Blood stain

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Vintage Publishing
I hope my short story is enjoyed. There's a bit of thriller and suspense in it.

Submitted: August 03, 2017

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Submitted: August 03, 2017

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I stepped out of my car as it poured from the skies.

The rain was too aggressive and all I had to cover myself was the hooded black sweater I was wearing.

I hurried into a peculiar and suspicious bar; about the only thing visible at this time of night and with this weather.

The whiff of sweat and cheap rum immediately hit my nose. I browsed around as I see boorish middle-aged men at small tables laughing and bantering.

I also see some of them playing alongside a pool table as they smoked and flirt with unhappy seemingly women.

I walked to the bar and sat on the uncomfortable wooden stool.

The lights were dimmed and the cigarette smell almost made me gag.

“Can I fix you a drink, sugar?” A tall and heavyset man behind the bar asks me.

He’s wearing a pattern flannel shirt with holes and this intimidating skull black shirt underneath.

He presses his palms on the bar table and leans close to me awaiting my response.

Feeling unease I quickly respond; “Black label on the rocks, please”.

He nods his head and walks away.

“Mikey, how are you?” I hear a man next to me greet another man who just walked in. I cannot see them through the corner of my eye as I am still wearing my hoodie although it’s humid. I prefer my anonymity for the time being.

“John, I’m doing good, my brother. How are you?”—

I hear them chuckle and speak away. Except—I recognize the voice of whoever “Mikey” is.

“Just here, you know, another night, hanging around so I don’t have to go home and face the bitch of my wife, at least not sober”, John exclaims as Mikey

chuckles.

“Here’s your drink, honey”, the bartender gives me a glass.

“Thanks”, I mutter.

As I sip from my drink I recall the reason why I left home in the first place just a few hours ago. I recall the argument I had with my husband before I grabbed my keys and purse and took off. I didn’t realize I drove all the way from New Jersey to New Hampshire.

I feel the knot in my throat and the water already clouding my eyes and everything begin to blur.

Don’t cry goddamit. Don’t fucking cry now!

I am suddenly overwhelmed with emotions; it’s like an avalanche flooding my mind.

A few months ago my life changed for the worse. I remember that fateful night as I walked into the garage from my office. The silence and the vastness at that time was a little frightening.

“Why were you walking out of your office so late at night! This wouldn’t have happened if you just got out earlier!” My husband is hysterical shouting at me as I lie in pain on my sofa.

“For God’s sake, Ethan, it was seven P.M! I shouldn’t have to be afraid of walking into a fucking garage!”—

“I know you blame me for this. You think I wanted this?” I cry to him.

“Lying helpless here on this fucking couch while the man who raped me is out there somewhere!”—

“That’s why I ain’t married, John, it ain’t worth it”, Mikey explains. And right before he takes a seat on the stool next to me he asks: “Is this seat taken, doll?”—

I didn’t turn to look but I shook my head and he sat down.

“Thanks”, he says.

“So what you’ve been up to, Mikey”—

“I’ve been in and out, John. Staying the hell out of Jersey”, he laughs.

His voice, I am intrigued… I recognize it, I am sure of it.

But from where?

“What’s going on in Jersey?” John questions.

“Let me get a shot of tequila, make it double”—

The bartender approaches the bar plank and I see him cutting up a lime on a decrepit cutting wood board.

“What’s in Jersey”?—

“This girl I was getting it on with but she quickly changed her mind. Had to get a little rough with her”, I hear him laugh again along with his buddy and it dawns on me…

It’s him! Oh my God, it’s really him and he’s right next to me.

What do I do? My mind begins to panic and my pulse accelerates. He’s laughing at me. While I cried so inconsolably for two months straight, he laughs!

“It’s necessary sometimes, mouthy women, dammit. I blame this fucking society”, he says.

They both burst out in laughter and I sit there hearing the constant taunting.

 Every single nightmare I have had because of this man. The arguments and frustrations with the police, with my husband and my family.

The fragile porcelain china he has made of me. I am fearful now and traumatized. And I keep hearing him laugh and laugh away as I fill up with anger.

I begin to feel my hands in a fist tremble and my heartbeat accelerating. I am enraged as I pick up the slender knife next to that crummy cutting board and I stand up. I grab his shoulder and turn him around.

I quickly bury the knife in his chest. It sank in almost effortlessly. I pull it out and I stab him over and over and over again until…

There was no laughter,

Anymore.




© Copyright 2017 jaylisbeth. All rights reserved.

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