Ronald, Harmony, and Mike

Ronald & Harmony 

 She woke up in the middle of the night with a scream. Her boyfriend, Ronald, snapped awake, furious at being disturbed. He slapped her hard across the face and cursed under his breath.

He roared at her, “How dare you ruin my sleep? You useless woman!”

She collapsed onto the bed, a stunned expression on her face. “I’m sorry,” she pleaded. “It was a nightmare—it felt so real.”

“Fuck you and your nightmare,” he thundered. “Are you a child? You woke up screaming like the world was ending. Even kids don’t scream like that.”

Harmony wiped tears from her eyes and stared at Ronald. It had been like this for two years now. She wondered when the love had turned to poison—how the man who once adored her had become her deepest regret. The beating hurt, but his words cut deeper, demeaning and degrading her like she was nothing.

She choked on a sob. That only infuriated him more.

“For God’s sake, take your crying somewhere else!” he barked. “Just because you had a nightmare doesn’t mean I have to suffer. Get out of this room before I lose my temper.”

“What have I done to deserve this, Ronald?” she whispered.

“Shut up and get out!” he snarled, slapping her again. This time, a red handprint bloomed on her cheek.

She screamed and rolled off the bed, hitting the floor.

“Serves you right, you fool,” he muttered. “Next time, listen when I tell you something.” He punched the pillow into shape and turned away to sleep.

Harmony pushed herself up from the floor and stumbled to the spare room. Trembling, she grabbed her phone and dialed her mother.

Mrs. Grace was deep in a late-night prayer vigil when her phone rang. She muttered a curse, annoyed at the interruption. The phone sat across the room, and her aching joints screamed at the thought of moving—the doctor had warned her to rest. **** Groaning, she stood anyway. When she saw the caller ID, all pain vanished.

“Harmony!” she gasped. “What’s wrong? Why are you calling so late?”

Harmony burst into tears at the sound of her mother’s voice. “Mum… he hit me.”

“What?! At this hour? What happened?”

“I had a nightmare and woke up screaming. He hated that I disturbed his sleep. He hit me and called me useless.”

“That fool has had this coming,” Mrs. Grace hissed. “This time, he’ll regret it.”

“Mum, what are you going to do?”

“Me? Nothing. But I’m calling your brother.”

“Mum… Mike’s still in jail.”

“No. He got out today. I was going to tell you tomorrow.”

“But Mum… Mike’s a killer.”

“Shut up. He’s your brother—and he’s coming there. Now.”

Mike lounged in his pad, grinning wide as two strippers danced and twerked for him. He guzzled champagne, eyes glazed with bliss.

“This is the life,” he crowed, ogling one of the girls. “Oh, they’ll be green with envy when I send a picture. While those losers jack off with socks and lotion, I’ll be running two strippers. Hell, I might even pity ’em—send a shot they can use to get off.” He flashed a smug grin.

He’d been locked up four years for murdering a rival gang leader. Denied it all the way, pleaded not guilty—had a slick lawyer, too. Now free, he chuckled at the memory of Mugger’s face turning purple under his grip.

“Served the bastard right,” Mike muttered, draining his glass. He skipped the flute and drank straight from the bottle. “Nobody crosses Mikey Mouse and lives to brag about it.”

How could Mugger think he could steal from him—just because he ran his own crew? The trial judge had called it “good riddance to society.” No harm in toasting the old fart’s grave. Mike laughed loud, reached out, and smacked one of the strippers hard on the ass.

"Wanna have fun now?" one of the strippers purred, swaying her hips.

"Why not?" Mike grinned like a kid on Christmas, already standing.

Then his phone buzzed. He groaned, fishing it out with a scowl. Mum flashed on the screen.

"Mum, I’m busy," he growled.

"Shut up, you liar and a cheat," she snapped. "It’s your sister."

"Yeah, what now?"

"Her boyfriend beat her. Just because she had a nightmare."

"That’s nonsense," Mike snarled. "Is he okay in the head?"

"That’s what I want you to find out—now."

"Mum, can’t it wait till dawn? There are two girls here, and I’ve been locked up for four years—"

"Go check on your sister. And deal with that bastard."

Mike hung up, livid. He swore under his breath. The strippers flinched when they saw the fire in his eyes.

"Sorry, ladies," he said, forcing calm into his voice. "Some bastard beat my sister because she had a nightmare."

"What are you gonna do?" one asked.

He grinned, cold and sharp. "Have a little talk with him."

"I’m sorry for him," the other muttered.

"Yeah," Mike said, already pulling on his shirt. "He should be."

Ronald couldn’t sleep. He punched his pillow, wishing it was her face. How can this woman do this to me? He hadn’t loved her in years. But Lucy… oh, Lucy. Just thinking about her calmed the storm in his chest. The last time they’d been together—pure bliss. Two years of sneaking around was enough. Time to kick the old hag out and bring Lucy home.

He nodded to himself. She’ll understand. I had to move on—

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The door rattled like thunder. Ronald swore and stumbled out of bed, but before he could reach it—

CRASH!

The door exploded inward. A mountain of a man stood in the splintered frame, grinning like the devil.

"Who the fuck are you?" Ronald snarled. "Get out before I call the cops!"

A fist smashed into his nose. Crunch. Blood sprayed. Ronald staggered back, reeling.

"You done talking?" Mike asked, stepping forward.

Ronald’s brain kicked in through the pain. Harmony’s brother. Prison. Murder. Dangerous. His good eye bulged.

"It—it was an accident—"

"Yeah, I get it." Another punch—this one to the left eye. Ronald crumpled, lights out.

A boot to the gut woke him. Crack. Two ribs gave way.

"You dare sleep when I’m talking to you?" Mike growled, then drove a fist into Ronald’s jaw. Snap.

Ronald wheezed on the floor, one eye swollen shut, nose gushing, jaw hanging wrong.

Mike sat on the bed and sighed. "I was having fun with two strippers. First fun in four damn years. And you ruined it—because you beat my sister."

"I’m sorry—" Ronald croaked, spit and blood dribbling down his chin.

"Sorry for what? We’re just talking, man to man. Right?"

Ronald nodded, barely.

Mike leaned in. "Nice teeth." CRUNCH. Another punch. The jaw shattered completely.

"Now listen close," Mike said, voice low. "If I ever hear you touched my sister—or any woman—I won’t stop at a broken jaw. You hear me?"

Ronald nodded, tears mixing with blood.

"Good." Mike stood,"Hey, little sister," he said softly, pulling Harmony into a hug outside. "I’m sorry this happened. No one touches you again. And when this creep heals?" He glanced back at Ronald, still whimpering on the floor. "Round two."

Ronald tried to cry. It came out as a wet, broken gurgle.

Mike hoisted Ronald up by the collar, slamming him against the wall.

"Let this be a lesson—to you, and every woman-beater out there. A woman’s not your punching bag. She’s treasure. You wanna hit something? Join a boxing gym."

He let Ronald slide to the floor in a heap.

"You think you can touch someone’s sister and walk away? Business as usual?" Mike shook his head. "Her brother’s coming. And when he does—you’ll rue the day you raised your hand."

He stepped over the broken door and walked into the night.

STOP BEATING A WOMAN.

THE END.