All I Feared

This is the end.
I weep with fear as I listen to the tormented groans of my only daughter; a crimson polish seeps over the floorboards, staining them a gruesome shade of scarlet. Her body is limp, her face gaunt and her hair sodden with blood pouring from the gash where he hit her. I want to run to her, embrace her; I long to hold her, smell her soft chestnut locks under my nose, feel it tickle my lips as I kiss her again and again, telling her “I love you”. I want to assure her it’ll all be okay; only this time I’m not sure whether it will be. Amelia is broken and all of it’s my fault; I should have stopped it sooner. Again his foot drives into my stomach, my head, my face. Everything hurts and I can no longer distinguish whether the trickling sensation is blood or tears streaming down my cheeks. It was never meant to happen this way.

****

We met one crisp night in May. The rides whirred and spun whilst the intoxicating aroma of candyfloss, doughnuts and hot-dogs combined, season the air with their familiar fragrance. A group of about eight lads queued for the dodgems; they looked as though they were in their early twenties. Isla and I sauntered over and joined the line, laughing light-heartedly and checking out the older men. As the line heaved forward eagerly the boys began play-fighting and when one of them, who was later introduced to me as Steve, slammed into me, it was David who made sure I was okay and let us in front of them in the queue. He was tall with broad shoulders, a harsh jaw-line and an open smiling mouth. I loved his military-style haircut, his rugged dishevelled attire… the feel of his rough stubble against my face. The next morning I woke up with his imprint on the bedclothes next to me and I smiled. “Morning sugar,” he had grinned.

****

I remember how we’d hugged and laughed, how we’d smiled and kissed; I remember how we’d dance and sung, tussled and played. I remember how he’d slung abuse, and I had sobbed; I remember how he’d thrown me across the room and I had screamed. I smile when I think of our first child, and how he looked when he held her. I cry when I remember the look on his face when he told me he loved her. I remember my horror when I realised what he had done, and I still feel it when I realise how I let it go on even after I found out the truth.

How naïve I was to fully give myself to him, to leave myself so vulnerable to his vindictive ways. What vulnerability is this that I am willing to do and give anything and everything for him? Is it right that I should ever have put myself in this position, to dedicate myself so entirely? I sometimes did wonder whether love was dangerous, now I know that it is fatal. Even so, I had always wanted to feel it, to believe in it; I yearned to feel that sense of security in someone else’s arms. A sense of security is all that I don’t have. Its ironic how I lost all that seemed good of love, and am left with everything I feared. Whenever we’re apart I ache for his touch, and wake up pondering which darkened street he is wondering, which miserable whore he is bedding this time. I pretend he’s away on business. When he returns, I still embrace him; whenever we’re together, I am constantly reminded of what he did to Sarah: but still I cuddle close to him at night. And I hate him for making me feel this way, but still I find myself hopelessly and completely in love.

****
I watch Amelia shivering in the corner, sobbing silent tears; she is conscious again at least. I lie just meters away, but I am near paralysed. Steve’s face is bloody and disfigured. He has not moved for two hours now. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. David lunges at the noise, “For what? Tell me! What happened with him?”
“Nothing David,” I croak.
“Admit it you filthy whore!”
“You’re insane!” I splutter.

I spot the bulge of the gun in his pocket. He raves frantically, pacing anxiously; he is laughing madly and wringing his hands. He turns to me, a wild look in his eye: he leaps clumsily over and kneels next to my face. I wince as he presses his wretched tongue between my blood-crusted lips; the putrid taste of stale alcohol fills my mouth and I’m gagging. The fondness I used to feel has banished, this kiss is unfamiliar: it is rough and insistent, it is entirely unaffectionate and I feel dirty. I pull away and spit in his face. “Bitch! You’re nothing, you’re worthless. You’re ugly, no-one wants you, you’re nothing special. Cheap and useless, that’s what you are. That’s all you’ll ever be.” He spits and kicks me in the face again. I groan and he eyes me almost regretfully; his face is damp with sweat, and tears spill down his cheeks. His chest is heaving and his sobs come quickly and painfully, burying his face in his hands he splutters and curses; I feel almost guilty, even though I know it’s not my fault.

As he rants and moans I watch the gun fall out of his pocket and onto the floor; the splintering sound of a shot penetrates the blackness and the silence, I turn and see the bullet has pierced the wall above Amelia’s head. New tears flow and I’m shaking. My hand grasps the gun. It is mine. David’s eyes bulge, his chest heaving, but he doesn’t move. The gun trembles as I point it at his head, still he is frozen. This is the end. Here and now: this is when it finishes. This is when I finish it. If I don’t do it now he’ll only kill me first.