Axe to Grind

He sat on a wooden chair directly across from her; the candle light flickered in the reflection of his blue eyes; his index finger ran back and forth slowly along the blade of the axe in his hands. His back was hunched, his long dirty black hair hung limply down the sides of his face, there were smudges on his cheeks left from weeks of shower-less existence. His clothes rank of smoke and alcohol; he had all but forgotten that he was human.

All that consumed him were those memories.

She woke up and was met with darkness; her arms were bound behind her back, the rope indenting deep red marks into her skin. Her throat was dry, her chest heaved trying to fill with breath, but the material gagging her mouth keep her lungs near empty. She could smell the iron essence of blood, her head lolled back; her memory failed her.

Where was she.

He watched from the shadows in the corner now, the confusion, the fear; it thrilled him, the ecstasy of her predicament sent goose bumps over his skin. He controlled his breath. She was about to get what she deserved and he was going to deliver her sentence.

She would feel his pain.

Her senses slowly came back to her; the fog cleared from her sore eyes; her ears picked up the sound of a steady drip; her skin crawled at the cold moist atmosphere. Still her memory failed her. She let her head drop forward, every muscle inside her ached, the palms of her hands stung like they once had many years ago as a child falling on concrete. She coughed into the gag, she could taste the soiled fabric in her mouth; she wondered where it was from; she wondered who had put it there.

She wondered what was going to happen.

He tightened his grip around the smooth wood, his free hand reached out to the wall; he froze. He watched her for another moment, cough, choke; afraid for her life. His finger felt for the switch; he flicked it. The fluorescent light flashed, one, two, three times.

He didn’t blink; she closed her eyes and shook her head.

He stepped out of the corner, his bare feet trod on the damp floor; the slapping sound caught her attention. She looked up towards him squinting; he let no emotion escape his features. He came within a metre of her and stopped; her eyes widened in shock, she couldn’t speak his name.

They both silently acknowledged the other.

He spun the axe in his hands, his intentions now clear; she shook her head, tears welled up in her eyes. He licked his lips ever so purposely and swung the axe forward, it landed between her legs at her feet; she jumped, cringing. He had no intentions of getting this over quickly; she prayed he would change his mind. He walked around her and untied her gag, his fingers shaking just slightly; she took a few gasps of breath.

The last conversation they would ever have.

He threw the gag on the floor and walked around her once more; she watched him stop in front of her and stare. He reached into his pocket and drew out a gold band, a single diamond encrusted in the center. He held it up before his eyes and stared at it unfilled; it no longer held the same value it once did. She watched him through her tear stained eyes; she knew whose ring that was; she knew the intention it once bought.

She knew that it should be on her finger right now.

He closed his palm tightly around it and turned his hand over; they both watched his fingers uncurl. It fell to the ground in slow motion and with each loud clang that it made on the cement, a louder more painful thump revibrated through each of them.

That was everything they once had falling away.

He stared at the ring on the ground, lying in a pool of leaking drain water; his insides ached.

He walked into the white marbled lined shop, the glass doors automatically rotated with his entrance. He stood, out of place, in the middle of the store; around him were glass benches filled with the kind of luxuries most women can only dream about. He tucked his hair nervously behind his ear and walked forward to the closest assistant who smiled warmly at him.

“How may I help you sir?” she asked politely, he was sure that she would have turned her nose up at him if he had come in here without a security guard tagging along behind. Security said importance. Importance said he had the money to afford their ridiculous prices.

“I’m looking for an engagement ring,” he said, she nodded and extended her arm gracefully out to the right.

“Just over here sir, were you after anything in particular?” she asked as he followed her down to the other end of the shop. He shook his head and looked into the cabinet she had stopped in front of; everything looked the same to him.

“Would you recommend anything?” he questioned, all he wanted was a ring so he could do the one thing he had been holding off on. But he was sure this time, she was the one, they were going to spend the rest of their lives together; they would have a family with kids and a cat. And then one day they would maybe have one of those joint graves.

“I personally adore this one,” the assistant said, he peered over the counter as she drew out the biggest most ghastly ring he had ever seen; you could spend your life counting the diamonds on the thing.

“Er, I was thinking something simpler,” he replied, she nodded curtly and put the ring back in the window before drawing out anther one. The new one was a simple gold band with a small diamond pushed into the center – not one of those ones that stuck out and got caught on everything. The moment he saw it he knew, it screamed her name; he could picture everything, from the moment he bent down to propose to the moment they said I do.

“I’ll take it,” he said.

His lip curled upwards, he sniffed. She tried to speak his name, but no words passed through her chapped lips. He turned his back on her, walking over to the wall he stopped in front of a work bench. His eyes scanned the scattered objects on top; he brushed his finger tips lovingly over them. She felt drowsy, weak; the blood loss and hours of lost reality began to affect her.

She didn’t have a hope.

His eyes glinted madly in the artificial light, his hand brushed ever so delicately over a kitchen knife; his heart raced with excitement. She watched him take the stained silver into his grasp, turn around; snarl silently. Terror bathed her. He walked forward, knife positioned steadily by his side; he paused, fell to his knees.

He wept.

Her insides shattered into a million pieces; guilt, sorrow. She called out to him, but like those nightmares where you’re trying to run but aren’t getting anywhere, no sound came out. The blade scraped across the uneven floor, he held it up before him; pointed in her direction. She took in his eyes, mesmerized; they shone brightly from the tears. He was so fragile, a porcelain figurine balancing on the edge of a cliff.

She had moulded him.

He said goodbye to his friends, his band mates – they wished him well knowing of his intentions. The taxi tore quickly through the streets of Des Moines, a surreal blur of colours in the back of his mind; his focus was set to the future. They pulled up in front of his familiar house, a home he rarely spent much time in – it was more like an overpriced hotel room to his world. Paying the fare, pulling his luggage from the boot; he walked nervously up the path, front door in sight.

He knocked loudly on the ebony wood, a surprise his presence intended to be; a surprise was sure to be in store. He waited, knocked again, waited. He resigned himself to her absence; digging around through his suitcase he found his key chain and opened the door. The smell of home hit him, he smiled; happy, excited. His luggage was left in the hallway; he walked through to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, content. He stared around the room, old boxes of Chinese food lay forgotten on the table, the sink was piled with dishes; he wondered what she’d been up to.

That was when he had heard it; the unmistaken moan, another in unison. He put down the glass, his heart raced; he headed up the staircase. The bedroom door was closed, the sound came from behind. He felt sick, unnerved; disbelieving what he heard. His hand clasped the handle, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to look; but he had to know.

There she was, her bare legs wrapped around another man; not him. He froze, horrified; was he dreaming, was this a nightmare? Was the apprehension of the proposal creating false realities?

No, this was real – the look on her face was real; shock, she hadn’t countered on been caught.

He screamed.

Her chair moved back with her frightened jump; he curled over, rocking back and forth. If she could speak no words would help them now; he sniffed, shaking his head repeatedly, forgetting the memories. His chest heaved heavily; he looked up; eyes rolling into the back of his head. The knife shook unsteadily in his grip; he pulled up his sleeves with his free hand. She gasped hoarsely at the site; tracks ran up and down his flaking skin, they were recent.

She felt sick.

He took the knife to his skin; a single fearful squeak fell from her lips. He slid the shining metal gracefully down his arm; she closed her eyes and turned away, incapable of watching the blood drip.

“Don’t,” she managed to choke out; the knife fell to the floor beside the ring. An almost artistic swirl of red decorated the silver. He drew his gaze up, a sick chuckle emitted from somewhere deep inside.

“You don’t mind causing pain as long as you don’t have to deal with it,” he whispered ruthlessly. She shook her head, eyes still shut; he hissed.

“I didn’t mean it,” she pleaded quietly; her voice scratchy and uneven. He was mad, rage flooded his system. He picked himself up from the floor, bringing the knife with him; he raced forward; left hand reaching, grabbing a handful of her hair. Her head yanked backwards; he pressed the blade to her throat.

“You’re legs don’t open by themselves,” he seethed, gritting his teeth. She pressed herself into the back of the chair, trying uselessly to get away from his wrath.

“Don’t hurt me,” she cried, he pulled the blade away and slapped her.

“Don’t hurt you?!” he shouted incredulously.

She screamed his name over and over again from the front garden; he covered his ears and rocked; the tainted bed was in his sight mocking him. He had no concept of time, he couldn’t remember what sleep was; the toxins ensured he stayed awake. Breathing. His nails dug deep into his face, the pain was all but a dull thud compared to the heartbreak that ripped him in two.

There was a thick fog blanketing his vision, he could not comprehend, he could not understand; the world didn’t make sense. His existence was questionable, life was unattainable; death was a fruitless search in the darkness. Her face taunted him; his touch could only remember the shape of her body; her flawless curves; her soft lips. Who was this queen? Who was this deity? Why should she be so perfect, why should he be so flawed?

He convulsed in agony, his muscles shrieked; he had lost all control. Where had his soul gone? Had it abandoned him like everything else? It wasn’t meant to be like this; reality had been flipped. Did love exist? What was love? Love was the ache inside, that’s all he could put to the word; his love, his true love had sculpted this emotion; cutting, tearing through his insides in the name of devotion.

He leant forward, his nose found the white trail that lined the table. He sniffed. His eyes stung; they burnt like he had bathed them in peroxide. He fell to his side, drawing himself into a foetal position. He shook. He rocked. His lips found the rim of the bottle; he drank deeply.

Nothing was going to make this better; nothing was going to make this go away.

“Don’t hurt you,” he whispered, a tear fell down his cheek; it splattered, disappearing in the puddle by his feet. “You can’t possibly ever know what it means to hurt.”

She frowned, for a fleeting moment she wished she could feel the hurt he did; just to take it away from him. He closed his eyes, composing himself; he swayed on the balls of his feet. He adjusted his grip on the hilt; fury came back again; the demon soaked his depths.

“I’m going to try though,” he murmured. Her eyes popped; he stalked forward, pushing her legs together he sat on her thighs; their faces inches apart. She squirmed, the bounds around her hands chaffing her skin; she had no pulse, her heart a perpetual freeze frame. He grabbed her shirt; the buttons popped easily exposing her bare chest.

“Joey don’t!” she gasped; it was an unheeded plea. He pressed the point of the blade above her left breast; it twisted in his fingers. She hissed; he smirked, pressing harder; her skin broke, blood trickled down. She tried to move away, he grabbed her neck; holding it in place.

“I’m sure I won’t find a heart in you, but on the chance there is one I don’t think you deserve it,” he said; his grip tightened around her neck; pushing in her airways, she couldn’t respond. This was it, the moment all his anguish had built up too. Revenge; Redemption.

His hand trembled.

The basement door suddenly burst open; his head spun around, knife and arms falling to his lap. In the doorway stood his nephew, confusion spread across the boys face. They stared at each other, blue eyes on blue eyes; role model on prodigy.

He rang the doorbell, tapping his foot impatiently on the worn welcome mat. The door was answered quickly, he found himself been pulled into warm hug. He smiled and wrapped his arms around his youngest sister, the one he had always been the most protective of. They pulled back from each other; she grabbed his hand and tugged for him to follow her.

“You have to see this,” she whispered. He titled his head but followed her into the house; they made their way upstairs; stopping in front of a colourfully decorated door. He let go of her hand and leant his ear against the wood, from inside he could hear what sounded like drums been randomly banged on. “Have a look,” she encouraged quietly.

He turned the doorhandle slowly, inching the door open; he poked his head in just enough so he could see inside. His heart lurched; he caught the sight of his nephew sitting at a miniature kit hitting away happily, a replica of Joey’s mask covering his face. Joey felt his eyes tear up, a warm feeling washed over him; it was the most astounding thing he had ever seen.

He stood, stumbling backwards; the room quaked around him, suddenly he was confused too. He looked over at her, she was fighting for breath; chest leaking red residue. He hit the bench, collapsed to the floor; ran his fingers stressfully through his hair.

Love?

Love wasn’t the monstrosity in the chair across the room. Love wasn’t the ring on the floor. Love wasn’t the scene he had walked into.

Love was family; it was the people who actually cared about him. Love was teaching his nephew the drums. Love was a guitar riff, a song lyric; the fans who came to every show.

He felt human, he felt the need to shower, the want of sleep. He looked over to his nephew who stared at him, his naivety the only thing saving him from realising what he had just walked into. Joey stood, his knees wobbled; he stabled himself on the bench. He drew in a deep breath, a new breath; he felt different, the fog had lifted. He stumbled over to his waiting nephew, wrapping his arms around him tightly; thankfully.

He turned his head, she looked tiredly back at him; he licked his lips.

“Fuck you Abby Franklin,” he said. The door slammed behind him.