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33

My mind went white as I thrashed and thrashed and thrashed, bucking under him, but he was too heavy and too strong. My fingers clawed at the hand over my mouth, at his arms, but it was useless because Lisa had taken it upon herself to see that the dolls's nails were short and harmless. His knee shoved between mine, tearing them apart and I couldn’t breathe anymore, couldn’t even think straight. Everything was weighing on my chest and lung—his weight, his smell, that awful heat pressing down on me.

My hand flailed out, hitting everything and something on the nightstand that stung, I couldn't even nurse the pain, something a barely felt with the situation I was in. It was the vase maybe, I couldn’t even see it. I groaned as I grabbed for it, fingers slipping on the smooth side, and with the position I was in grabbing something this heavy was in no doubt going to affect my shoulders. But there wasn’t a thought in my head, just that wild need to get him off me, to make it stop, whatever it took.

It connected with the side of his head with a dull, sickening thud, and not even a shatter. I'd be surprised if it did shatter but it was just a thick sound that worried me. He roared in both rage and what I'd like to believe as pain. His grip on my mouth loosened for a split second as he nursed his head. It was all I needed. I screamed as loudly as I could, tears spilling fork the corner of my eyes as the memories of the last time something like this happened came flooding in. He backhanded me across the face quickly. Lights exploded behind my eyes and the taste of copper filled my mouth. "You're gonna pay for that," he snarled, his eyes wild. He was coming at me again, his hands reaching for my throat. I still had the vase clutched in my hand. I raised it and brought it down hard on what I believe was the corner of the nightstand, and this time, it exploded. A sharp, violent crash of porcelain as shards flew everywhere, skittering across the floor and the bed, my cheek, my arm and his, and for a frozen second, we both stared at the broken pieces. He looked back at me with a semi smug expression, as if mocking me. His gaze landed on the jagged, pointed shard I was now holding, my knuckles white around it.

He laughed. "What are you gonna do with that, you stupid-" I didn't let him finish nor did I even pause to think. There was really no thought, just the animal need to survive the night, to do what I was supposed to do that first night with Dante, to end all this pain I didn't ask for. I quickly drove the shard into his neck and at first it didn't go in easy, courtesy to my trembling hand and dulling heart beat. There was a terrible, grating resistance, then a sickening pop as it sank deep. His laugh soon cut off into a wet, choking gurgle and his eyes went wide with shock. He stared at me, his mouth moving, but no words came out, just a horrible, bubbling sound. He stumbled back, his hands flying to his neck, trying to stem the dark, pulsing blood that poured between his fingers and the same time trying to stop himself from falling off the bed.

He took two stumbling steps and then his legs gave out. He crashed to the floor, his body twitching but his gaze locked on mine, I climbed down the bed with shaky feet and crawled to where he was, anger coursing through my veins.

Did–did he think I didn't matter? That just like Dante he could force himself on me, he'd make me go through the same fear and pain that almost drove me insane?

What did I ever do?

He moved a hand away from his neck and stretched it out to reach me and without thinking twice I drove the shard into where I believe his heart was, hoping it'd reach it, I tried again to make sure, two more times.

Three more times.

Six more times.

I lost count, but to make sure he wouldn't sprout up to finish off what he started, I shoved the shard one last time into his soggy and meaty chest, pieces of flesh flying out as I dragged the shard out and moved away.

The sound he was making was the worst thing l'd ever heard and it went one for a couple more seconds before it stopped.

I wiped his blood off my face with my bloody hands, an attempt to not feel disgusted worsened.

He was dead. He was dead, He was dead. I repeated it over and over as if he wasn't and I was just trying to make myself believe it. I threw the bloody porcelain shard onto his body and took in the sight of my dress, the top splattered with red and the down soaked with the body pooling around his body.

My hands were covered in it. It was sticky and warm and disgusting. The metallic smell of blood filled the air, overpowering his cologne.

I couldn't move.

I couldn't breathe.

l just stared at him, at the pool of dark red spreading across the light-colored rug, soaking everything, turning it dark crimson to black.

I pushed stray strands of hair back with a still bloody hands and took in a deep breath. I didn't know how long I sat there. Was it minutes? Or hours? Or even days, until the door was pushed open, I stray my gaze from the body, and placed a hand on his leg. I was afraid he'd somehow get himself and stand up, I didn't want to lose sight or touch of him, I wanted to be aware when he gets up, certain that I'd feel him move with my hand on his leg, my blurry gaze settled on the figures on the door.

I couldn't really make out who they were, my brain was hazy, and my gaze was all over the place, blurry, and no matter how hard I shook my head my sight wouldn't return to normal, nor did my faint heart beat nor my breath.

Did I get blood into my eyes?

I'm afraid Marcus roughness and weight must've broken a rib which in turn poked a hole in my lungs, however it happened I think I'm dying.