This is my second participation to the 500 Club. The prompt I chose between the two proposed for this week’s 500 words story is: “The bag of groceries smashed on the ground between them.” Here’s the story that came out of it!
The bag of groceries smashed on the ground between us in sync with my steel capped boot hitting Matt’s middle. He bent over in pain. I joined my hands and slammed the nape of his neck. He fell forward, his hand slipping on the spilled milk. His face hit the floor with gooey splosh.
“How dare you?” I snapped, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with misdirected anger. He looked at me with egg on his face. How befitting!
“Had I known it was the way to hit a nerve,” Matt growled with a tone that sent tingle down my spine, “I would have said it earlier.”
A mix of frustrated passion and downright anger raised my foot behind me and quite a few eyebrows in the crowd. Two women actually gasped. All I could think was how easy it would be to swing that foot into his ribs while he tried to get up.
“Looking like a ballerina does help your cause,” he said, taking in my almost-arabesque. The shot instantaneously ensued and sent him rolling on his back. A cell phone in the distance beeped three numbers. It was about time.
“That’s not what I was referring to and you know it!” I bellowed. “What part of ‘get out of my life’ wasn’t clear?”
“Oh! You’re part was clear, sugar.” Matt sat back against a toilet paper display. Realizing what he was leaning against, he ripped a package open and patted his face negligently. His handsome rugged look shone through the uncooked omelette. “The lawyer’s red tape that came after confused me.”
His eyes locked on a point behind me. I instinctively moved to put myself in the way.
“You can forget about her.” The rage I felt before deserted my voice to leave only the coldness of my resolve. “Forget about both of us.”
Matt groaned and pulled himself up. I squared my jaw and feet, falling into a defensive stance. The police would be here soon. The crowd unconsciously blocked the exit. This whole thing ended here. Today.
Kicking aside a box of cookies, Matt stepped toward me. With a lightning fast kick, he shot a potato toward my face. My arms deflected the projectile but I lost track of Matt for a fraction of second. His fist dug into my flank with the numbing pain of blunt trauma. When I refocused on him, he had already reached his target.
“Let go of our daughter.”
The sharpness of my tone was soon supported by the distinctive sound of guns being cocked. The cops were here.
“He said the woman was too tom-boyish to deserve being called a mother then he punched her.” A cashier rambled in panic to one of the officers. My jaw throbbed to remind me of the blow that nearly knocked me out.
“Matthew Higgins, you are in violation of your parole and restraining order. Put the child down.” The implied warning shook Matt’s will. He loosened his hold on our daughter.