Dangerous Women, Passion's Invocation

Declaration Divine

declaration-divine

Gonna get all up onto my high heels

and haul ass out of here

gonna have to fight like a holy hellion

like I never fought for anything

like I never fought before.

 

Gonna slip on out of my warm bed

and paint my black jeans on

gonna be wearing a hat that matches

like I just got a sign

this is my declaration divine.

 

Gonna get all up onto my high heels

and haul ass out of here

gonna have to be my own super woman

for all of my sisters who can’t fight

like I have a godforsaken right.

 

Gonna get all up in my own existence

and then I’ll get up in yours

gonna fight like a holy hellion

like I never knew I could before

I’m no longer keeping score.

 

Gonna get all up onto my high heels

and paint my black jeans on

gonna be wearing a hat that matches

because this is my declaration divine

and I have a godforsaken right.

By Wildfire8470

Wildfire8470.jpg

10/16/2016:  In dedication to a personal declaration and end of abuse:  No more divided alliances or allegiances in my home or at my back. If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the abuse.

© October 16, 2016 – 11:44 AM

Copyrighted.com Registered & Protected  AHWP-6MDX-XO5U-XBMU

Abuse, Dangerous Women, Passion's Invocation, Psychological Fiction, Unrelated Family, WiP Excerpts

Reckless Rita and Feckless Fred

Reckless Rita and Feckless Fred


Feckless Fred

 

Dear Diary,   12/8/2015

 

I’m sitting here next to feckless Fred, except now he’s dead, and I’m about half seas-over working on my sixth pint of Conqueror Black. I found a crate in the back of his truck!

 

That’s the last picture I took of him, right before Thanksgiving dinner at the community club. Well it’s half the picture. Old feckless was getting an early start. Nothing new about that, but tonight is the first time he really hurt me.

 

I downloaded the pictures, cut off his head, and pasted it onto a silver platter surrounded by bloodied mashed potatoes. You’ve got to love Photoshop! I stuck it on an e-card and wrote, “It’s what’s for Dinner – Happy Feckless Turkey Day”!

 

Well, it made Olivia laugh and I got to vent. What Fred didn’t know never hurt him…until now. (Snicker!)

 

Okay, so murder is wrong and way out of my comfort zone, but it was really self-defense, so I know you will forgive me when I explain why. 

 

Only you and Olivia know that the things I said weren’t premeditated. You know, stuff like, “If he comes home stinking drunk again I’ll do something drastic”! I never really meant it. I was just blowing off steam.

 

I was pissed and spouting off recklessly like I do. You know stuff you say in anger like, “I’ll spike his drink with Drano” and “If he lays a single hand on me, I’ll go Unabomber on his worthless ass”.

 

Tonight he busted through the locked bedroom door. Old feckless blackened my eye and split my lip. He tried to bludgeon me with the marble lamp and I snapped! It was like getting struck by lightning. Zap! Then everything after is a moment of newfound clarity.

 

I suppose, by now, I knew I’d kill the bastard someday. I just didn’t know it would be today. 

 

Knowing his nightly routine, I waited to hear him turn the faucets and fill the bathtub. I heard the water splash in protest as he lowered his fat ass into it. (Talk about the size of Amarillo!) 

 

Tonight, I stopped threatening and issuing impotent warnings. Feckless knew it was just hot air. He knew I was just blowing smoke so tonight, I made good on them.

 

No one can say I didn’t warn him, but this time, Feckless went way over the top and he pushed me to my ultimate limit. It was time to put up or shut up!

 

Olivia knew it. She told me, “If you forgive him, he thinks he can beat you all the time and get forgiven all the time. All that teaches old feckless is that he’s right”. 

 

He thinks he can abuse me and get off with a few crocodile tears and well-rehearsed words. I showed him.

 

Geeze, she sure was right. She spoke with the voice of personal knowledge, warning me, “One day you’ll make a decision or he’ll force you to, if he doesn’t kill you first”. 

 

She offered to let me stay over when he really had a snoot-full. Until tonight I was damn near living there but just like she said, feckless Fred forced me to choose. 

 

It was his life or mine so I did the first thing that came to mind, though I did fantasize about it since the day after I married the son of a bitch.

 

I went to the tool shed to fetch a long extension cord and plugged it into the wall outside the bathroom. Then I got the toaster and plugged it into the other end. Silently, I cracked the door open.

 

Fred got up when he saw me enter. Before he could make a move, I lobbed the toaster, high and hard, and yelled, “Hey Fred, go deep”!

 

You should have seen his face when I pitched the toaster into the tub. Oh my goodness gracious! It was so much better than I’d imagined a million times! It was absolutely priceless! 

 

Well, what now? I have to call Olivia straight away; maybe she’ll know what to do with fried feckless.

 

RR

 

 

By Wildfire8470

 

Wildfire8470

 

 

 

 

 

 

© December 08, 2015 – 07:21 AM – All Rights Reserved
Copyrighted.com Registered & Protected AAWK-U4ZV-AVSE-28KZ

 

 

 

 

Tagged: Abuse, Alcoholism, AmEditing, Chosen Family, Comedy, Drama, Dangerous Women, Flash Fiction, Friendship, Humor, Matricide, Murder, Psychological Fiction, Unrelated Family, WiP

Dangerous Women, Flash Fiction, Passion's Invocation

Hooked

Jenner

 

Jenner checked her reflection and ran to wait behind the curtain. Looking down at the triangles of cloth that barely covered her secrets, she tried to slow her breathing.

 

No one would recognize me in this wig and makeup, she consoled herself and summoned all her courage.

Suddenly the music stopped and loud speakers blasted her cue into the drunken crowd,

 

“Announcing a little lady who’s going to make you feel Jennerrrific!

 

She bolted onto the stage, surprising her new coworkers, and immediately locked eyes with the first man she saw. He was a troll but he would do.

 

The girls said it would work, she told herself.

 

With a forced smile, Jenner swayed and gyrated to a tune she barely knew. She lowered her eyelids and let herself feel it; the pounding and pulsating sensuality began to sink in. It felt as if someone else had taken her over.

 

She pulled a knot from her hair letting the wavy length fall down her slender back. The men howled, hooted and catcalled. She knew she had them hooked and relaxed into music that enveloped her nervousness. It was heady and powerful tonic and her fears that fell away.

 

Slowly she peeled off the triangles to bare her voluptuous breasts, worked her dance movements toward the man and dipped low before him. Jenner felt primal and surprisingly brazen.

 

With full bosoms dangling before him, she gripped his lapels, pulled him from his stool and kissed him hotly, then shoved him back down, and finished the song with one leg wrapped strategically around the pole center stage.

 

Bills flew onto the stage from everywhere. She was a success. Jenner collected the bills and turned to exit the stage. Smiling genuinely, she thought, I expected to hook them and now I’m hooked!

 
 
 

By Wildfire8470
Wildfire8470

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

© May 23, 2015 – 06:08 AM – All Rights Reserved
Copyrighted.com Registered & Protected Q0VL-X2PL-WXXK-XVI6

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dangerous Women, Passion's Invocation

Red!

Red

 

Shelby sat near the Princess phone in the house she shared with Nathan. While waiting for her fiancé to call about dinner plans she tried to decide which cosmetics were appropriate. Even now, six months later, she was completely unaccustomed to the makeup intended to enhance natural beauty.

 

“Makeup with no color,” She murmured, “What a waste.”

 

Shelby leaned into the mirror trying to discern the contours of her cheekbones, dabbing on light blush and trying to shake off her irritation.

 

Nathan phoned every Friday, even if he had to return to work after he took her to dinner. Recently, his habit was to ask several coworkers to join them and the dinner was suddenly a business meeting.

 

Shelby drew a troubled breath, turned to face the makeup mirror and opened her eye shadow. She went about her ablutions which were usually enjoyable, yet seemed an annoying imposition this evening.

 

The clock struck seven and chimed the time. Something in her wanted to pick it up and hurl it at the wall. Instead, she squelched the momentary urge and reached for the black mascara. She knew the drill. By the time she was ready to apply her lipstick, Nathan would call to tell her he was on his way.

 

Feeling troubled that his work hours were quickly usurping her time with him; Shelby wondered how long she would be in his company before she would be exiled to listening, not participating. She set about the task at hand lamenting the lonely hours she’d spent waiting for him, but she knew that her anxious loneliness wasn’t all that she was suffering.

 

Why do I feel so… so?

 

Lacking an appropriate adjective, she moved on to the distraction of choosing stockings and retrieving footwear from the closet. Shelby rolled her eyes and donned the high-heels she had dyed to match her dress, but couldn’t help eying her fuzzy bedroom slippers longingly. Again, she tried to talk herself out of the pall that had descended upon her,

 

I worked damned hard to make it into the upper-echelon; to be one of society’s elite. She screwed up her courage, all of her cunning, and leveled her gaze at her reflection, So it doesn’t feel quite right yet, so what? It will in time. So what if you don’t feel like sustaining the facade tonight? You will. You will because you have to!

 

Shelby pulled her shoulders square narrowing her eyes determinedly, but realized she was gripping the vanity with white knuckles, You can and you will, she chastised herself for even considering the alternative for a second, but She couldn’t drive one thought from mind; I miss being important. Call girl, hooker, prostitute, call it what you want, but I was desired and important.

 

“I hate this,” she whispered, “Why did grandma call it a deep blue funk? It feels more like red, like danger, lightning storms, and wildfires; like fire engines blasting earsplitting sirens; like screams in the night; like neon, city lights and prostitute-red; urgent, immediate and not to be denied!”

 

Shelby chafed at the feeling gnawing at her but reached for the coral lipstick, attempting to thwart the pull of the past she had buried, when an old nursery rhyme came to mind, One grammy told me, she thought smiling wistfully while reciting it in mind,

 

“Sugar and spice
and everything ni… nic…
red,!” She finished,
“That’s what real women are made of!”

 

Looking around her with fresh eyes, Shelby took in the sterile, white walls adorned with ornate crown molding, the closet doors slid on hinges that wouldn’t dare to squeak, the exquisite crystal figurines and bone china ensconced in the hand-carved breakfront with its shiny lacquered finish.

 

“I’m a utensil,” Shelby whispered in horrified recognition, “My purpose is for appearances, like this house and the other women traversing these circles. They’ve been dealt with; brainwashed!

 

She stopped but her mind would not. They make elaborate dinners, entertain business colleagues and invite wives and girlfriends, no drones, she corrected herself, “They float around in chiffon dresses, throwing tea parties and garden parties for their men. They’re… I’m unseen; invisible! 

 

Our lives are of use only for betterment of social standing; the social standing of our men, our husbands and their families,” Shelby said aloud, “This isn’t what I fought, scraped, scrambled, and scrapped for!”

 

Turning on her stool, the trappings of the room assaulted her senses; the California King bed with one corner turned down to reveal a precise amount of goose-down pillow in its frilly, embroidered cover caught her eye. She cringed at the white satin sheets under luxuriously rich linens, all of which were finished with a white-satin dust-ruffle trim.

 

I’m a grown woman trapped in a little girl’s fantasy, Shelby realized.

 

She longed for a man who was tanned from months spent working in the sun, a man who appreciated a hard day’s work and a longer nights play. Suddenly, Shelby hit her limit,

 

I would walk through fire to be held and loved by a man with a muscular physique; a rough, wind-scorched body that speaks of using his hands for more than pushing papers across a desk. I want a man who will fuck me wildly, like it’s his last chance; a man to take me roughly, make me crave his attention focused entirely on me. I want him to claim me with longing passion, grateful to give and take pleasure in moments stolen from this too-hectic world.

 

“I need a man who would sacrifice precious hours and see it as time better spent, even if only for an hour a week. There’s a lot to be said for time that’s heady with desire, lust, longing and hope,” She sighed, “After all of this, after everything I’ve suffered, I’ve dismissed the only identity that is actually my own.”

 

Her thoughts turned to Nathan’s well-timed niceties; the trinkets, jewelry, and flowers which now took the place of intimacy. She remembered that his hands were still softer and better manicured than her own, and how his mechanical, perfunctory lovemaking left her bereft and sad. Instantly, she was filled with remorse and revulsion.

 

Her future seemed dismal at best, not at all the picture she had carried with her in mind. Shelby thought that hers would be a Cinderella story. She had imagined newspaper headlines; a fantasy that had sustained her while she reinvented herself:

 

“Call girl retires to marry rich, eligible bachelor. Couple to honeymoon at exclusive resort in Florida’s South Beach.”

 

Shelby slumped before the mirror when the phone rang slicing her already frayed nerves.

 

“Nathan darling,” She answered stifling her sorrow.

 

“Where would you like to go tonight?” Nathan inquired good-naturedly.

 

Shelby paused to think. This life is a child’s fantasy; a fairytale. None of this is real and all fairytales end. Stay strong. Her breath caught and stuck in her throat. The only thing she knew with certainty was she could never talk to Nathan about it.

 

Finally, she gave him the first semi-honest answer she’d had in six months, “I want to go back to the last place.”

 

“Which place, dear?”

 

“The one that was red.”

 

“Oh yes, of course, The Red Lobster then?”

 

Shelby held her breath, unable to voice her life-altering decision.

 

Making her way to the walk-in closet, she found the only memento she’d kept. Pulling a red mini-dress from the hanger, Shelby placed the receiver back in its cradle, whispering, “I’ll meet you there.”

 

It was the last lie she would tell him.

 
 
By Wildfire8470

Wildfire8470
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
© May 08, 2015 – 05:04 AM – All Rights Reserved
Copyrighted.com Registered & Protected  YOJO-BHHL-4PDN-5WO1

Abuse, Dangerous Women, Erotic Romance

Craving Kit

Craving Kit

Kit

 

Henry woke to the sound of a motorcycle rumbling outside and squinted at the digital clock, grumbling, “2 am. on a Tuesday. Don’t the neighbors know I have to work in the morning?” 

He rolled over pulling a blanket with him when he heard knocking at the door. For a moment he hesitated but urgency propelled him from his bed. It was an uneasiness he hadn’t felt in months. Henry fought to surface from his dream-laden sleep, talking to himself and attempting to recall when he’s last felt this way.

“Not since I was seeing,” He cut short his thoughts and pulled the door open to find Kit leaning against the doorframe wearing a familiar look; one that seemed to say, “What took so long, asshole?”

He smiled despite himself. She was the only woman he couldn’t read, but even entirely disheveled, with her hellfire hair windblown and tangled, she was a vision.

Kit incited feelings in him that were utterly endearing, if somewhat disquieting. She was woman and child; part fully grown, tougher than nails, strong in her own right temptress and vixen, yet part playful, silly, wide-eyed innocent, coquette with a bit of wild child.

Henry studied her wondering whether to fold her into his protective arms or pin her to the wall and ravage her. He could never quite discern what was veiled with practiced stealth behind her eyes.

When they lived together briefly, he surmised that she meant to send no obvious message, intentionally leaving him to wonder whether she wished to appear mysteriously alluring or had, perhaps, arranged for his early demise. Her turbulent seastorm eyes and lips that only turned up slightly at the corners could mean one of two things, his greatest joy or worst fear realized.

Had he been Superman, she would have been Kryptonite. Kit loved with an intensity that left him gasping in astonishment, and in the space of a breath she could be the embodiment of tornadic wrath swirling around it’s entirely too attractive eye.

You may be the death of me, he thought, remembering that she had always been a volatile creature, albeit an enticingly beautiful one. He was certain she had been a mythical Siren in a past life. She had certainly lured him with her charms and left him in emotional peril with his hopes dashed.

Even entirely disheveled, Kit was stunning with fiery locks framing her angelic face. He had nicknamed her “Hellcat” for the riotous red waves she could never quite tame. Hellcat eventually merged with her given name and she was his “Kitkat.”

Henry shook his head clear and steeled himself, “Kitkat! What brings you here?”

“I can’t believe you remember that,” She laughed.

“Of course I do. You never forget a moment of your first love. It seems appropriate now. You’re stunning. Wow!”

Henry froze, certain that her heart slammed shut the moment he said ‘love.’ It was a hard and fast rule for her. Kit couldn’t handle love.

Ironically, by way of reply, she flew into his arms kissing him hotly, ardently pressing her slight frame to his and raking her nails down his back. Instinct urged him not to question his good fortune as all reason deserted him, but there had to be more to this picture, more he wasn’t equipped to handle at this hour.

Henry struggled to extract himself from a hormonal cocktail, feeling as though he were in the vice-grip of something much stronger than himself. After a heated moment locked in passionate embrace, he managed a step back and rummaged his thoughts for a plausible excuse, “Kitkat, this is a very welcome surprise,” he informed her, “but I have company tonight.” He glanced toward the stairs holding his breath.

She paused, smiling at the nickname he’d given her, and immediately called his bluff. With one eyebrow cocked and eyes sparking challenge, she flatly stated, “Get rid of her.”

Again, Henry wondered if her eyes flashed lethal lightning or promiscuous promise. He loved Kit, always had, but he wasn’t going to hand her this ‘win’ on a silver platter, “Why,” he questioned, feeling every inch the liar he was.

Kit felt his defenses weakening and stated with calculated deliberation, “Because I’m more.”

Henry understood what she had shorthanded and knew it to be true. She was more of everything he wanted, needed and desired whether it was best for him or not.

They were thrown together years ago. She was forever in his heart and he in hers. Their lives were irrevocably entangled. Together they were a force to challenge Heaven though the match may have been the design of hell.

Without waiting for reply, she marched through the house and into the kitchen. By the time he caught up, she was pouring Coke into glasses and asking where he kept the rum.

Henry stood behind her smiling, enjoying the sweetest derriere he had ever admired, quite lost in a flood of memories. He could never accuse her of a single dull moment. With his libido barely in-check, he relented, “Okay, I give. Be quiet and I’ll go get rid of her.”

“’K,” she acknowledged with off-the-cuff nonchalance, as though there hadn’t been another option.

Henry climbed the stairs pretending to gently remove the fictitious suitor from his bed and escort the figment out the door, then remembered to place a noisy kiss to the back of his hand for effect.

Kit had perfected her ‘Whistler’s Mother smile’ long ago. Her countenance gave nothing away. Her expression could be infuriatingly ambivalent. On more than one occasion he couldn’t have guessed if she’d just won the lottery or totaled his car.

Silently, he laughed at himself knowing this was the source of his unease, her unpredictability and capacity to touch him profoundly without physical contact. I should have known, he chided himself, we have always been connected somehow. I’ve always known when she was hurting or when she really needs me.

Kit broke her silence and his train of thought, “Hi, Henry, I’ve missed you.”

Her affectionate lilt sent him reeling headlong into his own hard-won defenses, like a wrecking ball into walls it had taken years to erect.

For half a second, he wondered if she could hear the noises, the explosion of brick and mortar walls built in mind, the racking sobs that rivaled cumulative wailing wall cries, the rending of woven fabric into separation.

His shredded heart still screaming it’s excruciating pain, the shattering of personal safety, now an illusion that lay in quivering, bloody chunks of self, of labor, heartache and tears, whimpering in the spaces between them with the illusion of safety now thrashing on the floor, dying at her feet …and he wondered, Does she know? Can she feel it, hear it, or is this a one-way connection?

He swallowed around the enormous lump in his throat and fought for composure, “Hi Kit, how have you been?”

Henry was well aware that being raised by wolves would have been preferable to the rearing she had received. It was the pink suede elephant perpetually in their personal space. She had spent too many years trying to escape what was done to her in the name of love, family, relationships and obligation.

He had no doubt that she loved him but was fully conscious of the fact that she had no acceptable definition of it. She had only a few diseased examples for comparison and all of them made her feel sick, trapped, and suffocated. If she couldn’t avoid the feeling, she had certainly stricken the word from conversation.

“I’m fine. You?”

“Kit, you always say ‘fine’ when you’re not. What is it?”

He hadn’t meant to blurt it or care as much as he did, but she was here, and in her presence he was suddenly invested again.

“You know, just stuff. Life happening.”

“Yea, I hate it when that happens,” he laughed, trying to lighten the moment.

“I’ll drink to that,” She quipped, relaxing into the overstuffed couch.

Jack checked the time already knowing he would never make it to work as expected and there would be no untroubled sleep tonight. He went to replenish their drinks, asking over his shoulder, “How about we have another and we’ll watch your favorite comedy? I can play hooky tomorrow.”

“Sounds heavenly. It’s okay to crash on the couch?”

“As long as you don’t mind if I pull out the sofa bed while we do.” Henry held his breath wondering if she had just changed her mind or would change it now and he remembered, Kit can downshift faster than the speed of light.

With so much of her youth being lost to mental enslavement and emotional blackmail Kit had sought out the only love she could relate to. At eighteen, she left home and became involved with several abusive men.

Later, she took refuge in a motorcycle gang. They were warm, welcoming, safety in numbers, able and willing to abuse anyone who mistreated one of their own. They ‘had her back.’ Ultimately, they were the family she never had.

A precious few had been lovers but all afforded her protection; gave her a semblance of stability, shelter and succor. They accepted her unconditionally. She belonged solely to herself and with her chosen family. As long as she owned what was left of her battered mind and body, they were balm to her wounded soul.

Kit understood love only in that context. She was safe with them. Anything resembling obligation or commitment made her want to run screaming into the night.

She studied him with an expression that could fill with infinite affection, guileless innocence, or wanton lust, as quickly as she could drop an iron curtain veiling malice, venom and murderous intent.

Henry risked a timorous guess, testing the waters in making the couch bed into a comfy sanctuary. Kit seemed content, and thankfully, ill-prepared to bolt. He sensed she needed a cozy hideout in a familiar fortress. She came to him for consistency and stability.

He loved her more than the salvation of his soul, and was wholly convinced now, that she had been a mythical Siren in a past life. She certainly had the capacity to lure him in and leave him in emotional peril with feelings raw and hopes dashed.

With certainty, he knew they could climb to ecstatic heights of incomparable pleasures founded solely in genuine love, as certainly as he knew she would be gone before he woke.

He had wanted to give her the world but she already had her world on her terms. What he learned the hard way, and only just realized, is that he wanted to give her his world, on the condition that she share it.

He would ask her to bend after a lifetime of bending and breaking. His idyllic view of family would be her certain death.

Finally, he understood and accepted that clinging to her freedom was no more selfish an act than asking her to love him in the fashion he would visit upon her. How could I expect her to conform to my definition of love and family? She comes from her own little war zone; her own personal hell having that exact prerequisite.

Henry wanted to give her the love she longed for and so obviously needed, but in a flash of understanding, he realized that the most loving thing he could do for her is let her go no matter how many times he would have to. Bikers were her family, and for the foreseeable future, he was her home.

As they rested spooned together, safe in the night with all other appetites satisfied, her words came back to him, “Because I’m more.” She was absolutely right but wrong. He closed his eyes slipping into sated sleep, whispering, “Because you’re everything.”

Kit smiled knowingly and closed her weary eyes. With her need of affirmation and acceptance; her ultimate craving finally fulfilled by the only man she ever truly loved, she fell into a more peaceful sleep than she had ever thought possible. She was home.

By Wildfire8470
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(C) February 12, 2016 – 07:36 AM – All Rights Reserved

Copyrighted.com Registered & Protected  MVIH-B2XD-FG2H-VQEY

Abuse, Dangerous Women, Violence

Done!

2-7-2013 Done!

Kimberly lay across the edge of the tub, half-drowned and too exhausted with his abuse to care anymore. She lay as though dead, amazed she was able to think at all. He had nearly killed her this time.

“One hour late from girls’ night out is not call for this,” she raged with no ability to move. She wondered how or why she had survived for this long as she stared into the mirror across the room, her makeup running down her ashen face, almost wishing he had succeeded tonight.

Everything inside her was screaming,

“I’m done with this fucking shit!” Done! DONE,” but she had no energy to utter a sound.

She couldn’t even summon the strength to strip from her sodden dress and dry herself, but the voice in her head wouldn’t stop. Not this time…

DONE! FINISHED! OVER! THE END! DONE!

On nights like this, she used to wonder why she had married the bastard. Now, she only contemplated ending it.

She closed her eyes and really thought hard this time. She hit extremes without fortitude to put plans into action, so she lay there drenched, gasping for air… and plotting.

Finally, a quiet strength encompassed her as an actual plan took shape.

Kimberly knew she couldn’t divorce the asshole. She had inherited millions when she lost her parents,

…and I’m not going to lose it to him, she fumed angrily, I’d end up supporting the lazy bastard too!

Thoughts of losing house and home to him were nearly unbearable but the money she inherited from her parents was non-negotiable.

No! That is NOT going to happen, she railed at him mentally while realizing she would likely get stuck with paying alimony too.

Then her weakness began to subside. Kimberly knew now that she had options.

Okay, no attractive options, she surmised while rummaging through her thoughts, examining each of them one-by-one, but do-able, she stated to herself determinedly.

She pushed herself upright and every bone in her body ached. Her lungs hurt from fighting him for tiny amounts of oxygen. Kimberly wondered how many hours she had struggled with him tonight. With arms weak and limp at her sides, she succumbed once more,

Why didn’t you just do it this time, you fucktard? You could have spared both of us this, she yelled without sound at the blue light of the television flickering through the doorway, knowing he was passed-out drunk in front of it.

Kimberly slipped from her precarious perch on the edge of the bath tub to the cold, tile floor.

What the hell am I thinking, she questioned herself as she sat in a heap of wet clothing with limbs askew, Am I really thinking about… but she couldn’t finish that thought.

She crawled to the cupboard beneath the sink, opened the small door and reached inside, fumbling in the unlit interior until she grasped the items she sought.

With trembling hands she extracted his straight razor and his old, rolled-up belt. A small smile claimed her lips and she found renewed vigor. Kimberly placed the items in the sink and pulled herself up by the surrounding vanity.

Suddenly she realized that she was still in her stiletto heels. Kicking them off, she thought of how far away the night of fun and gayety with her friends seemed to be.

That was maybe, eight or twelve hours ago, she thought, staring at her haggard appearance in the mirror more closely, Seems like it’s been years.

At twenty eight years old, Kimberly looked forty years older than that and her rage was renewed.

“I – will – not – let – him – do – this – to – me,” she whispered haltingly at her reflection.

Grabbing up the razor and belt, she tucked them into her elbow holding them close to her side, and raced quietly past the bedroom where he sat, exactly as she knew he would. He was sprawled, with his head dangling to the side of the easy chair, with beer cans and a whiskey bottle strewn about the floor around it.

She stared at him for a second thinking, So unlike you. You’re gonna make this easy for me. Aren’t ya, dickwad?

Knowing she would lose her nerve in a moment of pause, Kimberly raced out to the garage and collected a large coil of rope and cut off a length of duct tape. She stuck the tape to her upper arm and got into the truck she had so carefully parked only hours before. She backed it into the driveway making sure to leave the keys in the ignition.

In a moment, she was standing in the soft glow of the porch light with her heart racing. She leaned down to grip her knees focused on slowing her breathing. When she realized that her dress was still damp, she was enraged anew.

In a shot, she was back at the bedroom padding in quietly, even knowing that dynamite wouldn’t wake the drunken shit. She laid the utensils on the ground, nearly tripping over an unseen bottle of half-empty Tequila, and set about the task at hand. Quickly, she wrapped the rope around him, effectively binding him to the La-Z-Boy recliner and bound his legs with the leather belt. She almost snickered, thinking,

Boy, you really missed your calling, you lazy fuck! You should have made commercials for La-Z-Boy!

She stifled a hateful smile and gingerly peeled the duct tape from her arm, then pressed it to his mouth and firmly anchored it behind his head.

He stirred from his alcohol-laden sleep to find himself immobilized. He struggled and tried to yell, as he had when he was trying to drown her. Kimberly bent down resolutely and picked up the straight razor. With a final, wounded-animal cry, using every ounce of pressure her tired arms would exert, she dragged the razor across his throat unleashing all her years of pent-up rage, screaming,

“Dooonnneee!”

By Wildfire8470

Wildfire8470

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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