Anthropophobia

I could hear him. Walking ever so slowly toward the bedroom. Him; the murderer, the criminal, the rapist, the father, my husband. The heavy footfalls echoed through the broodingly empty walls. I screamed and slammed shut the bedroom door.
“I don’t want to see you! I don’t want to see your ‘friends’!”
I held my head at one of the few memories I had left.
--- --- ---
He threw me on the floor, naked and bleeding from a savage beating. His ‘friends’, a close circle of drug-addicted fiends surrounded me; the smirks on their faces seemed illuminated from behind like shining bright jack-o’-lanterns. They’re hands reached for me, long like claws. I withdrew from them. No matter how far away I moved, they drew closer, laughing, smiling, shining. This was the day I became scared of living with the man I thought I loved.
--- --- ---
The doorknob to my room jiggled.
“Come on, Sugar. We won’t hurt you.”
“LIAR! YOU’LL HURT ME JUST LIKE YOU HURT HER!”
In reality, I knew my beautiful daughter from that night was long dead, murdered by her presumed father but I saw her all the time, everywhere. She never left me alone. Poking and prodding at my clothing, reaching and grabbing my hair, screaming and crying when I didn’t pay attention to her and giggling happily and talking back to me when I did.
“Why won’t you let Daddy in, Mommy? Is he going to hurt us again?”
“SEE! YOU HURT HER! MONSTER! BASTARD! FUCK! RAPIST!” I screamed through the door as I began to barricade it with whatever was at my disposal.
--- --- ---
I walked through the front door with the weeks groceries, immediately greeted by the smell of alcohol and stale cigarettes.
“Annabella! I’m home!”.
Normally she would come running. Instead, I was greeted by the sound of my husband maniacal laughter coming from her room.
He was muttering to himself as I approached.
“You just had to keep asking. You had to keep on fucking bugging me. You stupid fucking GIRL!”
I watched and screamed as the knife ripped through the already decimated corpse of my daughter. Our already dirty, broken, bug-infested house now blood-stained, I screamed for him to stop. He cut the body into the tiniest pieces and walked toward me as I cried silently, knife in his hand.
“Shut the fuck up or you’ll end up like the little shit!” he hissed, stabbing me, hilt deep, in the side.
This was the day I became fearful of leaving the house because I couldn’t be sure of how anyone apart form Him would act toward me.
--- --- ---
I through everything I could at the door, leaving only my heavy medications, the nightstand, the bed, a lamp, and a photo of my Annabella.
“Open the FUCKING DOOR!”.
I sat on the bed, tears streaming down my face. I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take another beating, I couldn’t take being abused by his friends, I couldn’t stand bearing a child and not knowing which one of those fucks it belonged to, I couldn’t stand to look out the window at a world I was scared to be a part of even though I was beyond petrified of being here.
I looked at the picture as I picked up the bottle of pills, “I’m sorry Annabella. I couldn’t help either of us.”
Tears came like rivers down my face onto my chest as I raised the near-full bottle to my lips and swallowed every single pill.
As my vision faded, I stopped hearing Him yelling. I lay down on the bed that I once wanted to share with the love of my life and drew the blankets up slowly.
The last thing I heard was my daughter.
“Mommy, why is the door all shut up? And why is your skin so cold? Mommy, are you dead too?”.
I had seen the worst of what the world could offer and it terrified me. Today and forever, I never wish to ever leave this room again.