The Turbulence✔️ (#1 in the Our Side of The Dice series)

14: The Confrontation

Christopher
Bonn, Germany

"Get off me right now. You are not going to like what I will do to you if you try to touch me, " I speak at the top of my voice as I grip Irene’s slender fingers. This makes me nearly fall off the chair.

"Hm. So, I shouldn't touch you, right?" She is grinning. I can't help but get distracted by the look of her poorly arranged dentition.

Be honest. She's beautiful. That you only love your wife doesn't mean you shouldn't appreciate something beautiful when you see it.

Appreciate?

Let's face the facts here. I speak back to my mind. She's not all that good-looking. Even if she is, Am I supposed to admire a snake because it looks appealing to the eye?

"Yes, and get the hell out of here. I don’t understand why you've decided to pick on me. I'm a happily married man with a great life, but it looks like no matter how many times I tell you this, it won't stick."

"Exactly, and—"

“That is precisely why I will do what I have in mind to do to you right now.”

I rise from my seat, grab her shoulders and begin to pierce her skin with my fingernails. Violence is not and will never be my thing, but in circumstances where one needs to defend themselves, especially rape situations like this, I have to fight for myself. So I press harder till I feel my fingernails arch due to the pressure I exert on them. Despite all of that, she is still laughing loudly and shows no sign of discomfort.

What is fun about this?

My initial plan was to strangle the life out of her lungs, but I couldn't bring myself to do that. It is infuriating to see that what I've settled for is nowhere near effective.

If you are determined to kill this woman, you will. I hear a strange, compelling voice spur me in my subconscious.

And all of a sudden, I feel a surge of incredible strength take over me, and before I can think twice about what I'm doing, I wrap my hands around her throat and begin to squeeze them hard.

"Die. DAMMIT!" I scream in her face.

I use my nails for support, hoping to rupture an important vein in her neck so she can be gone and go to hell. Still, this devil incarnate is laughing. The vein on her forehead is showing vividly, and her face is beginning to turn red, yet, she is still able to cackle. Who on earth is she?

"Why are yourhahaa hands s-shaaakyyy? If you want to choke me—ahhh—haha, do it well. It's either you're ruthless or y-you give up. I-I know you will give up though—aaaah—ahemhahah, but I love pain, and I would like you to chochochoke me mohreee and do it better. Shohow me hhow manly you are, " her words are hard to understand, and it's getting difficult for her to speak well because of the coughs. Still, she's laughing.

Slowly, the strange current of strength that possessed me starts to vanish. I can't hear that compelling voice whispering encouragement to kill in my ears. The visions of blood have disappeared, and it feels like a scale has been removed from my eyes. My fingers start to shake until they lose their traction.

Then, I give up.

I plop onto my seat, and tears begin to form in my eyes. My frustration and wrath are so powerful that my hands shake involuntarily. I feel miserable for many reasons — for things I don't have the answers to, but the one that pangs at my chest the most is that I know this isn't who I am. I'm not a murderer. I'm not a person who can easily put an end to the life of even my archenemy.