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I kick a broken, beer bottle as hard as I can. I don't think it's one of mine. It looks too old and dusty, but how do I know? Who would trust a drunk's memory?

Father's angry face flashes into my mind. His fury makes my chest hot. He didn't have to talk to me like that. So, I got a little drunk last night...okay a lot drunk. But it's not like he's ever needed that as an excuse to tear into me.

Yeah I know I was wrong to go out to the pub last night, but...well I can't think of a good excuse, but it doesn't mean I'm not the injured party.

I push my hair off my forehead and glance up at the sky. The sun is high and unleashing as much heat down at the ground as it can. I feel like my skin is hot enough to melt right off my bones. It hasn't rained in a month so the ground is dusty and the grass is brownish and brittle. Kicking another piece of broken glass, I watch it sail across the dirt and into a clump of bushes.

"All you do is cause your mother and me grief and this family constant embarrassment."

I can hear Father's voice in my ear like he's walking right next to me.

"You are a disappointment."

He had never actually said it before. I wasn't prepared for how much it would hurt. I won't ever admit to him that it hurt, but seeing how strongly he believed those words made me both angry and sad.

My best friend, Kalypso, comes to my mind. I wanna talk to her, but we haven't spoken since I confessed how I felt about her two months ago right before her move to Nebraska. Things got awkward when she made it clear she didn't feel the same.

A heavy breath leaves my chest. I still have a lingering headache in the back of my skull and the deep heat isn't helping.

I just want to find somewhere cool to sleep, but I'm not going back to the house. Maybe I can loop around to the back of the property and go up to the barn. None of the slaves should be there and I'll be able to get some rest without having to see Mason or Father.

My walking slows and I tilt my head to the side; listening. Silence and then there it is again; louder this time.

A scream. It rips through the air, turning my blood cold. I freeze in my tracks. A woman is screaming for help. She's not far from here. Following the sounds of her cries farther away from the house, I jog along the old wooden fence that runs along empty acres.

"Help me! Help," the woman screams.

I grab onto the post dug into the ground and jump over the fence into the wild, deserted field. The weeds are so high that the farther out in the distance they are, the more they obscure my vision.

But I make out a slave girl running out of the woods and into the field. She's short and her frizzy, black hair streaks out behind her.

I've never asked a slave this before, but she looks so panicked I feel like I should. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I call out to her. "Hey, do you need some help?"

She doesn't even seem to hear me. What's she running from?

My question is answered when a man appears out of the gaggle of trees and sprints into the clearing. He's a white man and I assume maybe her owner or at least maybe the slave master over her. He takes off after her, kicking up dust as he runs. Even though she appeared to have a head start, he's much taller and stronger than her and he begins to close the gap.

I watch mesmerized. She must be running away. But why did she call for help though? As a runaway slave, she can't expect anyone to help her.

She looks terrified and I can hear her crying. I find myself hoping he doesn't kill her or hurt her too much, she's so small.

When the man catches up to her I except him to just grab her arm or even her hair, but instead he tackles her to the ground. Their bodies hit the ground with a painful thud and they disappear from my view beneath the overgrown weeds.

I wait to see him yank her back up, but several seconds' tick by and they don't stand up. The girl keeps screaming for help, her cries growing more and more desperate.

Is he beating her?

It's considered poor taste to interfere with another man's way of dealing with his slaves, but something nags at me that she truly does need help.

I'm running in the direction I last saw them, before I realize my feet are hitting the ground. The weeds slap at my legs and nearly trip me up as follow the slave girl's cries.

Finally, I see the man's leg protruding from deep within the tall grass. I slow down and move closer. "Hey, what's going on?"

My heart pounds against my ribcage when I see the man on top of her, pinning her arms above her head with one hand, while using the other to tear away at the buttons on her shirt. The girl twists and turns, trying to break free of him, but he's much bigger than her. Tears stream down her face as she pleads for him to stop.

Slave or not, I don't believe any woman should be violated in that way. My first instinct is to get him off her. I bound over to him, taking hold of the arm pulling at her shirt.

"Stop it," I yell. "What do you think you're doing?"

This is the first time the man seems to register my presence. He looks up at me, his face red from sweat and exertion, confusedly staring at my hand holding his arm. It's only seconds before he snaps out of it. "Mind your own business, boy." He shoves me away, using the arm in my grasp. He's a big man and the force causes me to release him and stumble back a few steps.

The girl manages to kick him in the stomach, but that just infuriates him. He balls his fist and hits her in the face. Blood gushes from her broken nose and she moans pitifully.

I run at him grabbing him around his waist, tackling him to the ground. We roll off the girl and into the weeds. 

"What in the world--" The man pushes me down against the ground, before bringing back his fist and smacking me in the jaw. Pain shoots up my mouth, reverberating in my teeth. Ignoring the pain, I knock him off to the side, and roll on top of him. Grabbing the front of his shirt, I pull him up and slam his head back against the hard dirt.

I'm guessing it didn't do much since he knees me in the chest. I cough, spit flying from my lips and he knees me again, this time in the ribs. He pushes me into the grass. Before I can get to my feet, he jumps up and stomps over to me, taking his work boot and slamming it into my side. "I told you to mind your business!"

The breath leaves my body and I wheeze for air. He turns to walk away, looking for the girl. I reach out and grab his leg, yanking hard and he goes down. Climbing onto his back, I press my knee into his spine. I grab hold of his arms and pull them behind his back toward me.

He cries out and tries to buck me off. He somehow gets his boot around the back of my leg and uses the leverage to twist me off. Before I know what's happening he's back on me, hitting me repeatedly. Warm blood oozes from my nose. My head throbs, brought on by both my old headache and the new pain. Why is this even happening? I wouldn't even be out here if it wasn't for Father getting on my case like always. This is his fault. When his condescending expression flashes across my mind, rage surges through me and instead of the man, I see Father's face.

I block his next punch and slam his nose with my knuckles. The bones in his nose crunch with the impact and his head snaps back as blood flows freely. He loosens his grip on me and I tackle him to the ground again. He struggles and I know he's too strong for me to hold onto much longer. He looks insane with his wrath filled eyes and blood crusted nostrils.

If he gets up, he's going to kill me.

My free hand twists in the dirt next to me and closes around something hard and round. Fear and anger have taken control and I don't think of anything, but stopping this man from hurting me. Maybe I can blame the heat, adrenaline, or the lingering hangover for my actions, but even if I could find a scapegoat, like I always do, it wouldn't change anything.

Holding the stone high above his head, I bring it down against his skull. I hear the rock connect with bone and watch as the man's eyes roll in the back of his head, but I don't stop. I smash it down again, feeling his blood across my fingers and on my neck. I readjust my grip and lift my arm to hit him a third time.

"Stop!" The slave girl's voice jolts me out of the trance and I jump off the man and onto my feet. The stone in my hand is slick with his blood. My stomach twists in fear as I stare down at his still body. His chest doesn't rise, his limbs don't flinch, not even his eyelids flutter.

It can't be that he's...

The slave girl appears at my side. "He's dead," she whispers.

But I already know he's dead. I killed him.

The rock falls from my hand, causing us both to jump when it hits the ground. The slave girl's fingers brush my arm. She stares up at me, tears brimming her eyes, and opens her mouth to speak.

She's cut off when voices traveling from the edge of the woods shout into the distance. "Billy! Billy, where'd you go?"

The girl gasps. She points a finger at the dead man. "That's him. Those are the men that were helping him look for me."

Panic slides down my insides and I feel sick. Way worse than I did this morning. When those men get here and see their friend dead, they will come after me. They would probably kill me in retaliation. And even if I got a trial, the punishment for taking someone's life, other than a slave's, is death at the gallows. 

Saving a black slave girl from being raped would not be a good enough reason for ending the man's life.

The sound of the voices became closer and I think they've reached the edge of the field now. I meet the slave girl's eyes. If they saw her they would just finish what the man started earlier. I don't feel like she deserves anymore.

"Run," I whisper hoarsely.

She looks surprised. "You're letting me go?"

"They see you, you're dead." And this would be for nothing. That's probably why I wanted her to be free, if she died a few minutes later any way, I would have forever changed my life for nothing.

"What about you?" she asks.

The noises of the men are even louder; it won't be long before they spot us among the wild wheat. "Just go." I wave her away. "Run!"

She finally obeys and turns, vanishing into the high weeds. I kick the stained rock into the grass then duck down, so the men won't see the top of my head. I hurry as fast as I can while bent forward. I trip and hit the dirt, making a noticeable noise.

"Billy, that you?"

I scramble to my feet and take off across the field.

"Hey, who is that?"

For a minute, I try to keep my head down, but I give it up and just start sprinting through the weeds. Father always said my recklessness would get me into trouble, but he had no idea. 

~

A/N: How was the chapter? Let me know, k? Thanks for reading!