After months of happiness and a ring in his pocket, they stood in front of the sofa they had ‘snuggled’ on, next to the squarish coffee table where they would rest their intertwined feet and throw insults at bad films; she kept an icy distance between them. The reformed merc was ready to commit his whole glorious life to the women who had locked away his gun; given him choices that society refused most Spacers and other outcasts, the ultimate salvation about to turn to the ultimate tragic joke.
“I don’t know how to say this”, the first verbal gutter punch slammed him, her clinical tone adding an extra sting “It’s not working” a coldly emotionless blow delivered to the chin “I don’t think we should stay together” the final vocal hit. Pure rejection clouded Yovac’s sunny blue sky mood… “Ok… I understand…” barely managing to stammer a response; eerily watching himself say the words from a third person perspective, unable to fully comprehend the heart shattering knockout, he continued “let’s take a break… I’ll leave if you want…” the finality of it sinking in “but give it some time to think about things….”
The shock thankfully starting to render Yovac numb, the ring in his pocket; a dagger in the back “Don’t think about me again, I won’t think about you” she callously twisted the blade, just when Yovac thought she couldn’t annihilate him further. She faded into blackness, Yovac’s basic imagery of the room swirling in a metaphorical pit of despair and as he opened his eyes to avoid being sucked in to the hopeless pit he found a bottle to ease the pain and a gun to end it.
A few days later Yovac had found himself in a crowded bar, nothing left to do but drown his sorrows, his face contorting with the cheap taste of his fifth drink, the bartender waiting for payment. Yovac found the ring and in place of his voided funds, he shoved it into the bartenders demanding hand “I don’t want to remember anything in the morning”, with a silent but perceptive nod the bartender refilled Yovac’s glass.
That was when the Idiot said it; “Looks like she dodged a bullet”, his mates laughed tauntingly like a pack of rabid hyenas “maybe she wanted a real man!” Yovac felt the beast that was his rage feeding off the venomous bite of her betrayal, months of anti-social poison no longer soothed by the equally deadly poison known as love. “Leave now or I can’t guarantee you’ll leave of your own volition” he forced himself to warn the Idiot. Yovac knew that there would be no controlling his actions if he gave into the seductive lure of aggression.
The Idiot, heavy set and donning some dapper threads, looked sneeringly over Yovac in his rough clothes, clean but unshaven face, Yovac throwing down another glass of discounted alcohol like his life depended on it did nothing to redeem his image. “You… Me… No contest” the Idiot snorted without fear “no wonder she left you, you’re a wreck”.
Yovac stood up as calmly as he could pretend to be, leaned against the bar, one hand gripping the neck of a bottle, the other forming a fist that slammed into the bar with an unholy sound, whole posture showing just how much restraint was in force “I was going to propose, she left me… Now please leave before I lose it…” The bartender had stepped back, the Idiot’s mates no longer laughed, the crowd subdued into unnerving silence, but the Idiot was either too dumb or too cocky to notice the warning signs “Did little loser get dumped?” mockingly spoken, nobody else stupid enough to laugh.
Yovac didn’t hear the Idiot’s exact words, only her words, that emotional gutter punch hit felt again with full visceral force, rejection, confusion, rage, hatred… Yovac desperately fighting his temper…
“A REAL MAN” as the bottle smashed over the Idiot’s hairless dome of a head “DODGED A BULLET”. Yovac’s eyes burned with pure loathing for his stunned victim, feelings of anger meant for her driving the sledgehammer fist that impacted the Idiot’s jaw with shattering power.
“DO I LOOK LIKE SOME WEAK ARSED LOSER NOW…..” picking up the barstool with both hands, satisfyingly smashing it into the Idiot’s heavy chest, the bar stool casting the fear stricken man to the floor “ARE YOU HAPPY BITCH… ISN’T IT WORKING…” Yovac lost in a venomous frenzy as the impact of his first kick to the Idiot’s chest could be heard “SHOULD WE NOT SEE EACH OTHER ANYMORE…” The second kick made an even uglier sound as it impacted the Idiots already bloodied face, looks of shock from the growing crowd meant less than nothing, the Idiot’s pain filled tones pleading to stop the beating, only fed Yovac’s lust for some kind of justice from life “DON’T I DERSEVE SOME FUCKING HAPPINESS LIFE”.
It had taken the other bar patrons a while to act, at first they just shouted “That’s enough” and “He’s learned his lesson” but seeing Yovac’s look twist from rage to joy they were forced to action, but even with three guys trying to hold him back Yovac’s unadulterated fury let him shake them free with ease. “THIS AIN’T OVER TILL THE FAT PRICK BLEEDS” his final words so charming, before someone had to shoot him with a stun gun – twice!