Her Dark Desire (In the Process of Being Edited)

21

There were noises coming from the other side of the door. Harsh whispers pulling me from drug induced sleep. I roll over to my side and stare at the clock through swollen eyes. Six am. Just three hours of sleep. My body was sore from the beating six hours before. I couldn’t help the groan that tore itself from my lips. Pathetic, the voice in my head said. It was true. How sad was I, hiding under the covers cowering like some little bitch. This was not how I wanted my life to be. Something had to change. Someone has to die, the voice told me. Someone...I laugh at the thought. Not someone, I knew exactly who had to go. With him gone I would be released from the pain. My face muscles protest as the grin spreads on my face.

                Could I do it? Could I steal the very breath from his body? Could I deliver unto him all the pain I’ve felt these past seventeen years? I roll onto my back and place a shaky hand over my eyes. It would never work. I’m a coward. Didn’t I prove that? Throwing up at the thought of blood, I can’t believe I did that. I can feel the tears beginning to well up and fall from my eyes. Real men don’t cry. Does that mean I’m not a man? More tears begin to silently fall from my eyes as I ponder this distressing life of mine. Maybe I’m the one who should die. I can’t help but think of Paisley when I finish the thought. If I should leave this world she would miss me. I could never hurt my kitten nor abandon her.

                The voices grow louder with each passing moment. It’s making it hard for me to even hear my own thoughts. I lie there wishing they would just stop. The arguments are pointless. My mother will never win. He always wins, even when he’s wrong.

                “I can’t believe this. Do you know how damaging this is to my reputation? It was my father’s voice.

                “Please,” my mother says in a whisper.

                “Do you know how humiliating it was to find out that my son is being charged with murder? I’m a laughingstock. He’s this way because you coddle him too damn much.”

                “You can’t believe Zeke would kill someone. My baby would never do that. He’s suffered enough.”

                “Enough,” my father yells. “That boy doesn’t know what suffering is but I’ll show him.” I could hear the threat in his words. He wasn’t done with me yet. A shiver rips through my body. I’m ashamed of myself. Why are you afraid of him? You’re stronger than this. The sweet words whispers through my mind. Do it, it says. Don’t let him get away with this. I lie there pondering those words.

               “Let him rest, please. He’s been through a lot. Besides, he’s still hurting from earlier. Please, please just give him a break. I’m begging you.” My mother was crying again. I hated to see my mother that way. I wince as I sit up and swing my legs over the bed. The pain is excruciating, I rub a hand over abdomen and gasp when my it passes over the bruise. It hurts to breathe. With each deep breath, my body begs me to stop. I take shallow breaths as I attempt to rise from the bed. It’s useless, my legs protest and I fall back to the bed. I hit the bed with balled fist. I’m weak. I need to get stronger. I lift up and continue to listen to the voices outside while I compose myself.