TO LIE WITH MIDNIGHT ROSES

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RENESSA

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I can hear the man's voice from outside, hushed now but angry nonetheless as he speaks to two others. My body is unable to stop itself from shivering, fear taking over and kicking in my fight or flight. This was wrong, so entirely wrong. 

The words, Woman found stabbed to death, ring through my head with a wicked tune.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to slow my breathing as I clench the phone tightly in my hand. Forty minutes. That's how long it would take for help to get here, I needed to defend myself. I know if I get up the courage to move I can run and grab a knife. My chest rises and falls three or four times before I do.

 I open my eyes, moving quickly I run towards the kitchen pulling a heavy, sharp knife from the drawer. Phone in one hand, knife in the other, I lean up against the counter. I never would've thought this would happen, not here. I specifically left the city to stay away from things like this. In fact, Damien was insistent that we moved here for a fresh start.

The same deep voice from before begins to yell, " We know you're home! Open the goddamn door!"

Every inch of my body tenses up like a wire ready to snap from being pulled too tight as I hear some muffled whispers and then more shouting. 

Suddenly, between a heavy breath, it becomes quiet and for a moment I feel like I can't move. My skin tightening, hardening as if I was becoming a statue. I wondered if I held my breath long enough if I may just stay frozen in time this way forever but my heart thumps hard against my chest and I flinch at the sound of it. 

Eerie silence begins to fill the room, raising goosebumps across my wet, cold skin. I breathe in slowly, realizing it's been silent for a minute or so now. I feel a sense of relief wash over me but my grip on the knife doesn't loosen. I bring the blade up in front of me, dropping the phone down on the counter, numbers dialled in but not yet called.

Why was I afraid to hit the button? Why was I afraid to call?

Because it made this real.

Maybe they finally left, I think, trying to reassure myself. Maybe they needed help? But that thought was hopeful, that thought was unrealistic. My knuckles begin to turn white from my relentless grip on the knife's handle as I inch forward, soft footsteps squeak beneath me on the wooden floorboards.

 I lean my back up against the wall now beside the end table, head resting and tilting to the side. I bring my other hand across my face, index finger up and curl gently around the fabric of the curtain as I peek.

"We are coming in whether you open this fucking door or not!" His harsh voice startles me and I duck down beside the end table.

Then there's a crash, a gust of cold wind. Shards of glass graze my face and the last candle goes out, I squeeze my eyes shut hoping nothing gets in them as I fling myself away from the window letting out a startled scream. Pushing myself up off my knees, I steady the handle back in my hand. Gripping it tightly, bringing it up to my side but no sooner than I stood my ground, my knees buckled as my feet were met with the stinging cold crunch of broken glass.

I stumble as I try to run, forcing myself to move, to get back to the phone but before I'm halfway there my hair is yanked back by a pair of strong hands. I'm engulfed by the smell of musty-wet dog. I try to pull away as I reach back behind my head with my free hand, gripping it around clammy warm skin, I shudder.

 With no luck unclasping the grasp of whoever was behind me; I scream. Lowering myself I duck underneath the heavy arms, grimey fingers still gripping my hair as I turn around. I swiftly bring the blade up, towards a blurry chest but then their other hand flies up, blocking my stab with their forearm.