Love Is A Form Of Suicide, Jimm Tumbly [english novels for beginners TXT] 📗

corner into the kitchen and am immediately punched in the gut. I bend over, holding my stomach as he approaches me. I see anger in his eyes as he grabs a knife off of the counter and makes a jab at me. I quickly dodge it and grab his arm, throwing him forcefully to the ground. He struggles to get up as I press my foot to his chest, forcing him down. I take the knife and make a clean stab to his stomach, and another one. I cant stop as my anger unleashes.

“Brent!” I hear a screech and turn to see Victory standing in the entrance of the kitchen. I look from her horrified face to the scene in front of me. The sick freak is laying on the ground, not moving. His eyes are open and blood is all around me. It is seeping from under his shirt, out of his nose and mouth. He is dead, for sure. I drop the knife and notice the blood stained on my white shirt and my jeans. What have I done?

“Brent!” Victory says once more. I look back at her. Tears stream from her eyes like rain falling from an emerald sky. Tears fill my eyes as I stand up. I want to grab her, take her into my arms and never let go. But I'm covered in blood. She is horrified, and I don't blame her. I scare myself most of the time.

“Victory, I-I...” I stumble over words, unable to think of a rightful apology. Tears fall from my eyes as I look down at my bloody hands. “He-he hurt you.” I manage to whisper.

Surprisingly, Victory walks over to me and wraps her slender arms around me, holding me tightly.

“He did, Brent.” She replies.

“I-I was just...helping you. I didn't want him to do it again. But I couldn't stop Victory.” I break down into sobs. “I couldn't stop.” She holds me tighter as I cry on her shoulder, unable to stop the remorseful tears.

“Brent, it's okay. But we need to leave. Now, before my mom gets home.” She replies. I pull away from her.

“Your right,” I say. I look down at my bloody clothes. “I need to clean up first. Will you go to my car and grab a shirt and jeans from my bag while I wash off?” I ask. Victory nods and heads out the door. Without another glance at my bloody victim, I head to the bathroom to wash up.

I find a wash rag under the sink and begin to wash off my hands and face. Next I decide I need to get out of these clothes. I strip down to my boxers as Victory enters the bathroom.

“Here,” She says, handing me the clothes. I stare at her face and notice the shock in her eyes.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper, taking the clothes out of her hands.

“Brent I love you.” She replies softly, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub.

“And I love you too.” I kneel down in front of her place my hands on her knees.

“I am ready to leave here. To go and never look back. I don't want you to get in trouble Brent. I can't live without you.” Tears fill her eyes. I cup her cheek in my hands.

“It's going to be okay. Everything is going to be alright.” She nods slightly, leaning into my hand.

I hadn't lied when I told her everything would be alright. I am positive it will be, no matter what I have to do. We will run away together and never look back. We will raise a family and be in love. Victory is my everything and I won't lose her again.

Never Escape

*Victory's Point of View *


The image of Clark's lifeless body lying on the cold, tile floor of my kitchen replays over and over again in my mind. Brent stabbing him multiple times, blood oozing from his body and most of all, the look on Brent's angered face. I saw a side of Brent I hadn't seen since the day he...he almost died.

I shiver as the thought washes over me, causing Brent to look at me out of the corner of his eye.

“What's wrong?” He asks, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Nothing, I'm fine.” I lie perfectly. I have been without Brent for so long, I forgot he knew me well.

“Tell me, Victory.” His voice is calm but his words are demanding. I shake my head slightly.

“I'm fine. I was just...” I trail off, not sure of how he would react if I told him I was scared. Scared that he would be taken to jail, scared we would be ripped apart once more. But most of all, I was scared of what he was capable of.

Brent doesn't say anything for a few moments. He pulls into a fairly empty motel parking lot, cutting the engine. He stares out the window out into the dark night sky. His breathing slows, and everything is silent. For a moment I think he is asleep, but then he begins to talk, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Victory, I know you all to well to know what your thinking. Your scared.” He turns to face me and shock surges through my body. His face is so sad and distraught, he doesn't look like my Brent. My Brent is fearless, brave and most of all, strong. This Brent, sitting next to me in this empty parking lot, is scared, shaken, and, most of all, sad. So sad my heart breaks when I look into his dark brown eyes. So sad that when a tear escapes the brim of his eyes, I, too, cry.

I hold him for what seems like a long time, both of us crying. “Brent,” I whisper finally, “what's wrong?” He doesn't pull out of my arms.

“I-I'm scared too. I'm scared of what I have become. Back there, at your house, I killed a man. Something I never thought I would do. I stabbed him, so many times Victory. I liked the fact that he was finally dead, after what he did to you.” He sobs silently as I hold him tighter against me.

“I know Brent. I know.” We are both silent, holding on to each other like its our last thread of hope. Finally, Brent lets go of me and whips his face with the back of his hand.

“Let's go,” He says, getting out of the car. I step out of the car as he grabs our bags. We walk to the main office of the motel in search of a room.

“How may I help you?” A short man with red hair asks, not taking his eyes off of the TV set in front of him.

“We need a room for the night.” Brent says, setting the bags down and grabbing his wallet.

The man looks up at us through cracked glasses. “That will be thirty-five dollars.” Brent pulls the money out of his wallet and hands it to the strange man. The man reaches behind him, grabbing a key and hands it to Brent. “Check out is at noon.”

“Thank you.” Brent mumbles, picking up our bags. He motions for me to follow him. We walk outside in search of room 16A. It's the last door. I take the bags from Brent as he turns the key, opening the mint green door with ease. He flicks a switch and turns on the light, relieving the room.

There is one medium sized bed against the wall. Across from it is an old TV on a wooden stand. The carpet is a nasty brown and doesn't match the green comforter and curtains. I set the bags down and take a seat on the bed.

“It's not the nicest place,” Brent says, “but it will have to do for now.” He sits down next to me, kissing me softly on the lips.

“I'm just glad I'm with you.” I mumble against his lips. He smiles faintly, kissing me once more.

“Do you want to take a shower?” He asks. I nod, all of a sudden feeling really dirty. I stand up and head to the bathroom. It is very small. The floor is brown tile and the walls are a dirty white. The shower is stained and nasty. I decide to wear my flip-flops in the shower. I strip down and start the water, stepping into its warm embrace.


*Brent's Point Of View*


Victory nods, making her way towards the bathroom. Once the door shuts I lay down on the over used bed, not liking the feel of it. I close my eyes and will myself not to think. The image of the man I murdered enters my mind and my eyes snap open. Will I ever be able to rid myself of that image? Will I ever sleep again? My mind tosses as my phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket and look at the caller ID. Mom. She is probably worried. I have to tell her I'm fine. She is my mother, after all.

“Hey mom. I know you're probably freaking out by now, but I'm fine so don't worry.” I say. The voice that replies is deep and husky, full of anger and hatred.

“You wont be fine once I reach you.” He says. I grip the phone tighter, anger surging through my body.

“Where's mom?” I ask desperately.

“She's still sleeping. It is two in the morning you know. Speaking of the time, shouldn't you be here, in bed?”

“Fuck you.” I reply blandly.

“It's not nice to talk to people that way, Brent. Now listen here you little punk. I know where you are. I'm pretty sure you haven't left town yet, and there is only one place you can be. I'm coming for you, and once I get there, this is the last time you will ever leave. Got that?” I hang up the phone abruptly, not wanting to hear the rest of it.

With one good toss, my phone goes flying throw the air and hits the wall across the room. It breaks into three pieces, flinging the battery under the wooden stand holding the TV.

“Brent,” Victory calls from the shower, “are you okay?”

“I'm fine babe, just hurry up and shower.” I reply. I can't tell Victory my father is after us. That would scare her. We don't have enough money to go anywhere tonight, so we are forced to stay here until I can get to the bank tomorrow. We just have to hope he doesn't actually know where I am.

He will always know where I am, no matter how far I run. The thought enters my mind as quickly as it leaves. Dad will always search for me, and he will always succeed. I will never be able to loosen the grasp he has on me. Victory, the baby and I will never have a life of our own, not unless it's under his conditions.

There is only one way he wont be able to reach me. There is only one way that I will be able to escape from him.

The bathroom door opens and Victory steps out in nothing but a towel and flip-flops. Her hair is wet