Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 47419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 237(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 237(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
HOMEWRECKING SKANK
I watched him cross the room with the bowl of chili in his hands. I wanted to yell at him not to feed it to me, but the last time I turned my face away, he’d slapped me around the head, and since that was the only place I had any feeling, I had no choice but to eat the food I had poisoned and hope that the dose wasn’t enough to do me harm.
When the doctor mentioned me coming home, I wanted to protest, but since I couldn’t talk and couldn’t do anything to make my feelings known, there was no hope for it. I thought that I would at least have a case worker or a carer, but Doug had put on an act and somehow got himself signed up as my personal caretaker because he found out that the state would pay him each month.
I’ve only been back a few days, but this was the third bowl of chili he’d fed me. I’m sure they gave him a list of things I could eat and this was not one of them. “Open up. I have a hot date tonight, and I won’t be coming back in here to see to you until tomorrow, so if you shit yourself, you can just lay in it.”
What’s new? I have no control of my bowels, and the humiliation of having him change me is about more than I can take. He makes all these derogatory comments each time he has to do it and has taken to doing it only once a day.
I watched him as he moved the spoon to my mouth, shoveling food in fast enough to choke me. I didn’t want to die; I still held out hope that there would be some miracle cure that would get me out of this mess. While I was in the hospital, this horse-faced bitch came around with her sanctimonious bullshit about paying for sins and repenting.
If I could speak, I would’ve given her a piece of my mind, but she took one look at the venom in my eyes and decided to visit me every day with her shit. If I ever get the use of my limbs back, that bitch is the first one I’m going after.
I ate the last of the chili and watched him take a swallow from one of the whisky bottles I had left. I tried to remember how long I was gone for and which bottle this could be. If he has been eating the food and drinking, he should be dead any day now.
The social worker was supposed to come by soon, hopefully she’d get here before anything happened, but it’s getting close. I can’t communicate with anything, but my eyes, and Doug has yet to look into them even once.
I screamed inside my head as he walked away and left the room. Tears streamed down my face, and I tried with everything in me to move, but nothing happened. I must’ve fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion because when I opened my eyes, it was dark outside.
When he said he had a date, I thought he was going out somewhere, but from the noises coming from the other room, it sounded more like he had brought one of those escorts to the house again. He’s been spending the money the state pays along with my disability on these women. This is what he had gone to bat to get things taken care of in a hurry to do.
I fell asleep again, and the next time I woke, it was light out. He came into the room fussing about having to take care of me, changed my shitty diaper and threw it on the bed next to me, wiped something between my thighs, and pulled a new adult diaper up my thighs.
I can still smell asshole, and I smell ripe. I hadn’t had a proper bath since coming home, and it shows. I don’t know how many days have passed. I can only tell the passing of time by the sunlight and moonlight coming through the window.
I think I knew his last day from the moment he stepped into the room. He didn’t look so good, and his eyes were wild. I wanted to move; I could feel myself moving, but it was all in my head. He looked over at the bed as if only just remembering that I was there.
“What the fuck you looking at bitch?” I watched as he dropped to the floor, dead. I looked at him for a minute, not quite believing it. This isn’t happening; this can’t be happening. My only hope now was the social worker.
I cried myself to sleep and awakened. I don’t know how many times. At some point, I heard the doorbell; it could’ve been the same day or the next. I did my best to cry out, but no sound came. I tried throwing myself off the bed, but I couldn’t move even an inch.