Does Your Lack of Conscience Tell You Everything's Alright?

Jeffery stumbles into the living room, a bottle of some beer in hand. I can't see the label from where I sit. His eyes land on me and he smiles.

The creepiest smile I've ever seen in my life.

It's worse than normal.

"You've been such a good girl, Alice," he pauses, taking a gulp from the bottle.

What did he just call me?

I stay quiet. I have no idea how to respond to that. Is this a test? No one has called me Alice in ages.

"Who's Alice?" I ask.

I hope that's the right thing to say.

He laughs and staggers forward.

"That's you. Don't you remember who you were?"

"I thought my name was Elizabeth now."

Unstable from the amount of alcohol he's consumed, he stumbles toward me and lands on the couch, narrowly missing the tiny coffee table in the process. His smile grows. He leans close to my ear. Alcohol is strong in his breath.

"When they find your body and write your obituary, they won't call you Elizabeth," he whispers.

My blood becomes ice in my veins.

"What are you talking about?" I ask.

He laughs again, loud and boisterous.

"You didn't think I was going to keep you alive forever, did you? Its time for me to get a new little girl, you're much too old."

"Please don't," I beg.

I'd run but my limbs refuse to communicate with my brain.

I'm terrified.

"I'm sorry but this has to happen."

He's not sorry. Not in the least.

He lurches forward, dropping the glass bottle, hands gripping my neck. In surprise, I fall back on the couch. His hands hold tightly around my neck, constricting my breathing. I lay there, motionless.

Struggling seems useless.

Tears fall from my eyes.

"Now, now, don't cry," he mocks, "It'll all be over soon enough."

I turn my head away from him. His face is not going to be the last thing I see before I die. There is no way in hell he is getting that satisfaction. I look out the window, at the trees, the clouds, Alex.

Alex?

I blink rapidly. He's not there anymore. I must have been imagining it.

But I am not going out like this.

My hands grab his wrist and attempt to pull them from my neck. He's too strong; I can't move him. I can barely breathe. My lungs feel like they're on fire.

My legs and arms flail around.

It's my last desperate attempt to get free.

He releases his hold from my neck.

I guess moving shocked him.

Air enters my lungs again rapidly. I rush to slide out from underneath him. He grabs my arm again and throws me against the couch. He slaps me. My cheek burns where his hand hit.

It's probably red.

His hands reattach to my throat.

"Bad girls don't have a place in heaven, Alice," he says, squeezing my throat tighter.

I let out a mangled cry. I can't breathe anymore. My eyesight becomes fuzzy. I feel myself falling into unconsciousness.

Is this really how I'm going to die?