She almost made it. The door to the closet was ajar, the heel of a shoe spilling out onto the hardwood floors. When she planted her foot as she reached for the knob, she landed it squarely on the shoe, sending her spread eagle across the slippery wooden surface. She tried to half crawl herself towards the tote bag that hung on the inside of the closet door, but felt her hair being yanked, her head flying backwards, just as she grabbed for it. The red nylon netting of the tote-bag brushed her fingertips and she could feel the heft of the .45 that was inside. A searing pain ripped through her scalp and she felt the warmth of her own blood running down the back of her neck. She pleaded with him to stop, she would do it his way, the way he wanted, but please don’t force it on me, I can make it better, we can make it better, she didn’t want things to be like this. He drug her to the couch and flung her sideways into the back of it, pushing her face into the rough-green upholstery. She stopped fighting, the will taken from her, sapped by a man she didn’t even know. He tied her legs to the fold away bed frame that was under the cushions, her hands to the sturdy steel lamp table above her head. She asked him for a drink first, before he began. He poured what was left of a warm can of beer into her mouth, her tongue and lips grabbing at it wildly.
~~~~DPM~~~~
Part 4.
