Fiction; Revenge

Her head was banging, painfully so, but it wasn't due to any wild nights out with girlfriends, or because she was ill. In fact, she wished any of those alternatives had been the reason for her agony. But it wasn't.

Instead the pain came from hitting her head in the sink in the bathroom. Not because she had slipped on the wet floor, or tripped on the bathroom mat. No, she had hit her head because her darling, and very loving, boyfriend had thrown her into it.

It was OK though, she thought, she had deserved it this time. She had known she was supposed to stay in the flat, but she didn't want the rubbish to just sit inside and stink the place up. That would have been wrong too. She got that, who would want to come home to a smelly flat? Still, she didn't regret having prawns for dinner last night. She loved prawns, and she had made a conscious decision having it.

Even though she knew she had deserved the beating, and had expected it, she was happy because today was the day. She had been waiting, and planning, for this day for a long time. She couldn't hold back her joy as she broke his favourite coffee mug, the red one with his favourite football team’s logo on it. He cared more about that mug than he did about her. Breaking it was a symbolic gesture. She broke his mug, like he had broken her.  She scraped the pieces together and threw all of them, but one, away. She saved the biggest piece for him to see. She wanted him upset and angry.

She broke into his drawer by picking the lock. She had been practicing how to do it for a while now. She took out his gun and closed the drawer again. She went back to the kitchen, left the gun on the counter top, and put the biggest kitchen knife on the floor, but not until she had cut herself in the arm. He wasn't going to be able to hurt her again after today. She was going to make sure of it. It was his turn to suffer. She knew she would have to pay the price for it, but so would he, and it would be worth it to not be miserable and in fear anymore.

When she heard his car park outside, she dialed the emergency dispatch and whispered to the female voice answering; 

“Please, help me, he’s going to kill me! Please, don’t leave m…”

She put the phone on the floor under the kitchen chair, the call still active, and she screamed. A short, quiet, scream, but it was effective enough for the dispatcher to stay on the line and to call a car to go to the address.

As soon as he walked in he started to yell and scream about the bin bag in the hallway. Coming into the kitchen he saw the broken mug and he kicked the cupboard door and banged his hand on the counter. She pleaded to him not to hurt her. 

“I’m sorry, it was an accident!”, she lied.

“Why the hell are you wearing make-up? You look like a whore!” he kept going. 

He moved quickly towards her, but stopped in his steps as he saw the gun on the counter top. 

“What the hell….?” He picked it up and looked at her.

“Please, please don’t shoot me!” she said as she backed away from him as far as she could. 

With the gun in his hand he moved up to her, pressed her against the wall, pointing the gun to her forehead.  She heard the sirens from the police car coming closer, and she knew they were coming for him. But he didn't. She could see the rage in his eyes and she knew his time was up. She looked him viciously in the eyes as she whispered; 

“I've been fucking the mail man all week and I loved every second of it”.

And then there was a loud bang!

She was finally free! 


Love//
Carina