Hey Everyone! This short excerpt is totally fiction, but it's something I had to write. It got my blood pumping and this story just had to jump out onto paper. I need all the review and critique you can offer!!!
The air fills with the stink of his presence as he saunters through the front door. The door slams and the keys clank on the rickety table. I try hard to concentrate on the page of my worn copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s poems as I catch a glimpse of him in the corner of my eye. I’ve given up with cheery greetings these days.
No matter what I do or say, his response is always the same icy glare and stabbing comments. Today I sense something has pushed him further as his foot steps slow and advance right in front on the couch I’m seated on. Knowing what’s coming, I grip the edges on my book with white knuckles in an attempt to save my book.
His hand reaches down, snatching if from my grasp and I squeeze my eyes shut as the book strikes me across the face. Tears threaten to rush out, but this time I won’t be made into a baby. I won’t be pushed around and hit anymore. By the look in his eyes, he thinks he’ll have a fun fight. How wrong his is. I’ve been waiting for him tonight; for this moment.
Slowly, I stand up, taking a step toward him and wrap my arms around his neck. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes when I kissed him with everything I had, pulling back for air.
“Mmmm, hey baby, that’s nice,” he said, thinking I was really into him as his hands moved down my back.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, pulling away to step into the bathroom. I pulled my hair down, pinched my bruised cheeks, and smoothed my blouse. As I stared into the mirror, I saw a girl from the streets in tattered sweats.
This isn’t where I wanted to be and I know how to get away. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door, leaning on the frame. The so-called man had stripped to his boxers and was stretched out on the couch, stalking me with his eyes.
Playing his game, I walked to the couch, stripped to my underwear, and straddled his waist, running my hands over his bare chest. He made noises of satisfaction as I stretched to kiss him, attempting to pin his arms down.
A sickening chuckle escaped his lips as he flipped me over, rolling to the ground. His tongue drew lines down my neck, and over my chest. I tried to enjoy these final moments, but as he pried my legs apart, arching to get some, I reached under the couch.
My hands came in touch with cold metal, and as I pulled it out, the gun felt like my key to freedom. The click of the gun didn’t stop his motion, only when I pushed it against his chest did he pull back. Cold and shaking on the floor, I looked into his eyes.
This man I had loved, given my whole self for, had changed into a monster, greedy for lust. I didn’t hesitate as I pulled the trigger, hitting him square in his rippled chest.
He rolled off to the side, and as I watched the life drain from his earthly body, I bent down to plant a kiss on his cheek. His lips moved slightly and whispered one word.
“Bitch.”
He had to die, so I could live.
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