Residuum

<SLAP>

The black and white kitchen tile felt cold against her stinging cheek, in the otherwise hot trailer.

She didn't move. Didn't bother to get up. There honestly was no point.

Dark blood flowed from her nose staining the floor her mother had mopped just hours before. She wouldn't like that. Her mother didn't really like messy things. She was a messy thing... She thought, dazed by the blow.

His breath surpassed her senses, harsh against the sound of summer cicadas through the ripped screen door. Escape so close, yet so far away. The Florida humidity surrounded her, as heat pooled making her shiver as her sweaty skin touched the kitchen tile. She still didn't move. Didn't see the point.

"DID. YOU. HEAR. ME. WINTER?"

He shouted barging forward before she could answer. His meaty hands wrapping around her long dark locks before yanking her off her limp spot. It was a familiar feeling, the sharp tug burning her, it was expected but still oh so surprising, as if waking her from a dream. The surreal numbness that always started to pull at her veins when he got this way.

This protective layer shattered as she could feel each hair as it was pulled roughly away from her scalp. A sob betrayed her. She was normally so good at playing neutral, of putting up the wall. Not today though. Today she let out a pathetic sob, like the sound her mother would make when she was drunk and alone. Good Old Harry, off cheating somewhere again for the billionth time. She wished he was cheating, somewhere far far away from her. Instead his grasp yanked her neck back so she would have to look up at her six foot two attacker.

His free hand going to painfully cup her face. Shaking her head back and forth as if he could shake the truth out of her. A shiver rolled down her spine as she looked at him, her eyes darting to the forgotten crack pipe on the tv stand. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"I-I- don't have it!" She cried pulling on his arm with her free hands. Her nails dug into his skin, leaving crescent mooned marks that he didn't even notice. He was too high for that, too high and too focused. His anger thicker than the murky water of the nearby swamps. He shook her like a mistreated toy, his full strength on display as drugs coursed through his system. She could feel his muscles quiver in his arms, could feel the way his eyes burrowed into her. She felt violated and exposed.

"Bullshit, you little slut," he hissed, tugging again at her hair, gaining a scream from the teen as she toppled over again, her hair the only thing keeping her up. Fuck this hair, she'd cut it all off, shave the fucking thing if her mother would have allowed it. Which she wouldn't. Winter struggled to her knees, praying this would be over soon, knowing though that it wouldn't. She could scream all she wanted and it didn't matter, no one would hear anything from this solo trailer on a gravel back road. The emptiness of that, the totality of the isolation sinking in like a heavy fog in her gut twisting tight. She wanted to kill him.

"I don't have it!" She exploded this time with fury, the word slut ringing in her ears. Her chest heaving as she shoved at him with all her might, flailing around like a cat in water. Gaining another slap to her face.

"Listen here you thieving little cunt, I know your game," he growled, bringing his face inches from her own. His breath reeking of beer and the pungent smell of body odor. His eyes dilated into soul sucking orbs as his other hand grabbed onto her jeans and slammed her forward against him. Sweat dropped on her as she bounced against his fat, the rolls thick and his shirt gone. Harry rarely wore a shirt, especially since the AC went out last summer and nobody ever came to fix it.

"A little here a little there, Harry won't notice, well I did and now you're going to pay me back, Every. Last. Cent." Winter's eyes went wide as he let go of her. Sinking to her knees, Winter's body cried out to her, bruised and bleeding as she thought about the money she had stashed away in the crawlspace under the trailer. No way Harry's lazy ass would look there. He rarely left his recliner. Apparently today was one of those rare days... Lucky her. It was probably the crack. Did her mother know he was using again? Probably, or at least she probably knew and pretended she didn't. Winter's eyes narrowed as she spit blood onto the floor. She was so close to the door, so close to freedom, if she could just get to her fucking bike.

"I said where's my money whore!" Her stepfather growled, stepping on her hand with his boot. Pain radiated up her arm as she yanked it free. Earning a quick kick in the side that made her teeth chatter and her breath hitch as she fell over cradling it. Usually the abuse didn't last this long. He'd get bored of her and leave her there to clean up the mess. Fucking prick, fucking useless mother fucker. Her blood boiled as she thought about the handgun in her mother's nightstand table. She could shoot him. She should shoot him. The bastard deserved it. She could shoot him just like he shot the alligators that got too close to the trailer. Animal control rarely came to this part of town. If you could call it part of town. She swallowed it back. Tried to curb the all consuming feeling of rage within her blood, but she couldn't. Not when she saw the way he was looking at her. Not when she saw the way his face was twitching, his hand going to wipe the sweat away from his forehead leaving a light smear of blood across his temple. Her blood.

50 dollars. 50 dollars. 50 dollars. It was all she needed to get the fuck out of here, to take a bus and... Her plan stopped there. She didn't have enough money saved up for the bus ticket yet. California was a long way away, and with Harry's beer belly and the pipe there wasn't that kind of change lying around. There wouldn't be for a long time.

She felt dizzy, like she could vomit. He wasn't leaving, he expected an answer out of her and she couldn't wait out the silence, he would beat her until she answered him. Either that or he needed another hit. She didn't know which would come first but her throbbing ribs and bloody nose made it impossible for her to try and wait it out. To try and make him bored with her. She just fucking couldn't anymore.

"No," she spat curling up tighter to protect herself from whatever oncoming blow was headed her way. His face turned purple then, the rage spilling out of him. Maybe his blood pressure would be high enough to kill him. She could be so fucking lucky.

"Why you little!" His hands yanked hard on her arm pulling her back up from the floor unexpectedly.

Up. Down. Up. Down- was he incapable of making up his fucking mind?

"I SAID NO, ASSHOLE!" She screamed in his face, thrashing around as she tried to break away. Adrenaline coursing through her veins as she fought against him, her free hand punching into his gut with enough force to make him stagger. She saw cold expressionlessness overcome him, his breath raspy as he seemed to make up his mind about something. Something bad.

"Don't tell me where the money is F.I.N.E Winter, you can earn it then," he threatened through clenched teeth pulling the 17 year-old towards the master bedroom.

"No! No Stop! Fucking Stop!" She screamed, her lungs bursting as she realized what he intended on doing. Her combat boots slid across the puddle of blood, refusing to gain traction as he dragged her kicking and screaming towards the living room. His hands low on her waist as he threatened to throw her over his shoulder, he couldn't do it though, she knew he couldn't not with her thrashing in this way, not with his weight and age. She still had a chance. Panic ran wild in Winter as she drug her boots into the carpet. Bloodstains speckling the once tan floor. Her free hands grabbing the doorway to the kitchen as he tried to pull her through. The back door getting further away.

"No! Let Me Go!" She screamed, thrashing not caring as she knocked picture after picture off the wall. Frantic to escape. Her eyes scanning for a weapon and not finding anything. Their trailer was practically bare, the small living room containing an old tv set, a fucked up couch, and his easy chair... The kitchen knives, the few they had, tucked away in a drawer. She could feel her hips bruising under his crushing grip.

"Stop struggling, you'll end up turning tricks eventually," he hissed, shaking her again as if to put some sense into her, his arms moving from her waist to try and pry her hands from the doorway. Her moment of leverage was gone as he enveloped her in a bear hug and yanked her back, her nails scraping painfully against the wall, black nailpolish coming clean as they broke.

She stomped on his feet as hard as she could, shaking from side to side as she tried to slow him down. It wasn't working, it wasn't working! She could feel him against her, his body molding to her skin as his sweat soaked her shirt, His breathing laborious but excited. She could feel him poking against her, the need to vomit rising again. Once they were past this door there was nothing but the hallway until the bedroom... it wasn't happening, this wasn't happening he could hit her all he wanted, she could take that but not this, not again. Never again.

Winter's bruised and bloodied head swiveled to the side, her mouth latching onto his exposed upper arm, no shirt between them it was easier to bite down, his skin salty then coppery as her mouth filled with blood as she tore through flesh.

His scream ringing in her ears as he released her. Her boot coming up hard between his legs sending him stumbling forward giving the girl time to sprint away. He was between her and the doors, the only way to run was through the hall. She didn't have time to climb out her window, so instead she went to the only room with a lock: the master.

She felt a sob escape her as she fumbled with the lock backing up further and further into the room knowing there was no escape, the windows were too high, and small for her to squeeze through.

"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!" She screamed as if anyone could hear her. Well there was someone... Harry was back and beating on the door, his body shaking the foundation. Horror was bright in her eyes as she saw the fucking flimsy thing already start to buckle. She had no phone to call 911, she had no window to escape from, the master bathroom had no lock she had nothing nothing but-

She swallowed hard, her hands fumbling with the nightstand before she even realized what she was doing. She had it open in seconds, shaking as she grabbed for the revolver, she barely had time to make sure it was loaded before he came bursting through the door. His body heaving as he tumbled forward and she backed up even more, raising it to eyesight level.

"Winter Mae-" he stopped short even in his high state, seeming to grasp what was happening. He backed up quick, then stopped, tilting his head like a lion with a cornered rhino. "You won't shoot the 'gaters you ain't gonna to shoot me," he bluffed, only making her anger sink in deeper this time.

"Really?" She hissed, cocking the revolver, decisively. "Here's the thing you creepy ass mother fucker, I hoped the 'gaters would've ate you, so no I didn't shoot them, but you, I fucking might," She growled spitting blood onto the bed, she felt around in her mouth, noticing a tooth was loose, just another fucking thing he was taking from her. She thought the gun would be heavy in her hands, but it wasn't. It was easy, so fucking easy. She'd seen him do it enough times: load it, cock it, aim and shoot. It wasn't his, but her mom had gotten it for him since he had a record, she was nice like that. Gullible. Pitiful. He was a fucking monster.

"Shoot me? You should thank me!" He exclaimed, throwing up his hands as he slid slowly towards the door. She noticed even as he was trying to make her not to. "What's your mother going to say Winter Mae when she sees the mess you've made? She'll kick you out for sure, especially when she finds out about the gun. Pointing it at me, her husband." He says pointedly trying to catch her off guard.

The mess her mother could forgive, she'd patch her up like she always did and then send her to scrub the floor with a disappointed sigh as if she'd hurt herself on purpose to make her life more difficult. This would be between drink two, possibly four. It was routine. Expected.

He was ignoring his own blood spilling to the floor, her bite was deep, and it didn't seem like he knew to put pressure on it.

"Sure I'll just hand you the gun so you can rape me," she growled her finger poised over the trigger not knowing if she could. Not knowing if she would. Just a little pressure. But she could also just leave, tie him up and take her things and go. She didn't have enough for California but maybe Texas? Beau might give her some cash, or at the very least a ride to the bus station in Miami.

She wasn't expecting him to laugh. Actually laugh at her words. "You hand me the gun and I won't tell her, but let's not kid ourselves, a girl like you doesn't get raped, from what I hear you spread it all around school. Even fucked yourself a redskin," he snorted.

<boom>

The gun shot back in her hands as his kneecap exploded before her eyes, blood and bone spraying the walls as he fell forward screaming in pain. "YOU FUCKING CUNT!"

She stepped forward, eyes cold as she took him in on the ground, trying to drag himself away, "What's wrong Harry, I thought I wouldn't shoot you?" She mocked, tapping the loaded gun against her cheek, "Guess you were wrong."

"YOU FUCKING DUMB BITCH," he howled. "Your life is over now, you're going to jail,"

Winter's heart hammered in her chest, pulsating with life, the explosion of senue making her light headed, as if walking through a dream. Her anger was still beating under the surface.

"Maybe," she paused for a moment looking at the gun and him. The threat was over, he was in no way going to be able to follow her now. No way going to be able to rape her now not with his fucking knee all over the goddamn bedroom.

It had been so easy.

So easy.

She swallowed, clicking the gun again. "Wha- Stop, Winter Mae Williams I'm fucking telling you-"

<Boom>

This time his shoulder. He was screaming in pain. Screaming so loud that she covered her ears trying to block out the noise, it was never ending, jostling around inside her brain scrambling her around like eggs in a skillet. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think- not with all this screaming. The cool barrel pressed against the side of her head as she stood there motionless, soaking in the scene like the shag carpet was soaking in his blood. She watched the pool grow and his screams lower, she watched his chest rise and fall. She lowered her gun, making small steps forward as she reached him, watching him struggle unsuccessfully the blood pools growing and growing until they mingled on the floor at her boots. He was dying, she could feel it in her bones. There was no way he could survive this... Unless she got him medical help. His phone was in the living room, hooked up the charger as it always was. There was so much blood but she probably hadn't hit anything vital. She could probably.... Her wrist dangled loosely, as she stood over him. He wasn't trying to stop the bleeding. He wasn't trying to crawl away. He was just there, laying before her. This monster that had haunted her nights since she was a child. The black eyes, the bruised ribs, the unwanted touches and disgusting movement of fingers across her flesh. He was there, and he was powerless and the feeling that, this fact, left in the pit of Winter's stomach was eating her alive. She was so angry, yet so numb at the same time, how could those two things possibly be in her she didn't know. She stared down at him and saw a million transgressions, but no compassion. A good person would feel compassion, would go for the phone. It was the correct thing to do, yet even as she felt this on her soul she raised the gun again. She wanted to think that she was stepping out of herself but she wasn't. She saw the animalistic fear in his eyes and it wasn't the reason she was shaking. She was shaking because it felt right.

"W-winter, pl-pl...ease call-call-"

<boom>

And for once he was fucking silent.

She blinked, transfixed on the scene before her, she'd just killed him. She'd just killed Harry. Murder. She'd just committed murder.

Her mind raced at what she should do. The swamp was her first idea, people disappeared all the time there. Not necessarily this swamp because the town was too small but swamps in general? Her stomach twisted as she went to grab him tugging unsuccessfully before the obvious flaw of this plan hit her... He was too fucking heavy. Plus the blood. No this wouldn't work unless she got help. No. Even if Beau would do it, which he wouldn't, she couldn't stomach the idea of him knowing anything about this let alone being involved.

Angry tears streaked down Winter's face. The coppery taste of blood filling her mouth, she couldn't tell if it was her own or his... That's the thing about blood, it all tasted the same. Her breath was ragged as she stared down at him, coated in a mixture of blood and brain matter.

She felt angry and yet numb at the same time, how that was fucking possible she didn't know. The residual fear thumped in her heart as she wavered holding the gun.

Fuck.

She'd killed him.

But like no, really, fuck she'd killed him.

Was it self defense? Did it even matter?

She could have stopped, she knew she could have stopped, one bullet is self defense but three? She'd wanted him dead and there he fucking was dead as one could possibly be. Her skin crawled, translucent under the overhead light, blood running from her wounds mixing with his own on her skin. Her clothes dirty and sticking to her flesh in a mix of humidity and bodily fluids. She looked around the room in horror, the numbness breaking as she realized the mess she had created in her mother's meticulous house. There was blood on the walls, blood on the carpet, blood everywhere. Given not as much blood as she saw in the movies Harry watches. Watched. The movies Harry had watched. Harry wouldn't be watching any more movies.

Self defense wouldn't work, and no one ever believed her anyways. She wasn't exactly known for her gentle attitude and nonviolent behavior. Even if they did she'd get put in some juvenile home. Fuck that shit.

No. Winter looked at the alarm clock next to her mother's side of the bed. It was only 11. Her mother wouldn't be home until 5. Fuck, her mother. This might actually kill her, if she didn't shoot Winter herself. She might drink herself to death, and honestly Winter didn't know how to feel about this. Amber was her mother after all, and she could remember a time before Harry when her mother was a little sad but nonetheless a good mom, until her dad had bolted. Then there was the drinking, the many nights that Winter would end up putting her mother to bed instead of getting bedtime stories like most nine year-olds. Even that was better than now... Even if her mother was what they called a functional drunk. 9-5 acting as one of the only nurses in town. Her after hours though were less than functional. Winter wasn't sure she could take this. That her mother's delicate nerves could stomach what she had done not only to Harry but to her house. There was a flickering inside of her, pity, anger, guilt. Her mom would be alone now. But there was nothing Winter could do about this. Just as much as she couldn't bring Harry back, not that she would want to...

But the inactivity of just standing there over Harry was driving her crazy, every little sound had her skin crawling and body jerking.

She needed to go. She needed to go as fast as she possibly could before someone found him and she was stuck in a jail cell for the rest of her life. 

Or worse sent into foster care and then shoved into another house with another Harry. She couldn't let that happen. She wouldn't let that happen.

Then she remembered the money. Her earlier thoughts of Texas coming back, she could hitchhike to the border. Somehow figure a way across and escape this. People did that. It was a fucking thing. She saw it on tv once... They wouldn't find her in Mexico. Why would they think she'd go there in the first place?

This plan while shitty was all it took to get her moving, almost tripping over Harry as she stumbled into the hallway, knocking into the wall as she hastily undressed throwing her boots aside and then her jeans, her t-shirt coming last before her undergarments she was naked before she even hit the bathroom door. Her hands slipping on the now bloody doorknob. Her shaking fingers took two tries to finally grasp the knob and turn it. The white door now looking like something out of the Shining.

She didn't mean for it to happen. She didn't mean for her to see herself in the mirror. The terror in her annoyingly large eyes betrayed her. She needed to be calm, to get this right... How the fuck could she get this right looking the way she did? Painted red with blood, bruises, cuts, and other undesirable things she'd rather not think about. She looked hollow, shivering even in the heat. Her pale skin shining almost yellow in the cheap lighting of the tiny bathroom. Winter's hands wobbled as she almost dropped the revolver into the sink. Forcing herself away from her image and climbing painfully into the shower. Her hands slipping on the shower knob painting it red with blood, like every other surface she touched. The smell of bleach heavy in the air. Her mother had her scrub down the room the night before and she was already ruining it. She shook a little as she turned on the water, a scream leaving her throat as she forced herself against the wall to avoid the horrifically cold water. Her hands aggressively turned the knob, jerking it all the way to the side not paying attention to what she was doing. The water turning from icy cold to burning hot faster than she could comprehend... Everything was happening so fast, it was like time was speeding up, well water took forever to heat. She wondered as her body screamed at her every cut, every bruise, every muscle protesting, the pain from earlier coming back to her, almost making her fall back onto her battered knees, how long she'd been standing there. She knew better, hot water would only make her body hurt more. She'd fight the shivering instead. She could take it. The cold water turning pink as it sloshed down the drain. Winter tensed, forcing herself into the cold embrace of the shower. Her hands reaching for the soap, she was wasting time, the adrenaline leaving her system making her foggy, her eyes flickered over the scrub brush she'd forgotten to put up the night before. It had always served her well cleaning up blood before, and she found herself reaching towards the thing before she could stop herself. The idea of scrubbing her body clean like the tub itself was so tempting that she almost gave in. Instead she grabbed her loofah. Not as handy at cleaning as the bristles of the brush, but just as abrasive as it glided heavily over skin, her face contorting in agony as she reopened wounds with her endeavor to get clean. She wanted Harry off of her, she wanted him off of her that fucking instant.

 It still took too long, and more soap than she could have imagined before she felt even remotely clean. Her bathroom looked like a scene from Carrie. Maybe she should have never let Beau talk her into that Stephen King marathon. It was fucking with her now. Everything was fucking with her now. Even stepping out of the shower she didn't feel clean, her body demanding her to curl up into a ball and rest. Yet, fucking again, Winter couldn't do that. Even as her mind filled with fog her body kept on moving, she couldn't even remember getting out her duffel bag from her closet, and hadn't paid any attention to the things she stuffed inside, going through the motions as she tried to ignore the pain in her body, the dryness of her throat. She only needed to focus on the plan: pack her things, get the money, and find Beau.