Highway To Hell Read Online Free PDF Page B

came out was a random jumble of all the hateful words she knew.
    “You bitch!” Richard screamed, striking out with one hand, his intention not to hit but rather to keep a distance between them while the other clamped against the burning, stinging flesh of his face. His strike caught her in the face, striking her square on as she lunged for him again. He felt her nose move, the cartilage cracking under the forceful impact of their opposing momentums. She cried out, blood immediately spurting from both nostrils. Her lips also absorbed some of the strike, but they remained unblemished. She fell backwards, and tripped over the threshold. She wheeled her arms as she tumbled into the early morning air, trying to stay on her feet before tripping down the steps. She managed to keep her balance until the last moment, whereupon she fell into the graveled earth. Sobs of tears streamed down her face and mixed with the free flowing blood. Tears stung her face and burned in her nose. A few moments later, her bag landed in the gravel behind her, hurled from the doorway not with anger but with frustration. Richard stood staring down at her, his eyes wide with shock while his lips were thin and pulled back over his teeth in a snarl.
    The door slammed shut behind her as she dragged herself back to her feet, and when she turned to look back up the steps, the house was once again quiet. It looked much colder in the light of day, without the noise of mingling guests, dance beats and free flowing liquor. Even in her pain, her instant resentment and hated of the rich man that had given her so much pleasure only to take it away with so much pain was put to one side, and she considered how lonely Richard must be.
    Once the door was closed Richard stormed away, stamping up the stairs like a toddler having a tantrum, kicking anything that came within range, acting out of pure frustration. His face didn’t hurt anymore, but he could feel it pounding away in rhythm with his heart, and felt the skin tightening as it began to swell. He threw the door to the main bathroom open, denting the wall with the force of it.
    “Fucking bitch!” he screamed at that room, hearing his rage echo around, bouncing off the pristine fixtures and fittings as he fumbled through one of the many fully stocked medicine cabinets in the house in desperate search for some iodine. He found the bottle and grabbed a large wad of gauze, not bothering to separate the sheets from each other, choosing to tape whatever he had in his hand to his face. He placed the gauze on the sink and closed the cabinet doors. He jumped when he saw his reflection: the four gouges that ran down his face were deep, the groove in each on clearly visible. Blood began to bubble to the surface again, and wiping it away didn’t serve much of a purpose. The rage was there, and it rattled the door of the cage in which Richard had it locked. Every day it grew a bit harder to control, to keep hidden.
    Richard fumbled with the cap of the iodine bottle, his face beginning to sting more and more with each ineffective rotation the cap made in his hands, before finally, in another fit of rage he launched the bottle across the room. Throwing it full force like a baseball pitcher at the bottom of the ninth with two out but bases loaded. It passed through the frosted glass door of the power shower, leaving a cartoon style hole the exact shape of the bottle before the rest of the glass crumbled away in a motion that was so slow it only added to the rage Richard felt. It seemed that time itself had started to mock him.
    He taped a near inch thick pad of gauze to his face and went back downstairs. It was only 10:45 but he went straight to the liquor cabinet and grabbed the first bottle he saw: vodka. Removing the cap, Richard drank direct from the bottle; he coughed and choked as his lungs burnt with a warming fire. He took a glass and filled it to the brim, before he walked through to the kitchen. He had a cleaning lady