The Obsession Trilogy

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


Three connected flash fictions about obsession. *WARNING* Contains a scene of physical abuse.

Submitted: September 12, 2018

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Submitted: September 12, 2018

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The Knock

 

They say the devil always knocks thrice.

Then why am I here, banging on your door at this hour, waiting for you to answer, to let me in so I may say my piece?

Why aren’t you here at your door?  Tapping with your little knuckles.  Waiting for me to answer.

It feels like I’m on the wrong side of the door.  It always feels that way when I’m standing outside your apartment.

What could you be doing in there without me?  Why am I not good enough to enter?  Why am I never good enough for you?

You tease and you play out, tormenting me with pride.

I’m your amusement.  Your toy you only had to wind up once and I keep dancing to your tune.

Here I stand outside your door.

Knock.  Knock.  Knock.

Will you answer?

Will you tell me to leave?

Will you pretend you’re not home?

Knock.  Knock.  Knock.

The devil’s waiting for you, my dear.

He’s not going anywhere until you open up.

Knock . . . knock . . . knock.

 

 

 

 

The Intoxication

 

Feeling spiteful, are we?

That I never need you around.

I had my fun and thought we were over, but you can’t let me go.

What is it about me that’s so intoxicating?

Why can’t you let it go?

Do you feel so used, feel like a fool that you have to keep harassing me?

What is it about me?

You scare me when you look at me.  Your red eyes and fixated stare.  I’ve been a fixation for someone before.  I don’t like it.  Not again.

Leave me alone and let what happened pass.

We are in the past.

Can’t you see that?

I won’t come for you again.  I wish you’d stop coming for me.  But I hear you again, banging on my door.

What is it about me that’s so intoxicating?

 

 

 

 

The Attack

 

The stress on the glass is too much and it shatters.  The small shards cut across the sides of her face as her head slams against the ground.  Her eyes flutter and her mind reels.  A groan croaks out of her slack mouth.  She doesn’t know if she feels pain, she can’t focus on anything.

Her body quivers from the force of the blow.  Her movements are sluggish.  She rocks to the side, a sharp pain shooting up her thigh and through her back as she braces a knee against the floor.  Her trembling hand reaches out, grasping at a pile of glass chips.  They feel like sharp pebbles digging into her palm.  A coppery taste drips from her swollen lip.  She lets it dribble onto the floor.  Her vision blurs in and out while she watches a crimson stain grow on the carpet.

Her stomach spasms as she finds herself to her hands and knees.  It feels like it’s twisting into a knot, making it harder to breathe.  A lead ball rests in the back of her throat.  A boot drives into her belly, causing it to spasm worse.  She grunts, releasing a hoarse gasp, but she does not scream.  She won’t scream for him.  She knows it’s infuriated him as his foot drives into her stomach again.  Harder.

Scrunching into a ball on her knees and elbows, she strives to suck in what oxygen she can.  Her head is swimming.  She fears she’ll pass out soon.  Then what will he do to her?

He huffs and grunts in a frenzy.  She hears him pace behind her.  It sends a faint chill to the base of her spine.  She’s not afraid of him.  She’s stood up to him many times before.  But she is afraid of where he is.  She’s never known him well enough, and no matter what he’s doing, it’s always set her on edge when he’s out of her sight.

Now he stands behind her.  Waiting.  Thinking.

What will he do next?


© Copyright 2018 Jeff Bezaire. All rights reserved.

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