Fury

by Fisher Amelie

  He balanced on the boundary once again, burying his face into my neck, and the restless ache that resided in my belly flamed brighter for him. He inhaled, bringing one hand up into the back of my hair, entangling his fingers in its length. He bent my head to the side for better access and I felt my knees threaten to buckle. How could he not know the power he had over me? How could he not know?

  His lips remained at my neck, idling there, successfully succeeding in tormenting me. My body begged me to reach up to him, grab his hair and bring him into me, but I dared not move an inch.

  He cleared his throat, the rumbling movement echoing against my own doling out a sweet agony. Pull the trigger, I silently begged him.

  “You-you always smell so good,” he told me, my mouth opening involuntarily at his sexy observation.

  “I do?” I asked him, my voice raspy in unexpected emotion.

  “Yes,” he answered, his lips and his voice still at the side of my throat.

  But neither of us dared to move in that ultimate cat-and-mouse game. A game I would have happily been the mouse in, the game in which I would have surrendered to him with just one word, one simple action.

  But the worst thing happened instead. Instead, he pulled back from me and smiled sweetly, piercing my heart with how handsome he was. I hated the reminder. He tortured me.

  He swallowed once more, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with the movement.

  “Should we check on them?” I asked him, desperate for a change in tone, anything to distract me from Ethan Moonsong and his obliviously punishing ways.

  He looked shocked I’d asked him that but quickly fixed his expression. “Oh-oh, yeah,” he answered me.

  We walked down the street toward the hidden passage Ethan had been shown by the trafficker and found Phong, pulling him aside near a busy food shop.

  “What’s going on?” Ethan asked him.

  “We’ve got the warrant, finally, but Detective Tran is having trouble getting men to assemble for the raid.”

  “Gosh damn it,” Ethan exclaimed. “We just cannot catch a break.”

  “Can we not just raid it without them?” I asked him.

  “Detective Tran won’t risk us getting hurt.”

  Although we’d had two successful raids since Ethan and I had come to Vietnam, we’d had seven unsuccessful raids and most of those were because they were thwarted by the traffickers’ purchased members of the police force. It was beyond frustrating and unbelievably disheartening at times.

  Just then a loud bang sounded from the short alleyway and out poured everyone inside. Young, frightened children and armed traffickers came spilling out into the street, scattering around us.

  “Someone must have tipped them off!” Detective Tran yelled to us over the screaming people clambering to get cover.

  A trafficker, recognizing Father, smiled viciously at him and began to charge at him.

  “No,” Ethan whispered, watching the man take aim with his gun.

  And then I was witness to that transformation, that quit of thought and abandonment to instinct again. Like the day Kim Banh died, something glazed over Ethan’s eyes and he lunged forward, chasing after the armed man and the child he carried, resolute in saving Father.

  As if in slow motion, I screamed, grasping at him but only catching the tip of the nón lá that laid against his back, loosening the leaf hat as it tumbled to the street. He turned toward me, his expression all mission, all duty.

  “Don’t worry, my love,” he told me softly before turning back toward his task.

  Time continued to stand still as I watched him, too mesmerized by the evolution of his movements to take cover. I followed his effortless shift of muscle and limb as he tackled the man, plucking his gun from him. Ethan spun him around while pegging him in the temple with the butt of it. Both the man and the gun fell in a heap onto the street. The girl he’d been holding screamed then ran toward Detective Tran, who was busy trying to disarm a trafficker. Father interceded just in time for the girl to avoid getting trampled by them, gathering her and two other girls who’d gotten free, taking them toward a shop, and settling them inside before running to a volunteer’s aid.

  Ethan whirled around the street, plucking up scattered traffickers with an ease I’d never seen the equal to. I knew no one would believe me if I’d told them, even if I had to recount for every movement and I could have as well. I memorized every second of that fight. How could I not? It was burned into my memory as the most insane, most harrowing thing I had ever witnessed.

  Ethan Moonsong was a born warrior.

  Ethan

  Breathe.

  Breathe.

  Breathe.

  Right. Right. Jab. Uppercut. Lay him out.

  “Run to the shop,” I told the girl I’d just saved as softly as I could. It’s a purposeful tone. One that completely negates the chaos that surrounded us, but I knew she needed some sort of stability, some sort of security, especially then, and I was determined to start at that moment despite her very fresh, very raw past. I was determined for her to begin the wretched forget. And as soon as possible.

  She nodded just as softly and ran toward the shop I pointed toward.

  Breathe.

  Breathe.

  Breathe.

  A man charged me but I twisted away from him then threw my elbow into the back of his neck. He stumbled forward and fell face-first into the cement. I flipped him over before raining down a fist into his face, knocking him out cold.

  I stood, scanning my immediate horizon, memorizing the positions of every man I wanted stopped and swiftly decided the best route to finish them off as efficiently as possible. Two at nine o’clock fighting Detective Tran, one at twelve, one at two o’clock fighting Phong, and two men held Father’s arms while the guy who tried to sell the girls to me punched at his gut and face. Seven men total. Five armed. I smiled to myself.

  Pouncing on Father’s attackers, kicking the solicitor’s legs out from underneath him, I took them all by surprise. The men holding Father’s arms dropped him at once and were on me but it was already too late. I ran my elbow into the one at my right’s face, felling him where he stood. The puncher gained footing. Before the one on my left could reach me, I grabbed at him, swinging him into my chest to protect me from the knife the puncher was swinging my direction. A blood-curdling scream came from the man’s throat as the knife entered his chest. The puncher’s eyes bulged and he hesitated. Mistake. I popped the knife from his hand with one brisk movement and smiled, making the panic wear all over his face in awareness. I threw the hardest part of my skull into his face and the man sagged onto the street in one limp drop. I noted that Father was unconscious amongst the heap, but I knew I needed to come back.

  Two o’clock was easy work as Phong distracted him. So was twelve. The two at nine o’clock saw me coming, stopped fighting Tran, and ran. And just like that, it was over.

  Adrenaline took over and my immediate thought was Fin. I scanned the street and saw her staring at me, her mouth agape, her chest working furiously for air.

  Are you okay? I mouthed.

  She swallowed and nodded.

  “Get them out of here!” Tran yelled at my left. I looked on him. His eyes were wide and desperate. “Police are coming and I won’t have any of you here! Leave this instant!”

  The adrenaline kicked into high gear and I pulled Father up and threw him over my shoulder, tossing his cane at Phong’s feet. He picked it up and I ran with Father to Fin, grabbing her hand and running flat-out for several blocks, Phong just behind us until we reached the tea shop.

  I ducked into An’s and she screamed at the sight of us.

  “It’s okay,” Phong yelled her way. “We’re just running from a little danger,” he downplayed.

  I set Father on the most comfortable seat I could find, a little upholstered arm chair. He was still unconscious. An and her father ran to us, towels in their hands. An started administering to Father but briefly looked at me. He
r eyes narrowed. She tossed me a towel then turned back to Father.

  I picked the towel off the floor, eyeing it.

  “Here,” Fin said, reaching for it. Her hands were trembling as she fisted her fingers around it.

  “Are you all right?” I asked her, closing the distance between us. I loomed over her, my height further accentuating the juxtaposition between my size and hers. Her eyes bulged and she began trembling harder. “Do I scare you?” I asked gently. My hands longed to reach for her, envelop her, but I tucked them at my sides instead, clenching my fists.

  “N-no,” she stammered, her stutter contradicting her answer.

  I didn’t want to scare Finley but I had no idea what to say to her. Suddenly I was aware of every move I’d made in front of her, every block, every punch, every dodge, every violent move.

  “I’m sorry,” I told her.

  “For what?” she whispered, her trembling hand swiping the towel across the bloody knuckles I just became aware of.

  “Excuse me,” I told her quietly.

  I left her there, standing with her frightened stare, and walked toward the restroom. I punched through the swinging door and found my reflection in the mirror.

  I was a bloody mess. Literally and figuratively. My right eye was swollen, the light grey color of my left looked a darker grey probably, I thought, from the adrenaline. The ivory of my skin was marred with splatters of my own blood mixed with so many others. I turned the water on, pouring it over the skin of my arms, hands, neck, and face. My hair had fallen out of its wrap and fell into the sink. I stood up and pulled it back again. I bent and scrubbed my sensitive face with soap and when I felt it was clean, I stood and took myself in all at once. Free of blood, I noticed that my right eye was swelling shut, my lip was fat with a split, and I was already sporting a pretty deep bruise across my left cheekbone.

  But at least you’re not covered in blood.

  I came back out to a conscious Father and was happy I’d cleaned myself up.

  “Ach! Lad! Ya look like ya been dragged ’cross a grate, ya have. That angelic face marred. Ach! Sister will never let ya back out now. What made ya do it, son?”

  “I wasn’t going to let them kill you, Father.”

  He shook his head. “Well, I canna thank ya ’nough, lad. Ya saved me loife.”

  “I would do it a hundred times over,” I told him. “I would do it for anyone.”

  “I’m startin’ ta see that,” he said, smiling but it pained him and his usual happy grin fell.

  “We’re ta go back to the house now, boyo. Not a word of this ta Sister ’til morn. No sense worryin’ her.”

  I nodded.

  We thanked An and her father. He still eyed me with obvious contempt but I’d found I didn’t care anymore. My mind was occupied elsewhere.

  I watched Fin, memorized her every movement, scrutinized her reactions to me.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she told me as she climbed on to the back of the scooter. I averted my gaze and closed my eyes in the pain her fear brought me.

  Her hands quivered against my stomach as they wrapped around my sides. I dared not touch her. I knew I’d only scare her more. Please don’t hate me, Fin, I silently begged her. Be soft with her, I ordered myself. I kept quiet on the way back to Slánaigh, careful not to make any sudden movements, and when we pulled across the loose shell drive and parked the scooter, I let her get off at her own pace even though my hands longed to help her off, to give myself that shot of relief her skin always gave me. It wasn’t about me, though. If I was honest with myself, I was scared my touch no longer helped her in the same way. I was frightened, in fact, that my touch did the exact opposite. I didn’t want to find out if I’d shattered that glass remedy, delicate in its nature yet had held us up so well thus far. I didn’t want to hear the splinter, the tinkling fractured pieces as they cut me on their way back down to the earth.

  “I’m to bed, ye’ two. Tran’ll be bringin’ those girls Ethan saved in the mornin’. I’ll need the rest ta help Sister and Dr. Nguyen,” Father told us, leaving us behind on the shell drive.

  I stood from the bike a few feet in front of Finley. The cool breeze from the ocean swept past us and back again, our hair and clothing shifting as it did so. We breathed. We studied one another. We did nothing else. My heart began to race harder and harder as the time passed on. I silently begged her to say something, anything, but she was deadly quiet, making me nervous. Her eyes followed the lines of my body down from my face to my T-shirt. She winced at the sight of the blood on my shirt. I tore it off without thinking, tossing it to the side.

  “Better?” I asked softly. She closed her eyes briefly then met my own, nodding once. “Are you afraid of me, Fin?”

  “A—” she began but her voice cracked. She cleared it. “A little,” she admitted with a slight smile.

  Her confession sent my heart into my throat. “That devastates me,” I declared, meaning it.

  “Why?” she asked, her head tilted to the side, as if she could have gleaned it from me with the gesture alone.

  “Because I want you to be able to run to me without thought,” I admitted, a memory of my past reeling up with a vengeance then settling back down into oblivion. “I want no hesitation from you. It pains me to know that I frighten you.”

  She swallowed, bit her bottom lip once, then said quietly, “You’ve always frightened me, Ethan.”

  That statement hung in the air a moment before it circulated around me, settled on my skin, stinging me.

  She walked away from me but not toward the staircase as I had expected. When her foot hit the sandy path that led through the dense brush, trees, and the beach, she abandoned her flip-flops as she always did. I followed her hesitantly at first but picked up my pace when I lost her in the trees.

  When I emerged from the canopy of trees, I found her as I had that night by the lake. The night that felt like a million years ago. The night she’d told me of her tragic birthday. The night she’d hugged herself, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.

  I chose a spot next to her but a few feet to her right.

  “I’ve always frightened you?” I asked her, guarded.

  She turned her face toward me, her arms still wrapped around herself. That same bay breeze blew her hair around her face. “Always,” she confirmed. My shoulders sagged, unwilling to bear any more of her truths. “But not in the way you might think,” she whispered, shocking me.

  “How?” I whispered back, edging slowly, painfully slowly her direction half a step in anticipation of I didn’t know what.

  She looked out into the vast, dark cove. “You represent suffering to me, Ethan.”

  “Why?” I begged her softly, taking another easy, heavy step toward her.

  “You are the one I cannot ever have,” she began, and my mouth went dry. “You are the untouchable one for me, and I hate it.” I eased ever closer, not even realizing in that moment I had been moving. “I have pride, Ethan,” she continued, “and I’m not one to want, to-to seek after, to crave without equal return. I want—no, deserve to be loved and wanted with the same ferocity. I know you want to stay friends,” she said, making my chest burn. I could not believe this woman, this incredible woman, wanted me as much as I wanted her. “I can do that. I really can,” she explained to me, unaware how badly I was fighting the need to stop her lips with my own, but I dared not stop her, not when she so obviously had so much to say. “I don’t think I will ever get over you, not really. I know how pathetic that makes me look, but I am such the perfect combination of vulnerable and raw right now that all my secrets are spilling out of me without a thought as to the damage they may cause. It feels good to tell you anyway,” she confessed. “Maybe this will help me build that envied effortless barrier I’ve strived so tirelessly to keep up these past few months.” She turned toward me. “So to truthfully answer your earlier question, I was frightened for you, not of you, and though the way you handled yourself with those men w
as daunting and, to be honest, dangerously enthralling, I was more intimidated than afraid. So yes, I’m more frightened of you now than I ever have been,” she confided.

  She stopped talking, content she’d said all she needed to say, I assumed. Her eyes rose to meet the blue moon above us. She didn’t appear to have regretted divulging her secret, which bolstered me.

  I stepped nearer yet again. There was only a foot between us. I stared up at her moon. Her moon, because I decided then that it belonged to her with its beautiful flaws and its peaceful light. The moon and Finley were synonymous.

  And I leapt.

  I cleared my throat, trying to swallow down my heart. It beat so quickly, I was convinced it was going to burst from my chest. “I-Finley?”

  “Hmm?” she asked with such an unconcerned air I felt my confidence falter.

  Do it.

  “Do you know how often I prayed that Cricket would have changed her mind and come back to me?” A pained expression flitted across her face and it wounded me knowing I put it there. “Just hear me, Finley.” She looked at me and nodded, giving in to my request with her usual sweet generosity, despite the cost to herself. “So often. Daily, hourly, sometimes by the minute. It became my obsession. I was begging God to give her back, begging Him. I just wanted my world to become normal once again. I wanted my stability back.” She nodded. “But He refused the obsessive request…and now I cannot thank Him enough, Fin.” Her hands fell to her side and she turned toward me, curiosity filling her face. “Fin,” I spoke her name softly, making her eyes turn glassy. I took her hand and that soothing warmth crept up my arm and I sighed my finally as always, but this time where she could hear it. A tear rolled down her cheek at my declaration. “Fin,” I said again, “I can’t say that life would have been as it was meant to be if we’d chosen to be with each other back then. I’d like to think we would have done well with one another, but I don’t think we would have. No, in fact, I think we would have eaten one another alive. We needed too much then. You needed security I couldn’t give, and I needed a mother you couldn’t be. It’s why I struck out to find someone to take care of me. I’m happy to have been blind to what you are then only because I couldn’t have been what you deserved. We would have been each other’s crutches. That’s not what a love like this is meant for, Fin. Not the kind of love I feel for you right now.