The Book Doctor: A Psychological Thriller by Britney King

Author:Britney King [King, Britney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781393789406
Publisher: Hot Banana Press
Published: 2020-06-10T18:30:00+00:00

Eve doesn’t kill me. Not in the physical sense. She aims the gun at my chest, dead center, but forgets to chamber a round. It takes a bit of a fight, but eventually I pry it from her hands. The knife is on the floor at our feet, and in the scuffle I graze the blade, slicing into the arch of my foot. Blood smears the tile like abstract art, when all is said and done.

While I’m handling the gun, she goes for the hammer. She manages to get a few swings in, first ravaging my back, and a good one to my right shoulder. Covering my head, I push my body into hers, pinning her against the wall. I need to keep her from being able to swing.

Annoyed, or tired, or both, she drops the hammer. As it lands on my toe, Eve begins pummeling me with her hands. She beats her fists into my chest and then scratches at my face before she moves onto my hair. She grabs a fistful as I do my best to restrain her.

I have learned over the years, it’s easiest to let her get out what she can during the initial assault. Otherwise there will be a second round, which comes exactly around the time you think it’s all over.

It’s never all over, but that isn’t the point.

Taking her to the ground and pinning her there, I have to be careful. Eve, while fierce, is also tiny, and it would be easy to hurt her. One thing I cannot afford is a hospital visit. For me or for her, but especially for her, because I am an expert at explaining my injuries away, whereas Eve, more than once, in a state of mania, blamed her injuries on me. She may have multiple diagnoses, but the law is the law. Due process and a proper investigation have to take place, regardless of my wife’s mental health status.

Kneeling over her, my knees press her arms into the floor, holding her in position as I weigh my options. Her head swings from side to side, wickedly, as she screams at the top of her lungs. I cup my hand over her mouth, but it barely muffles the sound and just enrages her, adding fuel to the fire.

I could run from the house, but if left to her own devices, there’s a good chance she would harm herself or our home. As it is, I’m lucky to have woken up when I did. And even if I could escape her, where would I go? What would I come home to?

Finally, the writhing from side to side subsides and the screams quiet. It’s like a toddler throwing a tantrum—Eve has to wear herself out. I weigh my options. The wrong word or the wrong choice can send her right back into a fit.

“You’re hurting me,” she cries. “Get off!”

“I’m keeping you safe.”

“I’m not safe,” she hisses. “Nothing with you is safe.”

I remove my left knee from her arm, easing up on the weight I’m putting on her.

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