Face Down

Lily

The taste of blood in her mouth was not foreign. The sting on her cheek was familiar, too. But today is different. Today, the blood didn't scare her. It was like ambrosia; it gave her strength.

She struggled to stand, but he grabbed her hair and yanked it hard, forcing her to fall on her knees. "Say it again," he said, seething with anger. "What you told me."

She looked at him hard, with all the hatred and courage she could muster. "You're a monster, and I'm leaving you."

His eyes blazed with anger, but behind it, she saw a flicker of fear. It was only a second - it was gone the moment she saw it. But that was enough. It ends tonight.

He raised his other hand, ready for another strike. With all the strength she could muster, she brought her clenched fist violently against his throat. It was a strike he did not anticipate. He let go of her hair and grabbed his neck, choking and rasping. He went down on his knees hard on the floor, his bloodshot eyes looking at her in honest surprise. She slowly stood up and wiped the blood from her lips. "You will never hurt me again," she whispered.

She went to her drawer. She rummaged the contents inside, and finally, took out a blade. It was an old blade - ancient, even. The hilt was made of aged silver, with a lot of wavy designs. The blade itself looked as old as the hilt - a mere four inches - but it still looked wickedly sharp. It was a little heavier than she remembered; but then again, maybe it was just because she was shaking. She turned to face him, the blade in hand. He was already standing up, his eyes switching from the blade to her face. She cursed herself for taking too long. Now she had to struggle. But only for a little while. It will soon be over. Tonight.

"Where did you get that? Are you gonna kill me, Lily?"

Her hand tightened on the blade. "Yes, Eric," she replied as calmly as she could. "I will."

His face registered surprise again, but it was quickly replaced with a smirk. "You can't kill me, Lily. You think you're so tough with a knife in your hand."

He was baiting her. She knew it. But she had to hold her ground. He had to attack her first. She would never have a clean strike if she took the offense. She had to control her anger. She only had one chance. She was not going to lose it.

"How many times have I hit you? You never complained," he continued. "You never even fought back. You're WEAK, Lily. It's YOUR fault that you get hurt. You're an idiot, you-re-"

"I'm not weak, Eric," her voice icy. "You are."

"What did you say?" His eyes went round and threatening.

"You're WEAK, Eric. By hitting me, you're only proving your weakness. By hitting me, you think you have power over me. But you're such a FOOL." She has stopped shaking now. She smiled at him. "You're the weak one, Eric. You're the IDIOT. You always were."

"You little bitch!" He charged at her. Perfect.

He ran with arms outstretched, aiming to grab at her neck. She predicted this. The first time he got really mad at her, he grabbed her neck and almost chocked her to death. He only realized what he did when she was already turning blue, her eyes almost popping out. In one swift motion, she swept aside a few inches away and thrust the blade in his side. She heard him grunt. Her face was only a few inches from his. She could feel the blood warming her hand, but she clenched her fist harder on the hilt until it was almost hurting her.

His hand went around her neck; his strength has not left him. His other hand was on her arm, trying to remove it from his side. She fought the urge to let go of the blade and remove his hand from her neck. She placed her other hand over the blade and she twisted the blade against his side. He gasped, his grip on her neck tightening. She was choking already, but she didn't stop. This must end tonight. She aligned the blade parallel to the ground and started pushing sideways. He cried out in pain; now both his hands were on her neck. She gasped for air, but she didn't stop. She can't stop now.  With the remaining strength in her body, she cut his stomach open, inch by inch. Her vision started to blur, but she wouldn't stop. The smell of blood was filling her nostrils; she couldn't breath, but she could smell the stench. She looked at him; his face was already pale, and his eyes no longer contained anger or hatred - they only showed fear. She could feel the last ounces of strength leave her hands. Her knees buckled, but she could feel his grip loosening. I can't stop now, she told herself. She felt she had cut him wide enough. She ripped the blade of his abdomen, just as he let go of her neck. They collapsed on the floor together, him flat on his back, and she on all fours. She was heaving and choking. She looked her hands - they were both soaked in bright red blood. Her dagger  was still wrapped up by her hand.

She could hear him crying and wailing in pain. She looked at him.

He was lying down, pale and helpless, with both hands on the massive cut she made. Blood spilled from his wound and his mouth. She could leave him there to die, choking on his own blood, dying by massive loss of blood. She crawled beside him. He looked at her with frightened eyes. He was shaking and saying something inaudible. She didn't need to hear what he was saying.

She thought of all the times he slapped her, and punched her and threw her to the wall. She thought of the time he hit her with a plate, when he tied her to the bed, when he forced himself to her, when he bit her. She brought her hand up, the blade dripping with blood. She showed it to him.  His eyes went there and he started to shake his head violently. "You... Will never hurt me... again," she said.

"Never again, Dad."

She looked away. Her hand, it seemed, moved on its own. The blade went to his neck and started to move.