“Fuck you! Don’t tell me what my brother wanted.” He took a large step forward, and even drunk, he held the knife steady. My fear wanted to take over, but I forced the feeling down. I knew how to fight, and I would fight with my last breath. “You don’t know my brother the way I do. Y-you don’t know what we’ve been through to get here…or how we think and do our shit. That’s our shit—for us only,” he slurred.

“Did he tell you our mother was still alive when I ripped her intestines out with my bare hands and played in her blood? I’m going to do the same to you.” His muscles flexed, and his face darkened into a rage-filled mask as he came at me. I held my ground. “You better run.” His tone reminded me of a low-growling animal.

“Not a chance,” I said, then jumped out of the way of his charge. He ran into the dining room table and sent the closest chair flying across the floor.

“You fucking purple-eyed bitch,” he snarled.

I wanted to hold up my hand and ask him what the fuck that was supposed to mean.

Abel swung his arm in a wide sweeping arc with little to no real skill for fighting, unlike his brother. However, the blade was as long as my forearm making it extremely dangerous, so I backed out of the way. He came at me again, with the blade slashing through the air like his hand was connected to a rubber band. With each strike, I avoided it and found my opening. Using his momentum, I hit his hand with the statue.

“Ahh, you fuckin donkey shit biscuit,” he growled out.

I would’ve laughed if this wasn’t a life-or-death moment. The statue became a shield, and I felt like I was in an old swashbuckling movie as he took a swing. I blocked it with the solid marble figure. Sweat was running down my body, and my hands were getting slick on the smooth statue’s texture.

“You need to die, just fucking die!”

I brought the statue up to block the next blow, but the damn thing sailed out of my hands and crashed into the wall, knocking a framed picture to the ground. Shards of glass scattered everywhere as it smashed on the floor.

Catching Abel off guard as he stared at the damaged painting, I jumped in the air and landed a roundhouse kick to his face. He grabbed the side of his cheek, and I didn’t wait for him to recover before landing a hard blow to his side and jumped into the air to bring my fist down onto his jaw. I caught the angle wrong and felt my hand crack on impact.

“Fuck,” I swore, and shook my hand out.