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“Lena, where the fuck did you go?” he called out as his heavy flat feet thumped down the stairs.
Panic clouded my mind. I needed to get out of there. If he found me standing here, he would surely kill me for not staying put.
I’d saved money, but as I looked down at my naked body, I knew I couldn’t run out the door that way. If Troy caught up with me, the jealous rage at the sight of my naked body outside would only send him into an even angrier fit. And I couldn’t leave without my stash of money.
I glanced around the kitchen. The white laminate counters bare and neat, not even a knickknack or speck of dirt on them per his strict rules. I could have grabbed a heavy pan and hit him over the head, but I didn’t think I could walk across the room to where we stored them in time, and quite frankly, I didn’t have the strength to wield a heavy enough blow to knock him out. So instead, I turned, still grasping the counter, and yanked open the drawer beside the sink. My fingers latched on to one of the small steak knives as he called out again, startling me, his voice not far away.
Panic rose, and the rush of adrenalin secreted into my veins as I clutched the knife tightly in my fist. The solid weight of the black plastic handle in my grip felt reassuring yet terrifying. I ran my fingers down the sharp edge of the blade with my other hand, feeling the jagged edges.
My body seemed to move in a dream state or a B-rated horror movie, waiting for the serial killer to come closer. Close enough for me to plunge the blade into him.
Did I have the courage to do it? If I didn’t, he would kill me. He rounded the corner, and I turned back around to face him. My shaky hand hiding the blade behind my back.
He weaved his way across the room with his hands fanned out to his sides as if to embrace me, his head cocked to one side, a slight curve to his lips, a rare attempt at a tender gesture.
“Come on, Lena. I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.” His sudden mood swing didn’t surprise me. I knew it was an act to get closer to me so I would let my guard down, then he could strike me again or get close enough to choke me to death.
I didn’t move, though. Couldn’t move. My arms were still behind my back, one clutching the counter for support, the other around that black plastic handle. His hands groped my shoulders, and he squeezed his fingers against my skin.
“You shouldn’t have left the bedroom, Lena. Now I’ll need to punish you.” His body wavered and he studied me with bloodshot eyes as if deciding what to do.
Shove the knife in, my mind demanded, as rage simmered behind those blue eyes. Then his fingers moved to my throat and squeezed.
Squeezing tighter and tighter until I couldn’t breathe.
I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and with a firm grip on the handle, I pulled the knife around the side of my body. Then, I thrust it into his gut in the same manner as he had thrust into me a few moments before, cold and brutal. Only I added passion. A passion of hate.
His warm blood oozed over my knuckles. He appeared shocked that I had stabbed him. I let go of the handle, leaving the blade stuck in his abdomen.
He gazed at me with wide, shocked eyes. “Lena? Baby, why?” He clutched at his stomach, where the black plastic stuck out. Blood oozed between his fingers and dripped down his abdomen, into his unbuttoned jeans. Then his knees buckled and he sank to the floor. His dark eyes, full of hate when he gazed up at me.
“You fucking bitch, I’ll kill you for this.”
