Chapter 5

Tom got to start this whole thing with an intro, so I figure it’s my turn, right? Yeah, you remember his intro. It was all “la tee dah I’m a hardass and this is a dark gritty noir, let’s fight in the mud, que masculine grunts”. Ha! Love that man.

Genie parroted Tom’s words to him, about welcome to his life. Life before wasn’t ... bad. Not in the way others have it. We didn’t live on the streets or watch everything we love ripped away. We just couldn’t catch a break. Couldn’t get our feet under us. Couldn’t even think about pursuing our goals and dreams. It was just existing. Now? Well, now I want those dreams in the sun. I want Tom to have every single one of his dreams, and if I get a few of mine too, all the better.

For all Tom’s words, he’s as much a throw-down fighter as I am a Disney princess. So now I’m looking at Jared, who just busted everything in my house, raising a crowbar at Tom. Nope. New life. Old life. I don’t care. Time to fuck shit up.

Jared was screaming. The words didn’t matter; my brain dismissed them, just focusing on the absolute unhinged rage in his voice. The spit flying from his mouth was not so easily dismissed, it was fucking gross. It wasn’t just flying, it was hanging in long, lumpy strands from his mouth. Odd what your brain latches on to, but I was almost as ready to beat him for drooling all over my stuff as I was him raising a crowbar at Tom. Almost. By which I mean that I definitely wanted to kill him slowly and watch him suffer in gruesome agony for threatening Tom, I only wanted to kick his ass for drooling. So maybe not almost.

I’ve heard people talk about things happening in slow motion. How time stops at key moments. Mothers trying to save their children, seeing everything displayed one slow frame at a time. That had never been me. I was the person who time sped up for when things got dicey, and when I came out the other side, everyone was wondering why in the hell I made such stupid decisions. Yeah, because my instincts suck and my timestop gene got swapped for light speed events and I didn’t even know what I was trying to react to at the moment.

I locked eyes with Tom, he had finally noticed me, and I saw panic in his eyes. Just a moment ago, he was stepping back, trying to placate Jared. I saw Tom’s face harden and his body stiffen with resolve. Damn idiot shifted from moving backwards to stepping towards Jared, he was going to try and fight. I knew it was seeing me that changed that. Not to try and impress me, heavens no. I didn’t get turned on watching “my man” fight or defend my honor, and Tom knew that. He was going to fight to make sure that I didn’t get hurt.

I started to scream, and then something happened. My gene was fixed. Time stopped. Except did it?

I was waiting for Sweet Dreams to start playing and give me my X-Men moment. Instead, I watched. It wasn’t out of body because I was still in my body, I just watched from a third-person perspective as Jared, Tom, and a me that wasn’t me moved.

I saw Tom stepping forward, fists coming up slowly, but still far enough that he couldn’t reach Jared. Jared raising the crowbar. I heard myself scream. Saw myself lunge forward, grabbing at Jared’s arm and the crowbar, trying to wrench it away. It was real. Everything was solid. Yet I knew it wasn’t. Because real life doesn’t move at half-speed and have dramatic slowdowns.

Yeah, dramatic slowdowns. Like now, as Jared reacted to my attack. As I tried to pull the crowbar away, he used my force against me and slammed it into my stomach. That was super slow-motion move one. I saw myself let go and start to clutch at my stomach. Jared drew back the crowbar, fully focused on me now. He swung it in a vicious arc with all his might and connected squarely with my temple. I saw the blood spurt. Saw my body go limp at the same time it went flying from the force of the blow. And there’s super slow-motion moment two.

Oh fuck.

Oh fucking fuckidy fuck shit balls fuck.

I felt a giant red X flash behind my eyes.

With the flash, I felt movement. Everything was back.

I saw Tom stepping forward, fists coming up slowly, but still far enough that he couldn’t reach Jared. Jared raising the crowbar. I heard myself scream. I ran and jumped on Jared’s ... wait. I stopped. What was going on? Did I just watch myself die? What the...

Red flash.

Holy fucking.

I looked at my hands. Jared was raising the crowbar.

OH MY GOD!

I have no idea what is happening. But ... I shrugged, ok, use what you get Kendra.

So I watched. I watched myself scream at Jared to stop. At Tom to back off. I watched as I tried to prevent Jared from hurting Tom. I wasn’t successful. Well, I wasn’t successful in trying to stop Tom getting hurt, I was successful in watching a parade of violent scene after violent scene. I saw myself and or Tom injured multiple times. Which, fuck I’m going to need therapy after this, but it wasn’t surprising. Not like I knew anything about fighting, same with Tom.

If my life depended on it, I couldn’t have told you exactly how many times I watched different variations of the same event. I mean, I still had no idea what was going on; counting was not something that was really high on my list of things to do. In fact, it was right there next to wondering if my nails were clean, and is morality culturally defined or mandated by a higher power. Yeah, right fucking no where on the list because in that moment or moments or whatever was happening all that mattered was Tom.

So let’s just say it was twenty different variations. Sure, I watched Jared win 19 different ways until I finally watched myself do something that didn’t end up with Tom’s body or my blood decorating the ground. Great, so now how do I stop whatever is going on?

Time snapped back.

I saw Tom stepping forward, but this time I didn’t see myself; I just saw Jared in front of me. Dumbass with his crowbar raising in normal speed. Fuck. I really hope this works.

I screamed. Then I launched myself forward, big hero moment incoming.

Jared had his back to me and was raising the crowbar towards Tom. At my scream, he didn’t stop, but I saw him half turn his head. I ran forward and kicked at the back of his right knee. My foot connected solidly, and I saw Jared’s leg bend forward when he wasn’t expecting it. He collapsed to one knee with not a sound.

Oh, that was different. When I watched, he screamed, let go of the crowbar, and grabbed his knee. Shit. I replayed what I had watched and compared it to what I had done. I kicked straight at the back of his knee, causing it to fold, but when I was time stopped, I had watched myself kick the side of the leg. I had watched as it bent sideways at an angle that knees were definitely not supposed to.

Now instead of standing right behind an incapacitated Jared with a broken knee I was standing there like a dumbass right next to a completely unharmed but now more pissed off than ever Jared. That’s a big difference.

Tom had gotten in range of Jared just as he collapsed, and his furious swing had gone wildly above Jared’s head. The momentum was too much, and Tom lost his footing, and I saw him start to fall, twisting awkwardly. Ok, great. Two screw-ups down.

That was when I noticed I was holding a brick in both hands, no idea how and it definitely didn’t happen during the time stop. Fire engine red, with those three holes in it that I never understood the purpose of. This one also felt heavy as fuck. I raised it up and brought it down on Jared’s head.

The brick shattered completely into dust. Really just absolutely exploded into a giant dust cloud, not pieces. All of it was dust. Jared pitched forward. Limp. Face down with a drool strand flying up over his eye. I stared at him for a second. I was trying to figure out what had happened.

Then I heard a grunt, and I remembered Tom. He was getting to his feet, looking at me with a look of bewilderment. This is one of those times I wish I was witty and quick on my feet with anything except juvenile penis jokes. Tom looked at me, obviously wondering what had just happened. I shrugged.

Yep, that was my big explanation. Let’s just shrug. I didn’t get a Quicksilver superspeed moment. It was more like the Robert Downey Jr. Sherlock, where he knows others’ moves beforehand. Except that I’m not Sherlock, nor a fighter, so instead I got to watch myself try thing after thing that didn’t work. So maybe a mix of Sherlock and Dr. Strange looking into the future?

I shrugged again.

I grabbed my phone from the pocket in my robe.

“Are the cops still coming?” I asked into the phone when I saw the call was still going. That felt extremely anticlimactic. I needed to have a talk with god or whatever deity/entity/thing was making up this shit, because I had a lot of notes.

It turned out the cops were still coming. About 10 minutes after I knocked Jared out. I was very glad I hadn’t waited upstairs for them. I had seen Tom’s body lying bent at odd angles in a spreading pool of blood enough, even if it hadn’t been real. I couldn’t have dealt with that if it happened for real while I sat on my ass upstairs.

When the cops finally got there, they were extremely interested in making Tom and me repeat our stories multiple times away from each other. It was obvious they thought something was being left out. Maybe they were two of the ones that got cutbacks from Jared to look the other way?

Unsurprisingly, they did spend quite a lot of time on the brick. I wanted to give them answers, but I didn’t have any, and I don’t think they bought my lack of answers as stress-related. Tom and I lived in a house made of stone and stucco. Not a brick in sight. Certainly not fire engine red that miraculously completely powdered itself, and that I couldn’t explain when, where, or why I had it.

Thankfully, several neighbors had witnessed Jared beating down the door while shouting. Yes, thank you, Mrs. Appleby, for pestering me incessantly for the latest gossip about whether I saw Mr. Jones with that young lady half his age. No, it’s no problem that you rang my doorbell at 10 o’clock at night, obviously, that’s totally normal. But when you see an obviously angry man violently destroying my door with a crowbar, you just watch through your window without calling the cops or anyone? Oh, because you didn’t want to get involved in something not your business or jump to conclusions. Yep, totally cool. That’s the sign of a great neighbor, right?

It took two hours before they decided they had enough statements from everyone and left. We were advised that Jared would be taken to the station, but that we were also not to leave town. They said there were serious questions about whether my actions constituted self-defence or were an unprovoked assault. Good fucking riddance.

As soon as the police left, I dragged Tom to the couch. I practically tossed him down, laid him down lengthwise, and then curled up as little spoon.

“Kendra...”

“Shh. I need this, Tom. I’ll explain, I promise. Right now, just hold me.”

I pushed back against him, needing to feel him. I needed to remind myself that he was there. That he was fine. That none of those awful scenes I had watched play out had actually come true. Right now wasn’t a shut up and tell me I’m beautiful moment. It was, please just hold me so I can feel your warmth and smell the scent that is just my husband, so I know he’s still here and I’m still his.

They say women are the ones who always ask to cuddle and then ruin it by talking. For the record, yes, when I feel close to my husband, I do, in fact, want to talk to him. I want to hear his voice rumble past my ear, regardless of what he’s saying. Talking while being held is ... intimate in a way that most conversations aren’t, and it’s not just physical.

Ah, what the hell. All that to say that for once, I was curling up in Tom’s arms, content to lie there forever and for once, FOR ONCE, Tom wanted to talk. Men.

“As much as I love this, Kendra, I should probably call work and let them know I may not be in.”

“It’s Sunday, Tom,” I grumbled. Ok, I did care what we talked about; work was not on the list.

“What do you mean it’s Sunday? Kendra, it’s Monday morning.”

Damn man. Did sex really scramble his brain that badly?

I pulled out my phone. It turned out we were both wrong. It was Tuesday. At least according to my phone, which had never yet lied about which day it was, regardless of my begging or threatening most Monday mornings. I could feel Tom tense as he saw the date on my phone.

I guess sex ... oh, that might explain the state of the bedroom. I started giggling.

“Tom, what in the world did you have Genie do to you? I mean, oh my god, that was amazing, but I didn’t realize it was like three days of non-stop, completely scramble both our brains good.” I pushed my ass back against him teasingly. Maybe a quickie with that fucking ridiculous dick and those arms that ... wait.

“Tom, what happened to you?” I sat up and looked at Tom.

It was the same Tom as always. The one I loved with all my heart. Not the red-eyed, tail-wielding, beyond ripped, sex machine Tom.