Chapter 2: From Manhattan To Texas.

Xavier Kingston.

My jaw aches as I cock my eyebrow while waiting for the girl's reply. From her expression, she seems stunned but she manages to nod.

Then I turn to face the fool that punched me in the face. I release his hand and grab him by the neck, turning around to slam his back onto the counter.

“What do you think you're doing? Who do you think you are?” He asks, his face red from the pressure of my hand on his neck.

I chuckle as I apply more pressure.

“No, Brandon,” I spit his name out, “who do you think you are?”

I'm a little tipsy from the whiskey, but the buzz from the alcohol makes me want to squeeze his neck until his eyes pop.

Won't be too long now, I think. Judging from the look on his face, it seems like he's struggling to stay conscious.

A hand on my forearm makes me turn my head and I see the bar girl pleading with her eyes.

“Please, just let him go,” she begs.

I stare at her like she's speaking another language.

“Are you being serious right now? This idiot disrespected you, assaulted you physically and you want me to leave him alone. How fucking dumb are you?” I lash out.

I see anger flash in her eyes before it disappears. Tears spring up in its wake and she pleads, “You don't understand. Just please, let him go.”

Not breaking my gaze, I release him and he stumbles away from me, holding his throat as he desperately gulps in air.

I turn fully to face her.

“You are a fool. Any other person will be happy to see their abuser being punished but you… you're pathetic, just like her.”

Tears run down her face and she whimpers at my words but I'm past caring.

“One day when he beats you to the brink of death, you're going to remember today and mark my words, you'll regret your choices.”

“Get the hell out of my bar,” I hear Brandon say and I look at him. He's maintaining his distance but there's a vicious look in his eye.

I'm angry and everything in me wants to punish him. I hate bullies, especially the ones that assault women.

“Seems like the air you're desperately gulping right now is giving you a false sense of confidence,” I snap, stalking towards him slowly.

But before I can take more than a few steps, her hand stops me again. I turn my heated gaze on her.

“Don't.” I warned her.

“Go away. Don't you get it? No one wants you here. You're just making it worse, so leave,” she yells.

We stare down at each other and I break eye contact first, chuckling as I dig into my pocket and pull out a hundred dollar bill.

I slap it down on the counter and meet her gaze. Those gray eyes are challenging me to stay but before I get lost in them again, I say, “Keep the fucking change.”

And with that, I get the hell out of there.

Getting into my Porsche, I try to calm myself down but my hands are trembling so much. I'm angry and right now, I want to wreck havoc.

Before I can do anything stupid though, I grab my phone from the phone holder and I'm not surprised when I see four missed calls from Ethan.

I call back and he picks up on the second ring. “Where the hell are you? And why have you been ignoring my calls?”

I sigh heavily as I stare out into the darkness of the parking lot. I had left my phone in the car when I went into the bar, not wanting any distractions.

“I'm in Texas,” I reply curtly.

“What? Why? I don't understand.”

I run my hand through my hair as I think of a way to reply to that, without divulging too much information.

“I needed to get away, Ethan.”

“But why? I mean, we made plans this morning when we spoke, so I don't understand how you could be in Texas right now. And you didn't think to inform me?”

“I'm sorry, okay? I just needed to get away from everything. I met up with my father after we spoke this morning.”

“Oh…” he says, “that explains the getaway, but you should have told me.”

I smile sadly. Ethan is my best friend, and has been my best friend for more than six years now. But he wouldn't understand, even if I told him everything.

“I know, and I'm sorry. I'll talk to you later.”

He sighs, knowing that was the end of our conversation. “Alright. Just do what you have to do. I'm here whenever you need to talk.”

“Thanks,” I say and then, I hang up.

Clutching my phone in my hand, I rest my head on the steering wheel as I breathe through my mouth.

Everything I'm running from seems to be coming back in torrents. For a while when I was in that bar, it was as if I was a completely different person.

Starting up the car, I begin the long drive to my cabin. I'm suddenly fatigued and I need a warm bath and an even warmer bed.

Driving for more than 14 hours from Manhattan to Texas is definitely beginning to take its toll on me. And as soon as my body hits the bed, I fall into a fitful sleep and before long, I'm thrown into a nightmare.

The familiar darkness closes in around me, and I'm transported back to a time I'd rather forget.

I'm a child again, cowering in the corner of the kitchen with my younger brother as my father's fists rain down on my mother. Her cries echo in my head, and I feel the same helpless fear that I felt all those years ago.

I try to scream, but my voice is trapped in my throat. The scene shifts and distorts, but the sound of my mother's pain stays with me, haunting me even as I wake.

I'm covered in sweat and I try to calm my breathing, but the image of my mother's face stays fresh in my memory. And before I know it, I'm dialing my therapist's number at 3 in the morning.