The Mating Run

Chapter 29

Explode

| used to have this air mattress.

| bought it once | moved out because | needed something soft to sleep on, just the hard floor. My air mattress was the bomb, it was this big, floppy thing. | swear, | lay down there for five seconds and | was out like a light.

not

It was a long journey getting it filled up. | needed this pump thing that made a ton of noise. It was like a lion roaring in the distance. | had to stick it to the mattress and let it suck in air. Pretty straightforward, right? But oh boy, it dragged on forever, Like watching paint dry, but louder.

So, me being me, I'd start the pump, and then I’d wander off. It’s not like | had all day to wait for a mattress to inflate. There were way more interesting things to do, like staring at the wall or contemplating the mysteries of the universe.

Hours passed, and the mattress was left to fend for itself in the battle against flatness. I'd forget about it, not out of malice, but more out of the “out of sight, out of mind” philosophy. It was there, in the corner of the room, doing its own thing, or, in this case, not doing anything at all.

But then, one fateful day, a day like any other, it happened. | walked into the room, minding my own business, and there it was the air mattress, looking more. like a sad, deflated balloon than anything you’d want to sleep on.

It was like a slow-motion movie scene. My eyes widened, and | could almost hear a dramatic soundtrack playing in the background.

The mattress had a huge hole in the middle because it exploded from all the air.

| stood there, staring at the pitiful remains of what used to be a full-bodied mattress. It was like a ghost of its former self, haunted by the echoes of the air that once gave it life. | could almost imagine its silent screams, the mattress equivalent. of a deflating sigh.

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| picked it up, or rather, | tried to pick it up. It flopped around like a fish out of water — a sad, sorry excuse for a mattress. | felt a twinge of guilt, like | had let down. an old friend. But what could | do? | was just a mere human, and mattresses, it turns out, need more attention than | was willing to give.

| poked it, half expecting it to magically reinflate and forgive me for my negligence.

But no, it just stayed there, proving how quickly inflatable things deflate.

| had to let it go, chuck it into the abyss of forgotten things.

Wherever old mattresses find their final rest, may they rest in peace, or pieces.

Lesson learned, mattress mourned.

| think, that air mattress — it is a lot like people, whenever | think about it.

Strange, right?

But bear with me. | feel like it is all about the slow build-up, the silent resentment that turns into a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the perfect moment to explode.

Like, picture this: a person, all puffed up with emotions, but instead of addressing them, they let it fester. It is like the mattress, quietly sitting there, getting more and more inflated, until one day, it just can’t take it anymore. It is like life is pumping air into it, and the person is letting life pump air into their emotions,

too.

You've seen it happen, right?

Someone gets angry, upset, frustrated and they just let it sit. They don’t want to deal with it. It is like they're saying, “Let’s just ignore this, hope it goes away on

its own.”

But emotions, they are sneaky. They are patient.

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They don’t just disappear because you choose to ignore them.

And then, boom.

The explosion.

The air mattress, suddenly bursts.

It is loud, it is sudden, and it is messy..

Just like when a person can’t contain all those emotions anymore. They explode, and you are left picking up the pieces, just like | am left with the shreds of

that air mattress.

Imagine being in a room with a person like that.

One moment, everything seems fine, and the next kaboom.

Emotions everywhere.

It is like trying to defuse a bomb that you did not even know was there.

The aftermath is the worst.

Shreds of plastic everywhere, like the scattered remnants of a person’s emotional outburst. You are left wondering, “How did it come to this?” But deep down, you know. It is the buildup, the quiet inflation of feelings that were never addressed.

It is funny, isn’t it? How we discard things once they have burst. The mattress explodes, and we toss it aside, no longer useful, just taking up space. People can be like that too. They explode, and suddenly, they are on the outskirts, discarded by those who couldn't handle the blast.

And what is left? A deflated mattress, a deflated person.

The explosion takes a toll, leaving behind a mess that is not easy to clean up.

Il

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But here’s the thing it could have been avoided. If we addressed the issue, if we didn’t let the resentment build up, maybe the explosion wouldn’t have happened.

| think about that air mattress a lot. It is a lesson | take to heart — to deal with things before they escalate, before they turn into an irreparable burst.

I'm sitting here, eyes wide, watching Ettie bash Elijah’s head with a rock.

It's brutal, like something out of a nightmare. But in my head, all | can think about is that darn air mattress that burst a few years ago. The strange thing is, it feels like some twisted metaphor for what's happening right in front of me.

The memory hits me like a rock, almost as hard as Ettie’s blows.

That air mattress, innocent and unsuspecting, just like Elijah seconds before Ettie unleashes her fury. | remember how | left it alone to fill with air, thinking it would be fine. But | forget about it, and that forgetfulness leads to its demise.

And now, as Ettie’s anger bursts out, | can’t help but draw this weird connection. It’s like anger stored up inside a person, just like air pumped into a mattress. Too much, and it’s a disaster waiting to happen.

Ettie’s screams are deafening, filling the air just like the hiss of escaping air from my mattress. She’s a storm, and I’m caught in the whirlwind, unable to tear my eyes. away from the brutality. It’s like witnessing the aftermath of a burst, only this time, it’s a person.

As Ettle keeps bashing Elijah’s head, I’m sitting here, dumbfounded, almost expecting to see the remnants of anger floating away like the shreds of my air mattress. It’s absurd, but the mind works in mysterious ways.

Elijah’s head is a mess, much like the mess | found when my mattress burst. It’s like history repeating itself in the most grotesque way possible. The air is thick with the scent of blood, and my mind is thick with these odd connections.

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I'm not sure if it’s a funny metaphor or a tragic one. Maybe it’s both.

| almost want to laugh at the absurdity of my mind trying to make sense of the chaos around me through the lens of a burst air mattress. But there’s nothing funny about the violence in front of me.Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

Elijah’s screams are ringing in my ears, a haunting melody of pain and terror.

It's like a twisted soundtrack to the chaos around us. Ettie’s relentless, and every blow she delivers seems to echo the anger she feels. The rocks she’s holding are creating a really messed up symphony.

I should be saying something, doing something, but I’m paralyzed.

Elijah’s pleas for mercy are muffled, choked by the rocks Ettie’s shoving into his mouth. It’s horrifying, a scene straight from a nightmare, and I’m trapped in its grip.

Ettie’s eyes are wild, a storm of emotions. | get it; | do.

Elijah crossed a line, touched me in a way that should never happen in this deadly game we're in. But this, this brutal retribution, it's something | never wanted.

I never asked for someone to die because of me.

I never wanted Ettie to kill someone for me.

| want to scream, to make it stop, but my voice is caught in my throat. The brutality is suffocating, like the air before a storm, heavy and charged with electricity.

Ettie’s eyes meet mine, and | see a fire burning in them. It’s a fire of rage, of revenge, and maybe even a touch of madness. She’s lost in the storm of her emotions, and I’m just a spectator, unable to tear my eyes away from the horror unfolding. “Why?” Elijah’s muffled voice manages to escape the makeshift gag. The word hangs in the air, a desperate plea for an answer that might never come. “Stop,

please!”

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Ettie doesn’t reply. She doesn’t need to. The rocks in Elijah’s mouth speak louder than words. It’s a gruesome form of justice, and | can’t deny that a part of me understands it.

He violated Ettie’s simple rules, and now he’s paying the price.

But this punishment, this brutal execution, is too much. It’s a symphony of violence, each blow a note in a melody that | wish | could drown out. | want to close my eyes, to shut out the horror, but my gaze remains fixed on the nightmare before

me.

| never wanted Elijah to die..

| wanted to survive, to outlast this deadly game, but not at the cost of someone else’s life.

Ettie’s breathing heavily, the storm in her eyes showing no signs of subsiding. She looks at me, and for a moment, | think she’s seeking approval, validation for the brutality she’s unleashed.

But how can | validate this?

“Ettie, please,” | finally manage to croak out, the words feeble and inadequate against the violence. “Stop. It’s enough.”

But Ettie doesn’t hear me or chooses not to.

She’s lost in the tempest of her own making, and I’m just a bystander in the wake of destruction. Elijah’s groans are growing weaker, the struggle for breath evident even through the rocks stuffed into his mouth.

| should be stronger. | should be able to stop this. But my limbs feel heavy, my voice feeble, and the air thick with the stench of blood and violence. | never wanted it to come to this.

The rocks are a grotesque muzzle, robbing Elijah of his final cries for mercy.

Ettie’s eyes lock onto mine again, and this time, there’s a flicker of uncertainty.

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Maybe she’s questioning her own actions, wondering if she’s gone too far. But the storm still rages in her gaze, and | can’t find the strength to pull her back.

Elijah gets quiet, and when | hear a familiar siren, | know he’s dead.

Ettie finally stops, breathless, and the rock slips from her fingers.

Elijah’s head is a gruesome sight.

Ettie collapses beside Elijah’s lifeless body, her anger spent. It’s like the aftermath of a storm, the calm settling in. And here | am, still thinking about that air

mattress.

Then, she rushes towards me, her arms enveloping me in a tight hug.

The warmth of her embrace is a stark contrast to the chilling scene behind her. Elijah’s lifeless form lies on the ground, a macabre testimony to the violence that just unfolded. My gaze is fixated on the horror, unable to tear away from the sight of his shattered head.

“He doesn’t get to touch you anymore, Alina.”

Ettie whispers in my ear, her voice a mixture of relief and desperation. She pulls away slightly, looking into my eyes as if searching for something, seeking

reassurance.

| should feel something, say something, but my mind is a chaotic swirl of emotions.

The brutality of what just happened has left me numb, a spectator in my own nightmare. | want to speak, to tell Ettie that it’s okay, that she’s done what she thought was necessary, but the words stick in my throat.

Ettie’s eyes are wide, pleading for validation.

“Tell me, Alina. Tell me I’m not crazy. Tell me he deserved it.”

Deserved it.

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The words echo in my mind, a haunting refrain.

Did Elijah deserve to die? Did | deserve to witness it?

| manage a nod, a feeble attempt to convey understanding, but my eyes betray the turmoil within. Ettie clings to my words, as if they're a lifeline in the aftermath of the storm she unleashed.

“He touched you, ina. He had to pay for that. | had to make sure he’d never

hurt you again.”

Ettie’s words are desperate, an attempt to rationalize the irrational. | feel her grip tighten as if afraid | might slip away from her. She smiles at me, brushes my cheeks, and it dawns on me that I am crying.

“He deserved it, right?” She insists, almost pleading now. “Right?”

| whisper, the words leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

“He did.”

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