Page 1 of Reckoning

Sofia

Ishouldn’t be here. That’s the thought that keeps echoing in my head.

That I have to stop. That I need to stop.

Turnaround, Sofia. Turnaround you utter fool.

Only I don’t. I just keep my pace, creeping through the darkness like I’m some sort of avenging angel.

But that’s not what I am, is it?

I’m not anything remotely close to angelic anymore. Not after what they did to me. Not after what they put me through. I used to be a good person, kind, considerate, despite how my family and I suffered, I still believed that the world was a good place.

And then Otto Montague happened.

I grit my teeth, burying the wave of emotion that rises up at the mere thought of that man’s name.

Ahead a street lamp flickers. I pause, watching as my would-be target comes to a stop and I press myself flat against the damp brick of a building.

I had to take this chance. I didn’t know when I would see the bastard again. If I would see him. I didn’t even know his name, we’d never been introduced. After all, who makes introductions in the kind of situation I was forced in?

No, I wasn’t going to let him slip through my fingers. Wasn’t going to let him continue to live his life like none of it happened.

As soon as he starts moving, so do I.

Around the corner, into the yard of some construction company.

It’s hard not to smile. It’s hard not to let out a laugh because I couldn’t have picked a more perfect place if I tried. It’s away from the street. Away from any would be bystanders or witnesses.

I grip the knife firmer in my hand. My eyes fixed on him. One firm strike will be enough to bring him under my control and after that I can take my sweet time. The way he did with me. The way he brutalised and tortured my drug addled body as my monster of a husband stood by and laughed.

I take a bigger step. Then another closing the distance. Just as I get within striking distance he turns and our eyes connect.

He must recognise me. He must.

Only he doesn’t speak. He just stares at me, running his eyes over my body before fixing on the blade.

Footsteps echo behind me. I drop my focus on the man in front for a millisecond and someone behind me laughs.

“Did you come for another round?” The man in front taunts. “Drop the knife and we’ll all have some more fun.”

“Fuck you.” I spit, raising it instantly, pointing it right at his face.

They both laugh. The one behind stepping closer, making this feel like this was all done as a set up. That they knew.

My heart rate turns erratic. Sweat starts to moisten my palms and it feels like the handle of the knife is suddenly so slick.

I’ve lost the element of surprise. I’ve probably lost this entire fight and I know it’s not going to end well but then, it never has for me, has it?

I charge, without hesitating. If I can gut one of them, kill one of them, just do something before I once again lose then maybe this might ease the incessant, continuous, all-consuming pain inside me.

Maybe it might make the voice in my head shut up.

Maybe, just maybe I might be able to look at myself in a mirror and not feel disgusted with what I see.

The man’s eyes widen. He makes a grab for my wrist and I knee him in the balls before jabbing wildly with the knife. The other man grabs me, trying to pull me back but I’m manic now, feral. I lash out, I thrash in their arms, slicing the blade through the air not caring where I cut, where I hurt, just as long as I make contact.

And I do.