A Gingerbread House Made of Ruin

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic


A dip into the writing I completed during EMDR therapy for PTSD after leaving an abusive marriage.

Submitted: September 05, 2018

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Submitted: September 05, 2018

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He opens the door and he knows those fucking dishes aren't done yet. He knows because he planned to come home before they were done. She runs a tight ship and her schedule is down to the minute. He feels the bile rise to his throat. He thinks to himself, "Stupid bitch can't even figure out how to load a dishwasher and it's one o'clock in the afternoon." She deserves to be punished and he wants to watch her writhe with pain under him. .

Her gaze is low and he loathes her for her willingness to let him cut her down to his size. He hates her for being there when he gets home ready for the next assault. 
She's so weak and it disgusts him. But she better not leave.
Because he's invested way too much time breaking her into the softest punching bag,
She is softer than the adorned leather couches,
She takes a hit and kisses his mouth after he says he's sorry. 
It makes him want to hit her more, she's so fucking pathetic.
Plus, her blood tastes so sweet in his shot glass..

She hears the door open,
"Great, he isn't supposed to be home for four more hours and the dishes aren't done."She thinks to herself.
When the footsteps hit the wood floor,
The panic rises and her hands start to shake.
She goes for the dishes like it may save her from his verbal put downs about how other men's wives are so much better than her because the dishes are eternally clean in their houses.
She rationalizes, "Maybe if I don't look at him, he won't see me and I won't have to bleed."
He starts in anyways telling her she's worthless and so many other women would love to be trapped in his perpetual prison. 
She accidentally drops a cup and a tear slides down her cheek. He starts making fun of the way her hands shake and tells her that she is weak.

She has been quiet for so long. 
She has tried to love him and do everything he requires... She just wanted some love back. But she was never the top student and gold stars don't line the chart on the wall..

As his hands go to grab her face he says,
"Are you even fucking listening to me?!"

She turns, balls her fists, and slams them down on the table. Her head bowed as if almost in prayer when they hit. Physics are defied by the sheer force of her will...
The pent up bottled silence slows down gravity... As if prompting her to speak and him to "shut" HIS "mouth" for once..

She looks up into soulless windows..

Her eyes shining like the wolf at night when first viewing prey after a long hard winter..
She licks her lips..
Snarling, she whispers with a sharp pleading violence, 
"I've had enough."

His pupils dilate to the point you can hardly tell what color they are, his body starts to quiver. He can visibly see the change now. her body is void of the weight she needs to be healthy, but she is not weak. He's been training her to hunt.

He wonders in an instant at what exact point in the relationship his hands turned a sweet young woman into a crazed animal. An instinctual creature. He realizes that somewhere between the hateful words and bruised wrists she turned into something more powerful than he. And he's not questioning her accuracy... 

He's scared.. "Where did my table go? You better pay for it!" He chokes out in a gasp and she side smiles.. The splinters and debris move like a tornado in slow motion.. around him.. She is circling him and he knows it's only seconds before she calculates the acute angle at which her teeth are to scrape the nape of his neck. He can feel the atmosphere her muscles are creating, twitching with anticipation to move at him. Retribution. He knows the time has come to atone for all the things he did to her.. The moment of blood payment is at hand and his is a lengthy debt.

She's higher than him, shoulders square.. She feels a sensation like electricity on her skin..The fragments of the past are seeping from her pores and they look like tar. The evil she is letting go of as her heart is replaced.. Her pain fills the air and he's breathing in. Suffocating in his deeds, she contemplates not letting her body be the weapon. Let him wallow in the filled up the space where a soul should be... 
Oh, it's filling his lungs. She can hear the disease he's been sewing like a vegetable garden.. It's reaping sweet death between a set of ribs. The chiming mesmerizing sound distracts her from initial desires..

He lets out a laugh. Sounding like a madman, his gargled words are a mixed compilation of insults and proclamations of love for her. He begs her not to let him die and if she will just save him, he will be what she deserves. 

He looks so pathetic. So willing to be the death dealer, but crying like a bitch at his own end. Disgusted by him, she gets close enough to let him hear her, but refuses to touch him.
She calmly states,
" I will not eat a dying animal and I refuse to become you. It's at your own undoing that you should die festering this way. And you can keep the stupid dishes. I never liked them anyway."

Pushing herself up from the ground she grabs up the pre packed suitcases and the two gorgeous bright eyed children from nap time dreams.. 
Nestling them into the car she drives away to a better life. The sheer force of her hope brings the homemade gingerbread prison to ruin as she drives back into the future with her dreams and black ink pen.


© Copyright 2018 Lindsey A. Bryant. All rights reserved.

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