Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75792 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75792 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
My body feels weak, and my vision is blurry, so I grab the counter to steady myself. These memories continue to flood my brain, but I can’t imagine myself actually killing someone. Would I even be capable of such a thing?
I shudder in place, thinking of all the reasons I had.
I hated Chris for using me. Betraying me. Lying to me. Hurting me.
Not just emotionally, but physically too.
Months ago
“Why the fuck haven’t you quit that damn job yet?” he shouts, picking up one of the miniskirts that I only wear at Joe’s.
“Because I need to pay off my student loans. You know that,” I reply, swallowing because I already know where this is headed. This always happens when he finally does come home, usually drunk.
He shrugs and chucks the skirt onto the couch as if it means nothing to him. “Really? You can’t just pay it off with the money you earn shuffling some books?” he scoffs.
I continue washing the dishes in the hopes that he’ll cool off. “It doesn’t pay much.”
“Then get a better job,” he yells in my ear, a little too close for comfort.
“No, I like it there,” I reply.
The word no makes him glare at me as though I’ve set off a bomb.
“You know I don’t like it when other men look at you,” he growls, pointing at me. “So quit, or I’ll call him myself.”
“And then what?” I put down the glasses. “Who’s going to pay off these loans? And what about the bills?”
He makes a face. “You’ll figure something out. There are plenty of other jobs on the market, and I’m sure they’re all dying for a pretty ditz they can use.”
I frown. “Don’t call me that. I’m not dumb.”
“No?” Rage fills him up. “Then why do you work for Joe’s? When the customers there treat you like shit?”
Oh no. Here we go again.
He grabs one of the glasses and shatters it on the ground.
“Goddammit, Amelia! Why can’t you just do what I tell you?”
I don’t respond. There’s no point. Anything I say will only egg him on.
It’s what he always does, how it always goes.
I’d just be adding spark to the fuel, and then we’ll have a raging fire.
“For once in your life, stop being a miserable little girl and do something you can be proud of! For fuck’s sake!” he yells. “Look at what you made me do.”
He points at the shards as if it’s my fault he broke that glass.
Still, I don’t want to argue with him, so I grab the broom and start cleaning it up.
“Really? So you’re not even going to say anything?” He just stands there and watches me.
“Nothing I say will change your mind,” I reply.
His nostrils flare, and when I look up, it’s like he’s lost all control. My eyes widen as he marches to the counter. I hold my arms up to protect my face as he picks up a plate and chucks it right at me. Luckily, it ends up on the ground, too, instead of smashing into me.
“Fucking hell, Amelia!” he screams. “Do something! Say something!”
But I can’t.
I’m frozen to the ground, unable to move, to act … unable to even defend myself. And I don’t know why.
“I can’t believe this,” he says after a while, shaking his head. “What happened to making a better life for yourself after your parents died, huh? You were always crying about them.”
“Don’t bring my parents into this,” I say, tears welling up in my eyes.
“Jesus Christ …” Chris mutters, scratching his cheek before marching off to the door. “Fuck this shit. I’m out of here. Go wallow in self-pity for all I care.”
Before I can say another word, he slams the door behind him.
Two more plates tumble off the kitchen counter from the sheer force of the bang and shatter into a million tiny pieces.
Just as my heart does as I clean up the mess he made, wondering what I did to deserve this.
Present
I always denied his abuse and told everyone who asked about my bruises that it was an accident. That I was clumsy and often fell. But that wasn’t true, and I knew. I knew what Chris did to me, and I let him because I didn’t want to face the consequences of what it meant. Of how weak I truly was.
Weak enough to want a man who didn’t want me, who didn’t need me, and who despised me just so I wouldn’t feel alone.
I clutch my belly as the tears begin to flow. I don’t want to acknowledge this pain gutting me, wrenching my heart into pieces.
Did I really hate Chris so much that I wanted him dead?
Me, a killer?
I stare at my hands which shake with fear.
Did these hands truly murder another human being?
Or did I imagine it all?
I close my eyes and force myself to think of something else before I’m lost in these thoughts.