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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Thriller/Suspense · #1231667
A young woman's dual personalities have plummeted her into the pits of hell.
She pulled herself methodically along the floor. Through a maze of destruction lay a broken table, pieces of shattered glass, broken dishes, and the telephone  which was now making a very loud busy signal as it lay among the rubble.  She managed to block out the surge of electric pain that was pulsating her body. All she could think of was revenge. She continued to make her way to the freedom that the 911 call would bestow. Just a few feet more, one elbow and then the other carefully pulling her bleeding body behind her. She stretched out her hand and dialed,  "Hello. 911 emergency, do you need police, fire, or ambulance?" She collapsed.

Just several weeks earlier she had told herself that things were headed in a very wrong direction. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she knew that something terrible was going to happen if she didn't escape the new circumstances in which she now found herself. Why was she always looking for the approval of a man anyway? Sometimes, she could convince herself that she was very smart and had everything to live for, and other times, she was desperate to talk to anyone, even a stranger that might help her hold on and keep her from throwing herself in front of a bus. This constant inner turmoil was to much to bear alone...yet she was.

Sure, she'd moved in with him even though she told herself, "This is a very bad idea. What happens when things don't work out. You have your own place. Keep it simple. Date him, don't move in with him." She cared for him, she wanted to please him, so they made arrangements to move her things into his house on their three week anniversary.

She spent the first week rising at 5 a.m. just as she had for 2 years, get dressed and off to the gym. He began to complain about her leaving the house at such an ungodly hour. He said, "It's not appropriate for you to leave alone. I am just looking out for you. If you want to exercise, do it in the back yard." She was beginning to feel like a woman again. She was beginning to take her life back. After the rape two years ago, she fell and kept falling. Alone in her own personal hell. And once again she would heed the demands of another.

Finally, after the past two years she had managed a great job, great apartment, a seemingly great life at the cost of alienating herself from her friends and family. She had no one although she felt like two different people. Part of her loved this new single life. And the other told her, "You're so worthless. You don't deserve to live. You gave up your own children." The tapes played over and over in her mind until she was driven to the cliff of suicide.

She wasn't much of a drinker and fear about life in general kept her from the temptation to even try drugs. He called a few of his closest friends one night and as they all sat around the card table she observed the little baggie with a white substance being passed around the table. She lost her mind for a second and put her own life in jeopardy when she looked at him completely bewildered and asked, "What is that?" Before she could blink, he had grabbed her chin forcefully, looked at her and said, "You didn't see anything. Do you hear me? And I don't ever want to talk about this again." She sat there trembling, yet in her mind she thought about knocking him to his feet. Who did he think he was? What gave him the right to put her life in this compromising position? "I can leave if I want to. I'm better than this," she told herself. And she sat there trembling.

Thanksgiving day and she was thankful to at least be with a family even if it wasn't her own. She was always very polite and pleasant to his parents and family even though most of the time she wanted to flee. She couldn't take the constant confrontation among them. The way they would yell and scream at each other. The way he would scream at her made her extremely uncomfortable. She continued to try to please him as best as she could.

He ignored her through the festivities, and after the Thanksgiving prayer he went and sat with his sister in law. Alone again for Thanksgiving. Shortly after dinner the fireworks started between him and his brother over alcohol and the white substance in question. "What am I doing? I am better than this. Why am I here? I hate this life. This isn't me." She helped clear the table and did the dishes and resigned to their room. Screaming and falling furniture woke her from her daydreaming and she went to see what was going on. She could hear him yelling. She stood in front of him and said, "Please, it's Thanksgiving. Please don't do this." He grabbed her around the throat and threw her to the floor. The rest of the family acted like it was no surprise. She picked herself up and went to the room to grab her purse. She hurried past the angry mob and went out to her car. He followed her  like a lion ready to devour his prey. Just before she got to the car he picked her up around her waist and said, "You're not leaving." "Put me down," she screamed. But the more she fought the more angry he became. He slammed her off the three coconut trees in the yard and then  threw her back into the house.

Everyone watching her, she wanted to fight back. She had so much to say. She wanted to leave, and part of her  wanted him to be okay. As the family and friends began to dwindle, she stayed in their room to ashamed to face the others after what had taken place. He came in a while later and took his pants down. He didn't care that he was pulling handfulls of her hair out. He didn't care that he was hurting her. He would slam into her harder and harder. The more she cried the more violent and agressive he became. She pulled away when he wanted to stick a metal bar inside of her.  He chased her. In her effort to escape she knocked over the table. She begged, she pleaded. He grabbed her hair and forced her to the floor, "suck this." She cried, and with everything in her she fell and pulled him to the floor. She jumped up and repeatedly kicked him in the ribs. He grabbed her leg and began to beat her with the metal bar.

She began to recall everytime that  she wanted to leave. Everytime that she told herself she was better, and smarter than this. Who was the one in control of her mind? Who was the one that kept her in captivity? Now she lay there, full of sorrow, full of regrets, never able to gain control over the mangled pieces of her mind.

She was pronounced DOA.
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