The Last Time
The rain tapped against the window like small fingers trying to get her attention. Her thoughts could not be disturbed, not tonight. She took a pull on her Marlboro Menthol. The action made her wince from the pain in her now swollen left cheek. The pain made her think. She didn’t like that. It made her look back at the last time, and when that happened she couldn’t help but question herself. “Why did I not leave after the last time?” What was it that made me stay after the last time” He had promised her that it was the last time. She took a sip from her cup of coffee. The heat caused the cut on her lip to sting, reminding her of the ferocity of the act that had just taken place. She sighed and took a look around the kitchen where she sat. She admired the granite work tops which she adored so much, and her full sized American styled fridge freezer which she had begged for when they had decided to redecorate the kitchen last year. It was better last year she thought to herself. Not great, but better. It was even better the year before and even the six years before that. It wasn’t so frequent then, less spontaneous, easier to avoid. This year was bad.
She shook her head vigorously, as if trying to shake the memory out it. She went back to remembering the fridge. She remembered the smile on his face as he looked at her pleading eyes, cupping her face in his hands and whispering “anything for my baby”. The thought gave her a warm feeling inside that quickly turned to nausea as reality intruded and reminded her of the countless times her face had met with the cold brushed metal door of her beautiful Full Sized American Styled Fridge Freezer.
She took one last drag on her cigarette before stubbing it out, blowing the smoke from her nose with a tiresome sigh as she did so. She looked through the kitchen door out into the hallway. The floor littered with clothes from her recently packed suitcases. The time before she had promised herself she would go. She had packed on several occasions while he was out but always made sure they were empty before he returned. He had begun to check after the time before. Last time she had felt stronger, almost numb to it. She had told herself that he couldn’t hurt her anymore. This made her feel strong.
She pulled a cigarette from the box and lit it. She inhaled deeply, filling herself with mint flavoured smoke. “Stronger” she said as she exhaled. She definitely felt stronger now.
There was a knock at the door, a voice identified its self as the police. She stubbed out the half smoked cigarette and looked down at her blood stained hands. They were still now, they no longer shook with fear. She was stronger.
She stood up from the table and adjusted herself, pulling her ripped shirt across her to cover her chest. She stepped carefully around the puddles on the floor being careful not to slip. She stopped and knelt down. She looked into his eyes then slowly moved her eyes down to hold focus on the large kitchen knife that held its place deeply embedded in his sternum. Her eyes met with his again and they almost appeared to be pleading. She smiled to herself and whispered softly to him “I told you that was the last time.”