Chapter 3- Look What You've Done
1364 Words
The rest of the weekend goes by in a blur without incident. I go to work, I come home, I clean, I cook, I go to bed. Wash, rinse, repeat. The house is spotless, so much so that I dare to allow myself a flicker of smug satisfaction as I watch Daniel search for anything to get angry about, and fail. I've stayed perfectly silent. Obedient. Compliant. I feel as though my mind has entered Sleep Mode. My daily routine is so perfectly ingrained in my muscle memory that I've evolved past any need to think. I simply do. Maybe if I'm lucky, I will disappear completely and my body will continue to play my roles: employee, cook, maid, object.
Slave. My subconscious hisses with venom dripping from the word. I pay it little mind and continue about my robotic, mundane tasks. A perfect drone.
The dangerous part of being able to do without thinking is that you are forced to occupy your mind with other things, things like dreams. Daydreams, night dreams, the keeping-me-awake-all-night dreams... When life has lost your interest, what else is there to do?
What makes this problematic is that when you daydream... you stop paying attention.
And in Daniel's house, not paying attention has consequences.
Sometimes, those consequences are as simple as spilling an after-dinner coffee on your boyfriend's lap.
"f*****g b***h!" Daniel screams at me as he explodes out of his chair, the hot liquid running down the sleek lines of his suit. He swipes at it furiously as it stings his leg. Terror takes a steel grip around my throat. I wasn't paying attention. When I crossed the kitchen to bring him a cup of coffee, I bumped into him, sending it spilling over the rim and into his lap. At the most, it would be a first-degree burn on his thigh, barely as big as his thumb.
But the extent of the actual damage was trivial to Daniel.
He has found his reason after days of anger and frustration boiling and bubbling inside him, with no window of opportunity to provide an outlet.
He is on me before I have time to blink.
He grabs the front of my dress and half-drags me toward the kitchen wall. My feet scramble beneath me, trying to keep up so I don’t fall. He pins me against the wall and starts hitting me—blow after merciless blow.
He strikes my face. My arms, when I raise them and fail to block him. His open palm closes into a fist as the blows become more direct.
The first punch lands against my temple, and stars explode across my vision. Another catches my nose, sending blood pouring down both of our fronts.
It doesn’t stop him.
He hits me again and again until I can’t see or hear anything beyond a dull ringing and the blood rushing beneath my skin, swelling in my face. I go limp, held upright only by the hand that has snaked its way around my throat.
I am pinned.
I am pummeled.
I am a mouse trapped beneath the paw of a hungry housecat.
That is all I am to him, I realize—and all he is to me. A lazy domestic animal deriving pleasure from the torment of a small, meek creature.
Why am I so weak?
The thought flickers through my mind as he continues his vicious attack. I close my eyes and wait—
No.
I wish for the end.
He stops his brutal assault long enough to start fumbling with his belt and zipper, his breathing ragged as he tries to unfasten his pants.
"You never learn," he pants "But you will—
I'll make sure this is the last time you do anything like that again."
I hear his zipper go down and suddenly, my body is moving without me.
My fingers grasp for anything I can use to loosen his grip, and they close on something hard and heavy. I clutch it tightly and swing it as hard as I can at his face. The cast iron skillet that has been sitting on my countertop makes a deafening metallic crack as it connects to the side of his head. Daniel cries out in pain and stumbles backwards, clutching the side of his face. I miraculously manage to land on my feet without collapsing in a puddle when I hit the floor. I start running down the hallway, but my vision is blurry from blood and the swelling around my eyes. Something catches my ankle and I go sprawling across the floor just a few feet from the safety of the guest bathroom. Whatever has my ankle isn't letting go. I turn my head to look over my shoulder, and I see Daniel latched onto my leg. There is a weeping gash on his cheek, and his nose is crooked, blood washing over his lips and chin in a steady rush.
My fingers claw at the floor, desperately trying to find purchase to drag myself forward to the bathroom with the locking door. To safety. My palms are slick with blood and I don't get any traction on the polished wood. He gets a firm enough grip on my leg to yank me backwards across the floor. I watch in utter dismay as my haven moves further out of my reach.
"You still don't get it, do you?" Daniel growls at me as he fights for control, "you are Mine."
He punches me in the stomach which makes me choke on something thick and metallic. I lie gasping on the floor as he drags himself to stand over me.
"You do not get to walk away from me," he draws his foot back and I feel it collide with my ribs like a semi-truck. My breath vanishes, and my body folds around the impact. "You are mine!" he says again, punctuating the last word with another kick to my side. Something cracks, and agony blooms in my chest like a rosebud dripping in blood and bile. I'm blinded by pain at this point, I instinctively curl up on my side to attempt to protect my injured ribs from any more blows.
“You are nothing—nothing—without me!” Daniel roars at me. “Do you hear me, b***h?”
Another kick.
Then another.
I try to roll away, but he follows, planting himself at my feet. He crouches over me, filling my entire field of vision.
“I will bury you.” His voice is venomous. Acidic. It weighs on me like lead plates pressing me into the earth.
“Nobody will miss you.”
He lowers his voice as he leans closer. His rough hand closes around my face, fingers digging into my swollen cheeks. Through the blood and tears, and despite my injuries, I look into his cold, dead eyes.
“Nobody will remember you.”
He draws his fist back for another blow, and I let my eyes close.
Then I hear him say one final thing.
“Nobody will find you.”
Something inside me wakes up.
I freeze.
I’m going to die.
The thought feels disconnected from my own brain, like it’s someone else narrating everything for me. But beneath it, something comes rushing to the surface.
It isn’t fear.
It isn’t rage.
It is something primal. Something without a name, carrying only one message.
Fight back.
He’s too strong.
Fight back.
I’m not strong enough.
FIGHT BACK.
This can’t be the end.
FIGHT. HIM. BACK. NOW.
My eyes fly open as he throws another punch. I feel my leg draw back as far as it will go before it launches at him with all the strength I have left in my body. A terrible scream echoes in my ears, and it's when my throat burns that I realize that it was my own voice. My foot connects to his face with a sickening crunch and he careens backwards, arms flailing.
He sails through the open basement door.
I hear his body tumble down the stairs, blow after blow. Then, one last dull thud, a deafening crack, and then nothing.
Silence.
- Writer
