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The end to a story I'm writing. |
I heard him before I saw him. The thundering down the narrow hallway, slamming into the walls, drunk again. As sleepy as I was I ran to the door and attempted to lock in, I remembered he had broke the lock a few weeks ago in another of his rampages. The door swung open and I stood there, terrified as he grabbed my upper arm. When he touched those tender bruises I yelped. “You forgot to take a bath Anna, go take a bath. I’ll help.” I felt the tears slid down my cheeks hot and heavy. He’s going to kill me. Something inside of me told me that, that this was the last day of my life. When he dragged me into the bathroom with those ugly puke green walls I saw that the bathtub was already filled to the rim. He picked me up and placed me in the water, clothes and all. I started kicking and he pushed me under the water. I was kicking and thrashing praying that Mother would hear my struggles and come in. He never hurt me when she was around. I kept my eyes open; all I could see through the water was his blurred image. When I saw his face I aimed and thrust my legs up. There was a yell and his grip weakened, contact. I started to come up out of the water and he slammed me back down. Pain exploded through the back of my head and the water was stained with red. I thought it was because I had kicked him. I realized it was my blood. My chest ached with the need for air and my head was throbbing. I thought it would be easier, to just let go to let the black spots in front of my eyes just take over. That would bring death; it would leave me vulnerable to him. I shook my head as the spots got bigger and bigger, I wanted to scream, but water filled my mouth. It got quiet; it was so hard to move my arms and legs. I let the black spots fill over my eyes. The last thing I felt was the pressure of his hand off my chest and my body floating to the top. |