Escape

This is a piece I wrote back in high school, just something I whipped up on a spare and I had nothing better to do. Just a feel for what I write. I just spruced it up a little and added some dialogue as the original didn't have dialogue at all and it consisted only of 1 page. I realize I suck at punctuation and grammar, so I will not be offended if those are pointed out, I actually welcome them. So enjoy, feedback is totally welcome.

She sat curled up against the wall, on the destroyed bed, debris all around her. Knees pulled up to her chest, she lifted her head and through one blurry eye she took in the damage. She didn't know how long she had been sitting there, how long she had been crying. Her body ached, her head swam, and she was afraid to move, afraid this time there would actually be something broken.

This was nothing new to her, the pain, the destruction, this was life.

As she looked around, she noticed the broken furniture, empty beer bottles and cans scattered all around, there were fresh holes in the walls where she knew her body had met a few times. There was an eerie silence, not even the television was on this time. Did that mean she was alone at last? With that hope in mind, she unfolded herself from the bed and made her way to the edge of the bed. That was when she noticed the blood around her. So much blood, her hands were covered in it, that was when she fully took notice of herself. She could barely see, she lifted her hands to her face and could feel the swelling around her eyes, her left completely closed, her right just a little slit. Her lips felt like they were ten times the size, her hair was a mess, matted with dried blood. She winced as she felt the gash on her temple, she would have to go to the hospital for stitches again.

Her right arm didn't seem to work right, it felt numb from her shoulder to her elbow, she wondered if maybe it was broken. Her right ankle screamed in pain as she tried to put pressure on it so she could stand. Two possible breaks, this wasn't good. He had been rougher than usual, and she was glad that she had passed out from the pain when she did. She didn't remember much of the past few hours, and she was thankful.

She limped her way to the bedroom door, sidestepping splinters of wood of what used to be a wooden bat. The living room was in worse shape, the coffee table was in two pieces, the television smashed - which explained why it wasn't on. More holes in the walls. The only surviving piece of furniture was the couch, and he was on it unconscious. Her heart was pounding at the sight of him. A half bottle of vodka on the floor beside him, and she knew instantly that when he woke up it would start all over again. This had to end.

She looked at the door that would lead to her freedom, but she knew it was a false freedom. He would hunt her down like all the other times, she would be dragged back and it would start all over again. She had to find a different way out and make it permanent. She turned to the kitchen. It was the only way.

She limped and stumbled through the debris of the living room, avoiding the glass bottles and anything that would make any noise. She didn't want to risk waking him, for fear that if he did she wouldn't make it to her destination.

Finally in the kitchen, she kicked debris out of her path, and went straight for the drawer, hoping he hadn't taken them. Pulling the drawer open slowly, so it didn't squeak. She breathed easier as she saw the knives that lined the drawer. Grabbing the large chefs knife, she closed the drawer quietly. She looked behind her through the door towards where he laid on the couch, there had been no movement. She went to the middle of the kitchen floor, and dropped to  her knees. A tear slipping down her cheek, she closed her eye. Taking a deep breath, and placed the blade against stomach, just under her breasts, angling it just so.

She sat there for what seemed a lifetime, as she thought about what she was about to do. It was the only way. This was how she would finally be free. She heard a grunt and a moan, and the couch shifting, she went into panic. She was running out of time. She looked behind her, to see him sitting up on the couch, rubbing his face as he brought the vodka to his lips and took a large swig. His knuckles were black and blue, and she was happy to see that he suffered at least a little for what he had done to her. His eyes opened, and she quickly turned to face forward.

"What are you doing?" He roared, and she closed her eyes again, as she listened to him crash through the debris coming at her. "Bitch what are you doing!?"

She knew when he entered the kitchen, it was now or never. Freedom, or more pain at his hands. His hand gripped her shoulder painfully, and with a deep threat she folded herself up, holding the knife steady.

She could hear shouting, cursing, she felt a shock of pain as the knife bit through skin and buried itself deep. Then her world went dark, and she was in painless paradise.