Flash Fiction: Waking Up (TRIGGER WARNING)

I had awoken without any dried blood between my legs, but his semen still haunted me even as I scratched away the crust. Yes, so I invited him in to have a drink. I didn’t ask him to rip off my dress or to use the scissors from his pocket to tease my death by pressing the points against my skin before he cut the strap of my bra and the side of my panties. I held them together and he pushed me into the sofa where in the midst of trying to catch myself, I had become entirely naked. 

I cried the entire time. Not out of sadness but of anger as he enjoyed every clawing and every bite. He told me that he liked feisty bitches. I knew this man my whole life. He was a friend of the family and he was telling me that I deserved it, so I should just enjoy it while it happens. When I bit down too hard he punched me in the face. That was when I no longer cried. I looked up at my ceiling and to the side upon the wall was a picture of my sister. My rapist’s best friend. I can only imagine.

When he was done, he came onto my face and even yelled out “Moneyshot!” I spit it back at him, but he only laughs as he zipped his pants and downed his glass of wine. “See you later, Dolly Molly,” he said as he left, repeating the nickname he gave me when we were both twelve years old.

That was when I woke up after passing out. I wish I’d stayed asleep for the rest of my life. I wanted to disappear and I wanted my mother and father, but what would I tell them? 

I had awoken and after a few hours of nausea – I vomitted atop the floor once or twice – it was time to stand and take a shower. I had work in an hour and I had called off far too many times when I was in the process of moving into my new apartment to do it again. This place where I will never forget. If I did something wrong, I didn’t know what it was. If I didn’t do anything wrong, I certainly will. I’m going to kill that mother fucker and perhaps his fucking dog, too.

I cried in the shower, attempting to blast the Beach Boys from my phone, but it only made my mind worse. I scrubbed my vagina raw and I did whatever I could to wash him off of me, my skin was on fire by the time I exited the scolding hot water. It didn’t burn enough.

I dressed slowly. One leg at a time, no dresses today. Maybe ever. If I had the money I’d never leave my home again. The place where I will never forget.

I went to work and continued my day, crying in the broom closet every now and then, once walking outside to punch and scrape my knuckles against the metal fence. I even bought a pack of cigarettes. I haven’t smoked in years, but if even car horns or hellos caused me to crouch down and hold myself in panic, then I deserve a goddamn cigarette. 

No one asked me if I was okay. Only, “Get up, here is the paperwork for that four o’clock,” or “You should have a drink later – actin’ all crazy,” in passing. I could have told them, but my co-workers have never been one for understanding or keeping secrets. They would have all asked why I didn’t call the police anyway. BECAUSE! Fuck. He knows everyone in my family. Who wouldn’t I lose in that situation? It’s not worth finding out.

After leaving work I did call my sister. She told me that she was so happy that we finally hooked up. Apparently, he got to her first. I swear that I’ll get to him last. She was ecstatic and I was numb and I was gone and I was never more.

I fucking swear! I drank the last bottle of wine that I had in my apartment and then I hear a knock.

“Dolly Molly,” he said. “It’s me. I wanted to apologize.”

I take a deep breath, teased my hair a bit, and let him in to sit down upon the sofa.

He was in tears. He was biting his lip and scratching at himself and wouldn’t ya know it, he was far drunker than I was. I knew this because he somehow slipped and fell onto his ass from the vomit that I had yet to clean up due to not giving a damn right now.

I interrupted his blubbering. “Why don’t we finish this conversation in the bedroom?” I said.

He sniffed, but I saw that hidden smirk. He stood up and followed me in.

I told him that I’d be right back. “Get comfortable,” I said, perhaps too close to his person.

He gulped and said, “Okay.” He began to undo his tie. 

I wasn’t even close to wet, so in the kitchen I ran the sink and splashed some water in and around my vagina and then I grabbed a knife. Any knife will do. Too bad I don’t know where my scissors are.

Twenty minutes in and I’m straddling him, actually close to climax with my hands caressing my own breasts because I wouldn’t want his anywhere around my sensitive zones. The sexuality I conveyed while imagining my perfect end was a first for me and I loved every second of it. Once he said that he was gonna cum soon, this time allowing him to use his hands to guide my pelvic thrusts, I knew what to say. I leaned in to his earlobe, licking it and still plopping up and down onto his body to say, “You deserve this so just lean back and let it happen.” He did as he was told, but his eyes were rather delicious after the knife went into his chest. Again and again I penetrated him and even though I had climaxed multiple times by that point, his cock quickly went soft after I dived the knife into his face – “Moneyshot!” – without more than pathetic precum to show for it.

Now I can call the cops. I think I could make this work. This place where I’ll never forget. 

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