Plugged

Saving yourself is the first step towards a new life: the ability to know when and who to destroy, to choose yourself over their will to live, and by doing so casting a shadow, dominating them and your fears.

They were their own savior—of broken promises, of goals not met, of love long lost.

‘Piano Love’ by Conway the Machine played in the background.

Bleeding, he reached for a crumpled towel with his left arm as his right hand pressed against the gash in his ribs.

Then—two detonations went off somewhere behind him.

A woman’s scream, and then a loud thud.

You thought you’d get away with it, huh motherfucker?

The woman continued wailing. Breathless.

His ears rang with a sharp hum. Jordan Breds drenched in blood. A haze of light smoke filled the air.

She gave a feral scream. Standing at attention like a soldier, shrugging the blood off her mouth with her hand.

Bitch, the fu—

The armed man felt his front teeth give in—crunching like hard candy—as The Woman’s elbow cracked his face.

The Wounded staggered, shoulder glued to the wall, smearing a crimson trail down the hallway of the high-ceiling penthouse.

The tv was playing Belly for the furniture. A man hid behind the couch.

Back in the room, the Armed Man struggled to stand his ground against The Woman as they both slipped on the blood-soaked floor.

Fucking, die! Die!

The Armed Man covered as much as he could, forgetting the Glock 40 in his hand.

On the floor, just steps away from their violent dance, lay a man with his face blown. His skull bits littered the floor. A bottle of lube grasped between his dead fingers. No clothes. Hard as bone. They call it ‘angel lust’.

The Armed Man, growing desperate, swings a heavy left hand. He loses balance.

The Woman weaves, evading the hit. She capitalizes on the slip, wrapping her arm around his head, leveraging her hips under his, she pivots—one swift motion—smashing the Armed Man into the ground.

As she takes his gun—her foot slips. Blood. She falls on her back. Head smacks concrete. She blacks out.

The Wounded Man has made his way into the kitchen. He stumbles up to the white Italian marble island. Eight duffle bags sit on top. Some have weapons, others, money. And there, next to the money, a blonde afro wig.

He looks at the wound. Blood gushes out. Snatches the wig and presses it against the open gash. The curls soak up the red like a sponge.

---

‘Lock Load’ by Conway the Machine feat Beanie Sigel starts to play.

His vision blurs for a moment.

Booze… need some booze.

Looking around, he spots a mini bar at the other extreme of the island. Grabs a bottle of Pappy from the top shelf. Opens it—takes a swig. Pours some on his gash. It fizzles.

Fuck this shit.

Unzipping one of the duffles, his fingers grip around an FN. Then, reaches for a drawer and yanks a wooden-handle stainless steel hamburger flipper.

Walks to the gas range. Clicks a burner on.

He then places the burger flipper over the flame. Watching it darken.

Waits.

The heat crawls. Creeping along the metal.

Almost.

‘Lock Load’ by Conway the Machine feat Beanie Sigel rumbles through the penthouse. And the Disarmed Man’s maniacal laughter echoes and melds with the music.

Yeah, I got the china—says the Disarmed Man into the phone—yeah, got her too.

Bitch knocked my teeth out.

Ha-ha—fuck you.

She fucking blew his brains out—and almost gets me too!

Im telling you, she’s crazy.

He grins, sliding his tongue in the fresh bloody grooves in his gums.

Let me do her.

Cracking sounds start to thunder inside the penthouse. Bullets go through everything in their path. They echo down the bloodied hallway.

Don’t worry about it.

The Disarmed Man hangs up.

Ya’ll were bout to get freaky, huh?—he mutters, plucking the bloodied cuffs on the floor and putting them on the Woman. He takes the gun from her.

A burst of about 15 bullets pierced through the room door.

Ayo, lil bitch! I have more where that came from! Ha-ha! Imma let em fly!—yelled the Wounded Man.

The FN spits fire in rapid succession as the Wounded Man pushes down the bloodied path marked by himself.

The Woman lay on the bloodied floor not too far from the Man with the face Gone. She’s wearing a small lace dress. One heel on.

Dawg, chill!—said the now Armed Man —I got it now—I spazzed out!

Ion-giva-fuck! Imma work you out! On my son—yelled back the Raging Man.

Leave the Woman in the room, and step the fuck out!

Now, why would I do something as stupid as that?

Throw a foot in the boat, bitch! Let’s see what belt got more leather—barked the Raging Man in a defiant tone.

You know she’s leaving with me, sato, stop the shit.

Light haze, and dust from the walls, and the granite floors, and the way the gunpowder smelled made the men hungry for more.

You aint gonn let me speak my piece, huh?

Not a move. Not a sound. Both men stood.

The Woman came to be. Head bumping. Eyes adjusting to the light. No face lay next to her. The Armed Man noticed her. So, you decided to join us.

Finally.

He gets close to her. Wraps his hand around her hair and yanks her up.

You know I could do you right now if I wanted to, right?—whispered the Armed Rat.

Yo’, sato. Come on, sato—throwing the woman against the wall with a one hand push. I’m outta corn—

Tighten them cheeks up then, boy, I’m not the dummy that left the feed on top of the kitchen counter, the fuck.

Sato, I just gave ya a lil poke, like. Think ‘bout it, I wanted you dead you’d be dead, sato!

The Raging Man had a blunt rolled on his ear. He took it. Sparked it.

‘Stepping Out’ by Steel Pulse starts to play.

Come on Indio, Imma come out, sato. Just chill, lemme spark some trees up. Lets talk.

Now you wanna talk, sato?

Yeah, bro, come on—as he stepped out.

And—says Indio as he squeezed the trigger—left the roof off!

The top of the Rat’s head shaved off.

Indio walked over to the body and said: Beef squashed, sato. I got you next, baby girl. Haven’t forgotten ’bout you—he yelled.

Let me change the music first.

Back in the room, the Woman was covered in not her blood. Made her fall once. Slippery. Her hands. The cuffs. The blood, the hands, the cuffs.

Wiggled one hand out—

wiggled the other.

Free.

There we go—Indio celebrated outside the room.

Connected to iPhone Big Papi

‘Scatter Brain’ by Conway the Machine feat Ludacris & JID starts playing.

From side to side the Woman looked around her. Studying the field. Man, face gone, lube, blood, no gun in sight. The Heel.

It’s been a long fucking day, Imma tell ya that—spoke Indio as he took his time to walk towards the room his prey was in.

You know he’s gonna do the same shit to you, sato. I mean, what the fuck, he got you poked in the middle of the job?—she voiced out.

The words lodged in the man’s head, waiting to fester.

In the living room, still hid a man whose plan wasn’t fixed. It swayed along the power dynamics in the penthouse. He was disarmed. Knew Indio, not personally, but had heard about him. The type of shit that makes you not want to fuck with him. On the other hand, they wanted him gone. Maybe that’s what he needed to do. Kill Indio, bring in the Woman. A gift, and that would get him in their good graces, and he’d then get noticed, and get a woman, and the respect his never had. Didn’t take Miss Cleo to know he’s a loser, but he still entertained the thought.

Indio now stared at the Rat’s body. Wig off—how they call it. His brain soup spilled, splattered across the floor in a thick caramel like pool of grey matter, and human juice. Still puffing on the blunt—‘Competencia’ by Myke Towers started to play.

Inside the room, the Woman was far from tense. Meters away from the corpse of the man she loved. His blood freed her. She was covered in it. Surprising how he kept hard. Still. Heel in hand she looked over the other side of the room, where the closet and bedroom bathroom were. That’s where the other heel was at. Where it all started. When the man still had a head, and when her dress gave way for her underwear away, and when the lube was used, and when they were interrupted by two men.

Shit…—Indio said under his breath. Body at his feet. FN, lever on Burst. Switched to Full-Auto.

I aint leaving empty handed.

We can work something out, answered the Woman back. She stepped towards the door, and came out, and the top of her aggressor’s head was opened, and the way the liquid had made its way looked like a waterfall nestled between two slate-rocks.

Her eyes followed the corpse, and met Indio’s.

From behind the couch, a man sprinted towards the kitchen.

The Woman caught notice.

Indio now knows, and spins around,—-TRRRRAAA—and lets the bullets fly. They ripped bits of flesh, and one shot hit a cervical, and he fell without being able to feel anything, still alive.

The Woman lunged herself and swung the heel at Indio, whose clip was now empty. Stabbing him on his shoulder. He reacted by swinging the butt of the rifle back at Her, busting her eyebrow, sending her to the floor. Hands touch the ground, as soon as she falls—she springs back up throwing a right hand that Indio avoids by taking one step to the left and once again used the rifle butt to hit back. She grabs it with her left hand, and punches him in the neck with a right hook.

As he tries to keep up, Indio notices the blood loss took its toll. The high he was riding on, that senseless satisfaction, of getting to work the Rat that tried to off him. As his falling to the ground he sees—

The Woman continued her barrage of hits as Indio falls, jumping on top of him, screaming—all her frustrations, her pain, the humiliation being channeled in every blow—manically.

He took everything she had to give.

And in one split of a second that took the Woman to land her fist on Indio’s face, he grabbed her left arm, and pulled her in, and clamped his teeth on her face. Ripping.

As she screamed, she scratched, she pinched. He didn’t let go of her cheek.

In desperation, she reached back—you like that? her man asked in her memory—took her plug out, and in a violent motion she jammed it into Indio’s face rendering him unconscious or dead.

She bled, her face broken. Her vision started to fade.

Her breath got slower. And with one breath, she slept.