Chapter 7: The hot shower water runs pink with blood as Gertie pins Serenity against the tile wall, her calloused fingers digging into tender flesh while snarling 'You think gold makes you special? I'll leave you pissing blood for months, bitch!'
The silence in the car was a physical thing, a third passenger sitting between them, heavy and suffocating. Marcus kept his eyes on the road, his jaw so tight Serenity could see the muscle twitching. She stared out her window at the passing streetlights, each one a fleeting, orange glare that illuminated the fresh blood still caked under her nails.
He pulled into their driveway and killed the engine. The sudden quiet was louder than the fight had been.
“I’m going to shower,” she said, her voice raspy. She didn’t wait for a reply, just pushed the car door open and walked toward the house, every step sending a fresh, deep ache radiating from between her legs. Gertie’s knuckle had found its mark with vicious accuracy.
The house was dark and still. She went straight to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She leaned against the sink, catching her breath in the mirror. The woman staring back was a stranger—face a mess of scratches and swelling, one eye half-closed, a dark purple bruise already blooming on her jaw. She looked used up. Hollow.
She turned on the shower, steam quickly fogging the glass and the mirror, hiding her reflection. A small mercy. She peeled off her shorts and sports bra, wincing as the fabric pulled away from dried blood and sweat. The hot water stung like a thousand needles, but she welcomed the burn. It was a clean pain, washing away the grime and the memory of Gertie’s hands on her.
She was soaping her hair, eyes closed against the shampoo, when she heard the faint creak of the bathroom door over the spray.
Her eyes snapped open.
The shower curtain was ripped back with a violent rustle.
Gertie stood there, fully dressed, her face a mask of cold fury. Water splashed off her jeans. “Think you’re clever, girl?” she hissed.
There was no time to react. Gertie’s gnarled hand shot forward, not aiming for her face, but lower, much lower, going straight for the deep, throbbing bruise between Serenity’s legs. Her fingers dug in with a savage, twisting motion.
A white-hot bolt of agony exploded through Serenity’s entire body. It was a pain so absolute, so blinding, it short-circuited her brain. She couldn’t even scream. Her legs buckled. She grabbed for Gertie’s wrist, but the older woman was impossibly strong, her grip like iron.
Gertie’s other hand clamped onto the back of Serenity’s neck, forcing her head down. “You like using tricks?” Gertie snarled, her breath hot and sour in Serenity’s ear. Then she lunged forward, teeth bared, going for Serenity’s mouth.
Serenity jerked her head to the side. Gertie’s teeth scraped against her cheek, a sharp, tearing pain. The bite wasn’t clean, but the intent was clear. This wasn’t about winning a round. This was about erasure.
The shock of the assault melted into a cold, survivalist fury. Serenity stopped trying to pry Gertie’s hand away from her bruised flesh. Instead, she drove her own thumb hard into the soft, wrinkled corner of Gertie’s eye.
Gertie grunted, her head snapping back. The pressure between Serenity’s legs lessened for a fraction of a second. It was enough.
Serenity slammed her forehead into the bridge of Gertie’s nose. There was a wet, crunching sound. Gertie stumbled back, blood immediately pouring from her nostrils, splattering dark red onto the white tiles.
They stood there, panting, chests heaving. Water from the shower rained down on both of them, diluting the blood on Gertie’s face, washing the fight from Serenity’s skin only for new violence to replace it. Gertie wiped her nose with the back of her hand, smearing the blood across her cheek. Her eyes, one already swelling shut, held a strange, almost respectful hatred.
“You’re just like me,” Gertie spat, the words thick with blood. “You just don’t know it yet.”
She turned and walked out, leaving the bathroom door swinging open.
Serenity stood under the spray, trembling violently. The hot water felt cold now. She looked down at herself. The skin where Gertie had twisted her was an angry, dark purple, a blossoming map of the violation. Her cheek stung where teeth had scraped it. She could still feel the ghost of those gnarled fingers, the imprint of that bite.
She turned off the water. The silence in the house was deafening. She wrapped a towel around herself and walked out into the hallway. Marcus was standing there, having apparently heard the commotion. He took in her shaking form, the fresh blood trickling from her cheek, the wild look in her eyes.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice low with dread.
She just shook her head, walking past him toward the bedroom. She went to her side of the bed and opened the top drawer of the nightstand. Inside, lying on a stack of old receipts, was the white envelope from Vince. The one with the offer. The one for five times the money.
She picked it up. The paper was cool and smooth in her hand.
Marcus appeared in the doorway, watching her. He didn’t say a word.
Serenity looked from the envelope in her hand to the bloody towel on the floor, to the profound, weary fear in her husband’s eyes. Gertie was right. This world didn’t allow for half-measures. You either embraced the savagery or you were consumed by it.
Her fingers tightened around the envelope. The decision was no longer about money, or the house, or even their marriage. It was simpler than that. It was about what she was willing to become to survive.
She looked at Marcus, her gaze steady for the first time all night.
“Call Vince,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake. “Tell him I’m in.”