Breakdown by Sarah Mussi

his little hand. ‘Lenny,’ I say. ‘Sometimes we have to do things. You just stand over there and don’t look.’ I brace myself for the punch. ‘Come on,’ I say, ‘I get it. We don’t have long. Let him see me bruised and bleeding.’
    â€˜Not like that,’ hisses Tarquin. ‘We gotta time him, so he’ll think he can get in and stop me and save his own neck. Len, you stand there where he’ll think he can grab you. Twist your arm like before.’
    Tremblingly Lenny obeys.
    â€˜And I’ll hit you first, where he’ll think it won’t show.’ Gently Tarquin touches the crown of my head. ‘Then your nose. Not too hard – enough to make it bleed. Sight of blood will fetch him.’
    Tarquin steps up close, balls his fist, draws his arm back, screws his face up, concentrates as if punching me will hurt him too.
    And we wait, poised in some strange tableau, hearts racing, until we hear footsteps.
    â€˜Now,’ says Tarquin. ‘Start screaming.’
    Immediately we hear Nailey coming, Tarquin bursts into insults again. Vindictive. Vicious.
    I scream. The footsteps quicken. My heart pounds. Lenny sobs.
    â€˜
HELP!
’ I scream. ‘
HELP ME!
’
    The footsteps come running. And Nailey’s shouting, rattling the door, pressing his face to a hole.
    And this is it.
    I brace myself.
    But no punch comes. No flat-handed slap. No tight fist. No gush of nosebleed.
    Tarquin moves close, bends over me, screams insults and between his teeth sobs: ‘
I can’t do it.
’ And instead of hitting me, he staggers back as if I’ve pushed him and bangs his own head against the wall.
    Sodding hell! What’s wrong with him?
    Nailey yells. Threatens. Lenny sobs. I look at Tarquin. He really can’t do it.
    Holy shit. Think of something, Melissa.
    I look around.
A fistful of gravel, scraped down my face? Fall to the floor, grab some?
    It won’t do anything. When I brush it away nothing will bleed. No rush of red.
    Think. Think. You’re losing the advantage.
    But there’s nothing.
    Time’s running out.
Nailey’s withdrawing his face from the hole. Now! Or our chance’ll be gone.
    I spring forward. Tarquin’s shown me the way. I throw myself at him. Scream savagely as if all the witch in me has burst loose. I scratch him viciously across his face. He raises his arm to defend. I spin away from it, as if he’s punched me. I crack my head against the wall. Bone on concrete. ‘
BASTARD
,’
I scream.
    I reel back. My mind spins. I taste blood, hope to hell I’ve done enough damage. I let out a volley of screeching. Nailey’s back, cursing. I’m about to throw myself against the wall again. Strong hands hold me.
    â€˜Melissa.’ Tarquin’s voice, pleading, guttural. But I struggle against his hands. Like a wild cat, I am all teeth and nails and spite.
    Tarquin holds me steady.
    â€˜
Do something!
’ I hiss. I start screaming again. Ear-splitting. At the top of my voice. Struggling in his grip. ‘
I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!
’
    I shake him off me. I throw myself around the cell. I bang into the door. I kick it. Throw myself at the floor, at the walls. Tarquin can’t stop me. Twice I break his hold, scratch at him, tear at his hair. And scream at the top of my voice, ‘I’LL KILL YOU!’
    At first Tarquin’s too confused to do anything – except hold on to me. Then at the top of his voice, ‘WITCH!’ he yells. His voice breaking.
    Lenny starts too, high-pitched, hysterical. I can’t tell whether his screams are real or not. I think they’re real. They make me afraid. Lend power to mine. I scream and scream until my lungs burn.
    There’s no doubt something terrible is going on inside the cell. Maybe it’s the tone of my voice. The shrill shrieking. Lenny’s cries, ear-piercing, heart-breaking. Nailey slings