The thing I remembered the most about the worst day of my life was pain. Blunt, damaging pain. Sharp, searing pain. In the days after there was still a lot of pain, but none of it as bad.
It was Friday. I was excited. Monday was a holiday so the bank was closed and I had three days off. Beth decided we were going on a trip to Vegas since neither of us had been. She was going to teach me how to play Texas hold 'em "properly", whatever that meant. She also spent the week dropping sly hints about prostitution being legal there and that she had never been with a girl. I didn't know if she actually planned on going through with it or if she was teasing me, trying to get me worked up.
Beth was picking me up from work to save time. Of course she wouldn't be waiting for me in the parking lot. We agreed that she would park a block away and I would walk over. I found out later that she had been late because of some last-minute sexy underwear shopping. If it hadn't been for that maybe the whole fucking mess could have been avoided.
I walked out of the bank with a big smile on my face. Life was back to being awesome. The weekend was going to be great. I expected that we would spent the entire three days locked away in the suite Beth booked instead of getting to anything on her itinerary. That was fine by me.
Ever since we talked things out and made up, our relationship was better than ever. I felt more comfortable around her. I wasn't overanalyzing things as much. I could tell she was happy with the efforts I was making to be more assertive. Or, at least, less passive. It sounded like a small matter, but I was choosing more of the movies we watched and I picked the restaurant for dinner a few times. I didn't pussyfoot around the issues like I would normally have done. I didn't ask her if she wanted to try it. I just told her where we were going.
I picked three awful restaurants in a row. We had a good time regardless. Making fun of the crappy service and the terrible food was more enjoyable than if we'd gone to a good restaurant. If the worst she could be mad at me was for my shitty taste or bad luck then I could happily live with that.
Stuck in my reverie I didn't notice the pickup truck speeding towards me until it pulled to a stop right where I was standing. My first thought was that Beth was crazy. She knew she wasn't supposed to pick me up right in front of the bank. Even picking me up a few blocks away was dangerous enough already. After that I thought that maybe Beth was crazier than I gave her credit for. I thought she was going to rob the bank to pay for our Vegas trip. I was already figuring out how I was going to explain the kidnapping to my coworkers on Tuesday.
The tires hadn't even stopped squealing before the door opened and the driver jumped out. It was then that I saw that it was a different truck. Beth's civilian truck was bright blue, this was white. I figured that it was Wyatt's truck at the exact moment he punched me in the jaw.
My teeth clicked together. The world went black then red for a second. I stumbled away from him. I was dizzy, my vision was shot. I tried to keep Wyatt in sight so maybe I would have a chance to dodge the next punch. Instead all I got was a crystal clear image of his fist coming right for me.
I heard, more than felt, my nose breaking. It was a loud snap which sounded like a pistol shot. Beth was right when she told me that if I broke my nose I would know it. Warm blood gushed over my lips and down my chin. I sucked some in my mouth and started choking on it. I couldn't breathe through my shattered nose and I couldn't get any air down my throat. I was going to drown in my own blood standing in front of the bank.
I waved my hand in surrender, trying to get Wyatt to stop. He had no intention of doing that. He grabbed me by the shirt, spun me around and flung me into his truck. The grille was hot and it burned my back. He held onto my collar and punched me in the kidney with his right fist. I couldn't double over and I couldn't pull away. For being as wiry as he was he was very strong. The most I could do was to futilely push him off me.
I gave up on trying to block his punches or pry his fingers from my shirt. I put both of my hands on his face and pressed. All he did was tilt his head back a bit. It didn't matter that I was blocking his vision, he knew right where I was and where I could be hit.
I felt my finger dig into his eyeball. Instead of being disgusted by the feeling I pressed harder. I thought maybe he wouldn't want to be blinded. My plan worked. Kind of. He did stop punching me and let me go. Only to swat my hands off his face. Then he punched me in the jaw with a hard right.
Before I could fall to the ground like I wanted he shoved me back into the truck grille. I felt a tooth moving around in my mouth. I tried to spit it out, but ended up swallowing it. I wanted this to end. It was like a nightmare. I didn't know how Wyatt wanted it to end. Whether he was going to rough me up, which I felt he had already done a good job of, or if he was going to murder me.
There was shouting behind Wyatt. It only slowed him down a second. I looked over his shoulder to see Jeff, our elderly security guard, yelling. He had his hand on his gun, but hadn't yet drawn it. I wanted to know what he was waiting for. The one chance he had to use it on the job and he was chickening out.
Maybe if he'd been faster then he would still be alive.
What happened instead was that Beth drove by and saw what was happening. She drove her truck over the lawn and hopped out.
"Wyatt! Stop!" she screamed.
That finally gave him pause. He stopped with his fist raised for another punch. Through my one un-swollen eye I saw my blood dripping from his knuckles.
"Lizzie?" Wyatt said.
The sight of now two cowboys spurred Jeff to action. He drew his pistol and aimed it at Wyatt. He didn't even call out a warning, just fired. He got off two shots. The first one hit Wyatt in the shoulder. The bullet went through him and into my chest. At least that solved one of my problems. Wyatt was forced to let go of me. Unfortunately for me he did it to turn around to look at his attacker.
That caused Jeff to miss Wyatt completely. The bullet hit me in the throat. I rocked against the truck then fell to my knees. It felt like I was choking on a lump of burning coal. I put my hands to my throat. I stared around in amazement. Even as it was happening I couldn't really grasp that it was happening to me.
I looked from Jeff's shocked face to Beth's horrified one. She was reaching for her gun, tears streaming down her face. I saw Jeff turn to aim at her, but was too slow. Beth drew on him and shot him. He got two in the chest and one in the head. I watched him crumple to the ground. I tried to tell people I was alright and that Jeff was the one who needed help. I couldn't really comprehend that he was dead. Nothing came out of my mouth but useless gurgling and blood.
I was on the ground, on my knees, leaning back against the truck. Wyatt still towered over me. He was holding his hand over the bullet wound in his shoulder. I was pretty pissed. I was about to die and the last person I would ever see was Wyatt.
I felt sleepy. I closed my eyes. It felt nice, natural, like I never needed to open them ever again. Never in my life had I wanted to go to sleep more in my life. I wasn't even bothered that I wasn't in my bed. Sleeping on the parking lot would work just as well.
Someone pried my eyes open. I was happy. Dimly I saw Beth. She was crying, but still looked beautiful. Her mouth was moving, but no words were coming out. It was like someone turned the sound off in the world. I was fine with that. How was I supposed to sleep with all the noise?
Beth crying wasn't the greatest image to go out on. I didn't like seeing her sad. I was sorry that I'd ruined our Vegas trip. But at least I got to see her face before I died.
