She would not cry. She kicked and struggled with all her might. She finally lay still when he hit her in the mouth the third time, splitting her lip. He pushed the needle of the syringe into a large vein in her hand. It hurt a lot, but it was better than getting hit in the mouth again. An euphoric rush started from the pit of her stomach and traveled to fill her brain. Her body was invaded by warmth.
She was retching and rocking with dry heaves, after a while, staring at the bruise on her hand. She had always bruised easily. He sat next to her hungrily injecting the liquid in his veins with the same syringe he’s used on her. He sank into the couch, like liquid rubber, savoring the effects of the drug. He occasionally fondled her breast, but most often his hand slid past and Landed in her lap. When his eyes slivered open to leer at her, he seemed vulgar.
She could no longer hold back the nausea. She stumbled to the bathroom. On her knees, face laid against the cold porcelain, misery! Lights began flashing in her head. Suddenly, aware of strange voices coming from the living room, she slid along the wall and stopped in the dining room to listen. When she looked out she knew none of their faces. Several men sat passing a syringe around shooting heroin in their arms . They hadn’t noticed her. Moving quietly back alongside the elongated hallway to the bedroom at the back of the house she collapsed on the bed, Staring at the ceiling, hot tears weld up in her eyes as she thought about the life she was living.
A while later, he brought in a glass and shoved it at her.
“What’s that?”
“Grapefruit juice.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“Did I ask?”
He sounded sarcastic. Knowing he’d never leave her alone until she did, she took the glass, held her breath and gulped it down. She hated the taste of grapefruit. He stood by watching; knowing the drink was laced with large quantities of vodka, Her senses were too numb to smell or taste it. The middle of her stomach boiled, feeling steamy, and it suddenly seemed so hot. It was difficult for her to breathe. Floating between dreams and pain, she prayed for sound sleep. She sensed someone was in the room with her. She opened her eyes. It was dark. The only light was came from passing vehicles as their headlights spilled through the Venetian blinds. The men who’d sat in the living room earlier stood there watching her. In her field of vision, she followed the moving lights and saw him sitting in a dark corner, settled back in a chair. Confused and shocked she began to tremble. The room smelled of cigarette smoke and sweat. Lifeless, she tried to move but was too dizzy. They moved close and began to touch her. No one seemed to hear her protests or see her objecting movements. Pushing at them was like trying to move stone, but she would not cry.
It happened quickly. Everything ached and she was very drowsy. Her split lip was swollen and blood had spilled into her mouth. In the moments before she fell asleep, she recalled how much in love they were before he began using drugs. He had been in and out of rehabilitation and nothing had worked. He would do or sell anything to ensure he had enough money for drugs. She stayed with him, filled with hope that everything would be as it used to be. She felt as though she’d acquiesced in her own rape. She should have left him a long time ago, but she’d loved him so. If she could have one wish granted, it would be to die instantly, she shuddered at the thought of seeing any of those men again. He entered the room. Staring at his face, she felt regret that she’d ever met him.
“What you staring at?!” He yelled, glaring at her.
She didn’t move. She was silent. They watched each other with hatred. She wished he’d move close so she could dig her nails into his face and claw his eyes out. Then, maybe he’d kill her for what she’d done.
“Shit!, he whispered, visibly shaken by her reaction, and he stalked out of the room in a huff.
When she woke again, he was out cold on the couch. Her head pounded. Horribly thirsty, she drank a glass of water. Her thirst, was unquenchable and her head ached worse. She pulled on her clothes, yanked back her hair in a rubber band and washed her face for half an hour.
It was dark outside; it was nearly midnight. She banged her head as she slid out of the bedroom window to the wet grass below. The air was cold against her skin. The night was full of stars and she could hear the crickets screeching greetings to one another. She spat blood onto the side of the house and stood there shivering. She was in the quiet darkness, her legs wobbly, her eyes unaccustomed to the street light glare. Her body felt doughy, slimy. This was good she supposed…Decomposition. She stepped slowly, carefully along the roads staying in the darkest shadows.
The sheriff’s deputy that interviewed her at the hospital was a guy she’d dated in High School. She took a long, hard look at his face. It was an expressive face; full of tenderness and sorrow. She studied him. She was sorry she never loved him fully. He would like to catch the men who’d done this to her, he said. He was sad about the way things turned out in High School and had thought of her often. She said it wasn’t his fault. He went on,
“My loss not yours,” He looked at her patiently and smiled.
“Can you tell me who they are?” He reached out to gently touch her hand and reassure her.
“It’s very important. Try and picture their faces for a moment. Any scars or unusual things about them?”
She closed her eyes tight because she wanted to disappear. He waited, repeating,
“Can you tell me what they looked like now?”
No answer. He placed his gaze, for the first time, on her face. She was quite beautiful in a dramatic way, flawless skin, dark wavy hair and a full generous mouth..Her large hazel eyes
were closed and then they quickly flew open. She whispered, unexpectedly.
“No, I can’t,” falling away, deep into herself where he knew he couldn’t follow. He watched helplessly as she cried.
Short Stories
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That was a really griping tale of a person inflicted by addiction and abuse but is unable to escape it, not even in her mind. You introduced the story in an engaging way and carried the story to the end as it takes a dramatic turn from the shadows to the hospital. Although the setting wasn’t elaborated on much, the characters were well defined which allowed me to imagine this dingy place with a couch and overall baron and soiled environment.
It’s important to highlight injustices females are subjected to. By providing this window for others to look thru and learn about dreadful circumstances like these perpetuating in society it allows for discussion and advocacy, so well done!
Look out for unnecessary capitalization if it’s not a proper noun, for example:
The sheriff’s deputy that interviewed her at the hospital was a guy she’d dated in ‘High School’.
When the name of the school is mentioned, i.e. Mainland High School, then it would be capitalized, but not if it’s self standing.
This was a bit unclear to me why he stormed out of the room, because her ‘reaction’ was not moving and being silent from how I read it. Perhaps I missed something!
She didn’t move. She was silent. They watched each other with hatred. She wished he’d move close so she could dig her nails into his face and claw his eyes out. Then, maybe he’d kill her for what she’d done.
“Shit!, he whispered, visibly shaken by her reaction, and he stalked out of the room in a huff.
Thank you so much for your compliments and editorial advice. I clearly see what you are saying about the setting, capitalization and my use of ‘reaction.’ You make me a better writer.