When She Sleeps

Welcome the next installment of Silhouette.  In continuation of The Walk Back.  You can check out the complete order by hitting the 'Silhouette' tab or, hell, I'll make it even easier on you. (here)
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Teej

When She Sleeps

It’s late.  Hours have ticked by, but time is no object now.  Left alone in the dark, forced to contemplate her actions.  The scene is familiar, the surroundings are the same.  Enduring and reliving the torturous moment; knowing her fate; knowing how it ends; knowing nothing can be changed.  All of her pain, both physical and emotional, here it comes, like the immovable force of a train.

She had been staring at the door for some time, aware he was due any second now.  His nightly outings had become routine. His drunken stupor delivered him on schedule.  She clenched her teeth and held her breath in fear as her heart began to race.  The lock complained as it resisted multiple attempts with the wrong key.  With a stroke of luck, the proper one was found, forcing its way through.  Cussing and muttering under his gin soaked breath, the rotting door swung open, flooding light into the murky trash heap called ‘home’.  She sat hugging her legs, refusing to make eye contact, on an exhausted and stained sofa.

Stumbling through the doorway he didn’t bother with the lights.  Making his way around the counter, the glow of the refrigerator illuminated silhouetted him from the kitchen.  There was a fire in his eyes as he took a swig, much greater than the ‘icy stare’ image left in her mind.  Draining the bottle in a matter of seconds, he peered back into the icebox a second time, initiating the conflict.

“The fuc—  Have you been stealing from me again?!”

She didn’t respond, remaining motionless in her place.  Hopes he hadn’t seen her were gone.  Her optimism had all been in vain as he staggered closer; reiterating the question to an accusation.

“What gives you the right to take from me, huh?  You fat little whore, you think you’re owed anything?”

His breathe was heavy in her face, reeking of alcohol, mixing with the equally foul stench of his unwashed perspiring body.

“After that performance you showed today, what gives you the right?  You know the rules.  Winning earns you a roof, winning earns you a bed, winning gets you food, and— look at me when I’m talking to you!”

His eyes were bloodshot and fire filled.  Forcing his hand upon her arm, he pulled her near, emphasizing the perpetual shakiness about him.  She still didn’t answer.

“Did you win today?”  He grabbed her hair and forced her to look at him.  “Did you win your competition?!  Answer me.”

“No,” she choked.

“No, you didn’t.  You were miserable” he threw her back on the couch.  “Now I want you to be honest with me.  Tell me the truth and I won’t be…angry.  Did you take from my icebox??”

She sat back up, heart racing and growing increased panic by the minute.  In a muffled whimper she went to vocalize, “I—“ was all she managed to force out before he pelted her with a backswing.  The impact knocked her to the floor.  An all too familiar scene, it brought upon numerous memories of times previous.  Lifting her head and sitting back up surfaced the repercussions of the attack; blood ran down her cheek.

“Look what you made me do.  You’re as bad as your mother.  That whore of a.. slut! Running off an’ leavin’ me to put up with you.  You though, you’re far more stubborn.”

“Leave her out of this,” she cried.

He broke the empty bottle on the arm rest scattering shards of glass.  He pointed the remainder at her with a wobbly hand, now bleeding.

“How dare you tell me what to do!”

Kicking her, she skids across the living room, collecting bits of glass and trash in her path.  He tossed the bottle after her, striking her side.

“I never got that cunt to learn the meaning of respect, but you…,” he walked over to where she was slumped to grab her once again.  Placing his hand over her mouth, she bit him in self-defense.  He released her, yelling as blood rose from the marks.

“Now you’ve done it!  You’re dead you selfish little bitch!  You hear—“

She wasted not a second to kick him in the shin, sending him to his ass.  Rising to her feet, she frantically searched the apartment for something to defend herself with.  Crossing his path to make for the kitchen, he snatched her ankle; causing her to tumble.

Her ears began to ring; head colliding with the floor, knees scraping against the floorboards.  Objects read as a mere blur.  He started pulling her back, clawing at her leg.  Smashing his face with her heel freed her from certain excruciating pain.  Scrambling behind the counter, she ripped open drawers, desperately rifling for anything.

Rising to his feet, he aimed at her with multiple loose objects found from the ground.  He raced to join her.  Standing on the opposite end of the counter, he was perplexed to find she’d disappeared.

It was the first bit of silence which had occurred since his arrival.  Violently turning in either direction, he surveyed the contents of the apartment.  The environment was still.  Entering the kitchen, she was yet to be found.  Numerous utensils and ruminates of food carpeted the filthy linoleum.  He went for the handle of the pantry, slowly allowing it to creep open.

She forced the door the rest of the way knocking him back; screaming as she leapt forward, equipped, knife in hand.  Nicking his forearm didn’t prevent him from delivering a punch.  She recoiled and attempted her approach again.

Defensive wounds began to collect on his arms, though he continued to struggle.  Throwing a right hook, she ducked, kicking out his leg and returning him to the floor.  Diving at the chance, she plunged the knife deep into his torso.  Lifting it, she brought it down again, sending a splash of blood scattering.  A second time lifting the instrument meant a third thrust plummeting down, dwelling deep into his chest.  A fourth; then a fifth; his eyes, lifeless and cold now.

Her hands remained clenched to the knife, her head bowed at his side.  Tears and cries devoured the room.  Black, white, and red; anger, fear, relief, it all tore at her at once.   Head spinning as she tried to rationalize what had occurred.  The apartment resembled the wake of a battlefield.  Trash, glass, and blood decorated what was left of their home; his home.  Then there was her.  Bruised and cut from head to toe, pajamas stained, eyes watering; kneeling in a pool of blood, gathering under the man she just killed.

It’s this image that’s forever burned into her mind.  This same scene haunts her, night after night, torturing her.  Four AM, She’s awake, in a sweat again, wanting to scream.  She stops herself and slows her heart rate.  Downing a glass of water she lies back down and falls asleep.  She’s been getting better about it.