So I started shouting, screaming, shrieking. I didn’t even know what I was shrieking. It might not have been words. It might have been nothing but noise but no one could mistake the fear in it. No one could. Anyone hearing it would call the cops.

I hoped.

“Shut up,” he demanded.

“Fuck you!” I screeched.

“Shut up!” he screamed and that was when I realized I should have paid attention to his left hand as well as his right for he clocked me right on the jaw.

Pain radiated from my jaw up through my skull and my head and body jerked to the side but luckily I kept hold of his gun arm.

Then I started shrieking again but I learned quickly. When he tried to punch me again, I ducked and he missed. His momentum took him sideways and I pushed forward, wedging him at an awkward position, both arms to the side.

“Fuckin’ bitch! Fuckin’ cunt!” he yelled, struggling, trying to right his body.

I kept pressing my weight into him as hard as I could, having trouble keeping him turned to the side, still screeching as loud as I could. I moved my hand down toward the gun, curling it around his, shoving my finger into the trigger.

“Fuckin’ bitch! Fuckin’, fuckin’ cunt!” he shouted, his struggles intensifying.

I wasn’t going to be able to hold him long.

I pressed the trigger.

Bam!

Bam!

Bam!

Over and over as I pushed him into the wall and he fought back until the clip was spent. No more bullets.

Thank God.

I instantly let him go, turned, and started to run.

He caught me by my hair, yanking me back. Pain. God, so much fucking pain exuding from my scalp. My neck wrenched and I cried out in agony.

He got close, his leg swiping both mine out from under me and I fell hard to my hip.

Then he was on me.

I started shrieking again, shrieking and fighting, pushing, kicking out with my legs, scratching. My fingernails scored down his face, blood oozing instantly from the three wounds I cut in his flesh. He reared back reflexively and I shot up with him. Planting a foot, I rolled him to his back.

At this point, maybe I should have got up and run.

But I didn’t.

I sat up to straddling him and hit him hard, as hard as I could. Fist balled, I punched him in the face.

He grunted in pain and his head shot to the side when I did.

And he didn’t right it before I punched him again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Then I wrapped my hands around his neck and squeezed.