my face. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I didn't realize how hard I was pressing myself against the wall, to get further from him, until a cut on my back began to feel sore. I must have opened the scab. Damn. It was almost healed, too.

He smiled. That was always a foreign site, he didn't seem like the kind of person who smiled a whole lot. He even looked like he might laugh. "Why, why on earth, would you punch a window?"

His voice was light and happy, like he wasn't just out of his mind angry a second ago, like the whole 'I punched a window' thing is comical.

"Believe it or not, but I actually  don't like being caged." his smile was still there. I thought it would drop like a pellet of rain because I attempted to escape. But no, he smiled at me. "So you punched a window?" He began walking toward the bed and sat down.

I thought it was clear the first time I explained. "Yup, I punched a window,"
He snorted.

"Most girls that are taken sit down and cry about it. You, you punched a window" he chuckled to himself. Why did he find this so funny?
"I can see that I chose the right girl. Someone as feisty as you can do things right. Anyway, how's your hand?"

Part of me 'awww'-ed because he felt concern for me. The other part of me was like 'who does this nutso think he is? Calling me feisty, like he's just one big ball of sass, ppfffttt'

"It's bruised. It's also cut open in some parts, sorry"
I wasn't really sorry. It was just a habit. No one in the circus liked blood because it could stain things, and we were comfortable enough with it that we didn't recognize it as pain. People got hurt all the time, but blood is hard to get out of carpet or clothes or material.

"Sorry? What are you sorry for? Come on, lets go put some Neosporin on that so it doesn't get infected."