Chapter 07: Red Eyes
1034 Words
~Lora~
“Mic… Michael… please,” I gasped, my voice shaking. “It hurts. Let me go.”
I struggled inside his arms, my body twisting, fighting, begging for space.
But he didn’t move, not even an inch.
Instead, he slid his hands up, slowly and deliberately until his fingers wrapped tightly around my neck.
My eyes widened..
And worse, his eyes were red now.
It was empty, wild, like he wasn’t fully there anymore.
“Michael… I can’t…” I tried to breathe, tried to speak. “I can’t… breathe. Le…” The words died in my throat.
My vision blurred, and I felt my strength drained fast, like water slipping through my fingers.
“Why don’t you ever f*****g listen to me?” he snarled, squeezing harder. “You enjoy pissing me off, huh?”
“No…” I choked, each breath came out broken, shallow and useless.
My legs felt weak, I was trapped.
Desperate, I stretched one arm out, fingers shaking, reaching for anything…anything…that could save me.
Something to get him off me before it was too late.
At the kitchen table, a pan sat there.
But so close… yet so far.
My arm burned as I reached again, my body barely holding itself up.
Tears gathered in my eyes, hot and heavy, spilling without permission.
“Mic… Michael… please…” My voice was barely a sound.
He didn’t listen.
Just then, the telephone rang out sharp and too loud.
The sound cut through the room, pulling both our attention toward the kitchen.
The ringing echoed, filling the house and my head.
But his grip didn’t fully loosen.
He turned back to me, lips curling into something cruel. “Do you enjoy this?” he asked softly. “Me hurting you like this? I warned you.” He smirked.
One hand slid into my hair, fingers brushing my scalp like a lover’s touch, wrong, sick, terrifying.
“You even had the guts to come back home with your hair down” He tossed it..
And it spread across my face, sticking to my salty tears and sweat.
“Please. Just stop” I murmured.
He chuckled low, parted the hairs from my face, and I felt his grip on my neck eased just a little.
Just enough for air.
But he didn't say anything, he just stared at me, eyes expressionless.
The phone kept ringing, over and over.
And somehow, that seemed to make him angrier.
“Who’s the bastard calling?” he snapped.
I shook my head weakly, trying to breathe, trying not to pass out.
Thank God… he was letting go slowly.
“Or is it that stupid obsessive ex of yours?” he grinned.
Something dark flashed in his eyes.
“I don't know,” I whispered, forcing the words out.
He only grinned.
“You're sick” I gritted.
“For you,” he said calmly, “I can be anything, baby.”
Then he kissed me, suddenly and unwanted.
I reacted without thinking, and bit his lip hard.
He pulled back with a sharp hiss, his hands finally dropping from me.
His fingers went to his mouth, staring at the blood swelling on his lip.
That was it.
My hand reached the pan.
Before fear could stop me, I grabbed it and swung.
The sound was loud, with metal against flesh.
“Arrrgh!” he screamed, stumbling back, one hand flying to his face.
I screamed too.
The pan slipped from my shaking fingers and crashed to the floor with a loud clang.
The sound made panic explode, and my whole body shaking violently.
“Arrrgh… you!” he snarled, reaching for me again, his other hand pressed hard against the side of his face.
I flinched back.
He missed.
That was my chance.
I moved fast, away from him.
“Why would you do that to your husband?” he shouted, rage pouring from his voice as he lunged again.
I ran straight for the door.
I didn’t even realize how much I was crying, my face was soaked, my chest hurt.
My heart felt like it would tear itself apart.
Worse, my hands were numb and my legs barely felt like they belonged to me.
I struggled to breathe, my hands shaking as I fumbled with the handle, my fingers slipping again and again.
I glanced over my shoulder.
Michael was standing there, breathing hard, blinking like he was trying to pull himself together.
His face twisted slowly, something ugly settling back into his eyes.
The door wouldn’t open.
“Open up!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “God…open!”
Nothing.
Behind me, his footsteps moved closer.
The panic in my chest only grew heavier.
And then, I turned and ran to the stairs. It was the only way left.
I bolted up the steps, my feet barely touching them.
Behind me, he followed…laughing.
A low, cruel sound that crawled under my skin.
Like he's enjoying every bit of it.. like it was a game or something.
“You’re being foolish,” he called out. “Come back here this instant.”
His voice changed as he spoke, it wasn’t just anger anymore, it was cold.
Making me feel even worse, and I didn’t stop.
I ran toward my room, and for the first time ever, it felt impossibly far, like the hallway had stretched just to torture me.
“Lora, stop this!” he shouted. “You’re pissing me off!”
His footsteps thundered behind me.
“Leave me alone!” I screamed, my lungs burning as I reached my door.
Why wouldn’t it open?
My hands twisted the knob again and again.
Too fast and hard, but it refused to turn.
I looked back.
Michael stood at the top of the stairs, one hand gripping the railing, the other pressed to his chest.
His eyes locked onto me. “You’re stressing the f**k out of me,” he said. “Just be a good wife and stay there.”
“No… no,” I stuttered, my whole body shaking.
“I’m not going to let you kill me again.”
And just then, the lock clicked.
Finally, it flew open.
- Writer
