“It wasn’t even when Vincent would leave in the middle of the night and come home covered in blood that I started worrying. It was the late nights he’d come home drunk and volatile. At first, he wounded me with harsh words, then they turned to wild accusations. He’d accuse me of cheating, even though I rarely left the house. Even though I’d found a bra in his car that wasn’t mine.
“When he punched a hole in the wall, I was convinced he’d never hit me. He did that instead of hurting me. To release his anger on an inanimate object instead of me. The first time he laid his hands on me, I told myself it was a one-time thing. He was so apologetic. But two months later, he did it again. And again. And again. It got to the point where I knew if I let this go on, he’d kill me.” The tears welling in my eyes aren’t from the memory of the pain, but from the admission of what comes next. My greatest sin.
The door is thrown open so hard it ricochets off the wall. Even as tremors run through me, I feel calmer than I have in a while. I shove the metal deeper between two couch cushions. The feeling of the steel fills me with the strength I need to end this life.
His smell enters the living room before he does. But the familiar stomp-shuffle in his drunk or high state is unmistakable.
“ELIZABETH! Come here! I’m home.” His voice while booming is slurred. I hate the thought that it makes this easier for me. Drunk means he’s slower than usual.
“Elizabeth, I’m not playing games tonight,” his threatening tone has sweat breaking out on my forehead. But he doesn’t realize he’s the prey tonight. He’ll fall victim to my hunger for survival.
Before he can round the couch and see me, I sit up. Yawning and rubbing false sleep from my eyes, I pretend he woke me. When really, sleep has evaded me for weeks. Not just from anticipation of tonight, but from fear of him killing me while I’m defenseless in a dream state. After tonight, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to sleep again.
“There you are, baby,” he muses in the sweet voice that used to have me on my knees for him. But it’s been a long time since I’ve believed it.
“It’s late, Vincent. Where were you?” It’ll piss him off. He hates it when I question him. But I don’t think I can do this if he’s happy and kind, even if it’s a pretense. I need him furious and violent. Irrational. I need to convince myself it’s self-defense.
As expected, he sneers at the question. “None of your damn business, you stupid bitch.”
“So, you were with other women, then? Cheating as always,” I match his tone, mine full of a hatred I’ve never shown him.
“Look at everything I do for you. And now you’re questioning me? You spend my money and live in my house! You have no idea what I do to spoil you. It’d make you sick.” He spits his chewing tobacco on the floor, then gestures at it, silently commanding me to clean it.
But I don’t.
Despite the harsh words, it isn’t enough yet. He isn’t angry enough. There’s still traces of humanity left in him. So, I keep pushing.
“Do your whores know about me? Or do you pay them enough not to care?”
He moves so fast that I don’t register the slap across my face until I’m on the floor. Jumping to my feet, I reevaluate my situation. He’s positioned between me and the couch. My weapon proved pointless because of its distance from me.
“You don’t talk to me like this. What the fuck is going on with you? You think because you live in my house that I’ll let you disrespect me like this?” He pounces at me, but I sidestep. For once, my height is an advantage because I drop under his grip and tumble onto the couch. Missing me throws him off balance, bringing him down.
I use the few seconds to my advantage. Rounding the couch, I add another obstacle between us. Then, I dig between the cushions, until my fingers lock around the gun I purchased a week ago.
He gets to his feet with a murderous look in his eyes. The one I’ve been waiting for. The one I need.
“Maybe I’ve let you run wild for too long. It’s time you get what you deserve. I gave you this life, I can take it away.” The glint in his eyes as he cracks his knuckles is all I need.
I raise my hand from between the cushions and aim the gun at him.
“No. You don’t get to hurt me anymore,” I swear to him.
Instead of looking scared, he throws his head back and lets out a shrill laugh. “You stupid girl. You think that little pocket pistol scares me?”
“I’m leaving.” My voice is weaker than I expected, but my resolve is still strong.
“You can’t go anywhere I won’t find you. And when I drag you back here, you’ll regret ever trying to leave me.” His words echo a sentiment I know to be true. One I took into account. But I’m leaving no matter what, and I am prepared for this situation.
“I know. Which is why you’re never going to get the chance to follow me.” I blink back tears I didn’t realize were pooling. The lump in my throat gets bigger, making each breath a gasp.
This is the man who saved me from my poverty. Who gave me the world. The only man I’ve ever loved. How could he have changed so much? Maybe he was never truly my hero. It was all a farce. As all our good memories fly through my mind, a tear drips down my cheek. Then another.
With the fall of the first, his expression changes. The gravity of the situation dawns on him. “Elizabeth, put down the gun. You’re acting crazy, baby. Those women don’t mean anything. I’ll stop seeing them.”
I scoff. He doesn’t get it. “I don’t care about them. It’s you. You’re the problem. You’ve hurt me for too long.”
“Baby, I’m sorry. You know I love you.” He musters up a smile so fake, it solidifies the end for me.