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Fighting to my Escape

Short story By: lauricula
Young adult



Evanna has been in an abusive relationship with her fiance, Eric, for the past three years and finally decides that she needs to escape him. The only problem is Eric keeps Evanna on a tight leash: no cell phone of her own, she can only leave the house when with him, the neighbors watch her during the day, she doesn't have her own set of car keys, she doesn't work, and has no money saved up. She has to start completely from scratch to get away. Will she be able to do it? Or will Eric catch her before she has the chance?
Also, I'm not sure if I want to turn this into a novel, or just keep it as a short story with all these unanswered questions. It depends on the feedback I get from what I have so far.


Submitted:Oct 31, 2012    Reads: 176    Comments: 3    Likes: 1   


I looked out the living room window and saw Eric's car pulling into the driveway. I checked my watch. It was five p.m. on the dot. I knew better than to think Eric would ever be late. I hustled into the kitchen to make sure dinner was on the table and the table was set. I fixed a fork that was slightly askew, and hurried back to wait by the front door.

I had my pearls on, my black dress and my red pumps to match. My platinum blonde hair was done in loose curls, and fell around my shoulders. Eric walked in the door and dropped his brief case by the door, like he always did. He eyed me suspiciously, before changing his expression to a smirk and closing the distance between us.

His lips found mine before I could catch my breath and I felt his arms wrap firmly around my waist. I moaned in the back of my throat, and felt myself go limp. He really was a good kisser, always had been. He let me go, and sniffed the air.

"What's for dinner?" he asked, walking to the kitchen.

I followed him quickly, "Lasagna and caesar salad, since I know it's one of your favorites." I responded quickly.

We sat down at the table and began eating silently. Eric didn't like to talk much during dinner. It wasted time that he could be eating. I watched him gulf down lasagna as I sat nibbling at my slice. We finished dinner rather quickly, and I started to gather up the dishes.

"Would you like some wine, sweetheart?" I asked him, putting out plates in the sink.

"Of course I would. Dinner was delicious, by the way." I could hear him lick his fingers.

I cleared the rest of the table and proceeded to head back to the kitchen, and Eric followed me. I opened the cabinet and retrieved two wine glasses and placed them on the counter. Eric already had the bottle of wine in his hand, and handed it to me. I opened it, and as I went to pour wine into one of the glasses, the glass slipped from my grip and crashed on the floor in front of me. Red wine was splattered on the floor in front of me, and before I could start to clean it up, Eric was behind me, and whipped me around to face him. His expression was clearly angry, and his face was contorted. He smacked right across my cheek, and I gasped as I felt the sting of his palm.

"Are you that fucking clumsy that you can't even pour me a glass of wine?" he asked, gripping the front of my dress.

"Y-yes" I stammered. It was always better to agree than disagree.

"Clearly." He said flatly. He released me, and pushed me onto floor, but I caught myself with my hands. "Clean." He ordered as he walked out of the kitchen.

A tear fell down my cheek as I picked up the shards of glass, trying not to get cut. Once all the glass was cleaned, I wiped up the wine, and twenty minutes later the floor looked brand new.

I went to the bathroom to clean myself up then went to find Eric. I found him in our bedroom, changing out of his work clothes. It was hard to remember what he did to me when his shirt was off. His abs were perfectly outlined and fit nicely in between his V-lines. His hips protruded just a bit, and his back muscles flexed whenever he moved. His skin was constantly tanned, no matter what season it was.

When he saw me standing in the door way, he dropped his shirt, and strode over to me. I watched his muscles flex as he walked. He stopped inches from my face, and gently raised his hand to my cheek where he had slapped not too long ago. I flinched, and he smirked.

"Evanna, baby, you know I don't like hurting you, but I can't help it when you do things like that. Sometimes you need to be punished." He said soothingly, as he stroked my cheek.

I closed my eyes, and breathed in his scent. It was so easy to fight off the small voice in the back of my head that said he was wrong. "Meet me in the living room?" he asked, tapping my bottom on his way out of the bedroom. I watched him leave and I sighed as I turned to look in the mirror; a pale face with a red cheek looking back at me.





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