The kitchen knife clenched between my quaking fingers drips with my tormentor's thick blood, each drop onto the basement's cement floor resonating with the wild beating of my heart and producing each shuddering sob breaking through my scratched throat.
The nauseating tang of blood consumes the room and fills my nostrils enough that I taste it on my lips and feel it imprint into my skin, as if it were condemning me to my destined spot in hell for the merciless sin I have just committed.
It stains the fresh laundry hanging on the dry line and seeps into my cuticles, the warm liquid translucent on my sweat coated skin.
𝘖𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴, 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭.
𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥, 𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴.
𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘣 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵, 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦.
𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦, 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥.
He’s gone hysterical, his immense figure jerking violently with each twisting moan of agony bursting out his throat, staining his teeth and lips a deep red. A harsh flinch courses through my body when the man known to be naturally composed to people unhinges before me, chest heaving in a way that leaves his panicked breath uneven and leads to maniacal hands palming his nape in a futile attempt to stop gore from escaping severed flesh.
His mouth opens to scream, but he’s only met with an unearthly gurgle of liquid spurting out his mouth and running down his chin as he chokes on his own blood. My feet stumble back a step and I fall limp against the cold wall behind me, before releasing a shriek at the sinister event unfolding in front of me.
𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦.
𝘔𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘪𝘳, 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥. 𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.
Bloodshot eyes with full blown irises dart across the leaden room, searching for the culprit and I pray to god he’ll look right through me once he turns around. I can see beads of newly formed sweat speckled across his flaming bald head. Thick veins protruding from his forehead. Bared teeth.
The monster he’s concealed beneath thin skin has emerged to the surface and I can’t help but notice it’s nowhere near as heinous as it is hidden away.
My stomach immediately drops when bulging eyes fixate upon my rigid posture, and I pale at the realization that he might lunge towards me.
“𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶! 𝘚𝘰 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘰! 𝘞𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴. 𝘎𝘰𝘥, 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭! 𝘠’𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯, 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴.”
My bare feet remain rooted to the corner of the basement as the devil himself bores his eyes onto my shattered soul, the very one he made sure to tear apart piece by piece and stole the glow from years ago, back when I was robbed of my worth.
Robbed of an infancy he stripped me from.
Now, the eyes I have always loathed have the audacity to stare at me with nothing but betrayal, as if I were the one who broke him.
Traumatized.
Ruined.
𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘧𝘵𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘣𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴, 𝘮𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳.
𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦. 𝘛𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘣𝘴. 𝘌𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴. 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘚𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥. 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱.
“𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭, 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶?”
I wait for the heat of a slap against my cheek. The sting of his fingers latched onto my neck. A kick to my stomach. Any form of punishment earned for my attempt at freedom. But it never comes.
Instead, I watch the exact moment when he falls onto his knees and hits the ground.
I recoil at the snap of bone the second his body slams onto cement. His palm is no longer holding the gash, allowing previously contained blood to roll down his neck and pool onto the floor beside his head. I swallow the urge to retch when I take in the scene I’ve caused.
He’s no longer looking at me, his eyes are fixed on the bare lightbulb on the basement ceiling. They seem to be lost in thought, pensive. And I know, he’s realized how his life led to this very moment.
I know he’s stunned, thinking; How did she manage to come to this? His manipulation method had contained a flaw, a defect. The fearful child he’s formed to his liking can betray, can avenge, and can resort to murder. He’s been betrayed by his own creation, defeated by the victim.
This isn’t the little girl he formed years ago. How could he have missed this daring side of her?
He is her uncle after all. He should’ve noticed the change in behavior. The switch from fear to hope.
I clutch the knife tighter in my hand, expecting him to get up any minute now.
I prepare for a rumble of taunting laughter to erupt from his parted mouth, laced with a familiar mocking at my horror stuck features. But the room remains silent.
I never allowed myself to think about the probability of success during the course of my plan. How will I know? What will it look like?
The answer to that question happens in a matter of seconds.
The wheezes escaping slightly parted lips come to a halt.
The color drains from his cheeks.
The twitching of his fingers stops.
The eyes lose focus.
And eventually, they lose life. I took it.
I did it.
And I survived.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘙𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘪𝘵? 𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮?
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘭.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.
𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸.
𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥.
𝘐𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥?
𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦?
My eyes slide across the lifeless figure, stopping once they’ve reached vacant eyes. Each second cures my heavy heart.
The permanent grimace embossed onto my face calmly falters from my features, and to my own astonishment, I feel my cheekbones rise in an oddly familiar way.
I remember it to be the commonly known reaction to happiness and ecstasy.
“Beautiful.” My inner child breathes.
