Scorpion (The Exodus)

by Avina St. Graves

They say time heals all wounds. That as the days go on, you’ll stop grieving the ones you love. But I don’t want time. I refuse to sit around waiting for the pain to hurt a little less, for the tears to burn a little softer. I want to beat the emotions out of me until it stops hurting, and I go back to being the type of woman my sister could be proud of.

“I don’t want a soldier. I want you. Anyone can pick up a gun. You? You don’t need a weapon to become one.” A soft smile curves his lips. “Although, I hear you’re exceptional with one.” He winks. “I take credit for it, of course.”

She would kill for me, and I would do far worse for her.

My mother wanted a son, but she got something far worse. Me.

When the underdog comes out on top, one of two things happens: people either get really happy or come searching for blood.

“Have you ever heard of the saying, ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’?” I ask, crossing my legs and leaning back into the fucking uncomfortable chair. “My wife can have a bit of a temper. Unfortunately for you, she also has a phenomenal aim.” “Any last words?” My lips twist with a frown. “Yes, actually. How about duck?” “What—” I flinch, curling into myself to escape the rain of shattering glass. Warm liquid splatters across my face and stains my brand-new top that I just got tailored.

In our relationship, there’s no question of who wears the pants. No. Ours is a question of who’s carrying the bigger gun. After all, I’m here to look pretty next to my wife.