The Farmers Daughter // Jake Kiszka

Chapter Two

About three things you were absolutely certain. There was a ringing in your ears unlike any you'd ever experienced before. In the corner of your eye you could see the blood dripping down the leather of your favourite red couch. And Daddy was irrevocably dead.

But what you couldn't ascertain was who had pulled the trigger. Instinctually, there had been a part of you that had known it would come to this. But those were late night intrusive thoughts.

The reality was Jake scrambling for his clothes, pulling his jeans about his waist frantically as your Father's face began to turn a shade of red and a bead of sweat formed upon his wrinkled brow. You had fought so hard to pry the gun from your Father's hands, and he had fought so hard to move you away from his aim. Jake had stood there mechanically, staring down the barrel until you leapt into the firing line. Standing firm.

The scuffle had been but a moment. A frame of time so brief that you had barely registered the shots fired that landed on the oak beams by your head, that could have killed you had you been stood a little more to the left. You could feel the burn of raising bruises on your arms, from where Jake had pushed you aside.

All three of you were tangled on the couch now. Only two of you breathing heavily from the exertion.

Jake pushed your Father's body off and you watched him roll lifelessly onto the ground. Both of your were clutching the gun, both of your hands, knuckles turned white, gripped tightly around the barrel. Once you realised, you threw it down where it landed by your Father's bloodied body.

Your white dress was splattered red. Jake's naked torso was covered in the same. You could feel him begin to panic, bile rising in your own throat as you began to realise what you had done.

"Darlin', don't you go panicking on me now!" Jake said, pulling you away from the terrible sight.

You bury your head into his chest and realise whose blood you can taste.

"This is murder." You whisper, "It's murder..."

Jake grips you where the bruises are already starting to darken on your arms.

"It's self defence is what it is." He reasons. "He was gon' shoot me, whether you stood by me or not!"

You look at him. His jeans are still unbuttoned, lilting around his waist as if he was about to take them off and suddenly you're hit with one of those intrusive thoughts which come to you unbound when you wish you could switch them off. You tell yourself its the adrenaline.

"He was never gonna let us be together, was he?!" You say, mostly to yourself, but loud enough for Jake to hear.

You feel his hands about your shoulders as you stand there staring at your Father.

"He wanted you all for himself." Jake added, deciding it was enough.

You can't help but feel as if nothing is real. Everything takes on a dream like state before turning completely black.

The familiar scent of whiskey and freshly cut grass bring your dizzied head to wakefulness. In the distance you hear the soft strumming of a guitar which guides your back to yourself.

When your eyes flutter open you recognise the painted white ceiling of your own bedroom and Jake sat in the rocking chair by your open window. Chickens were clucking out in the yard, silenced by the barking of dogs who couldn't understand why their master did not respond.

"Jake?!" You sit bolt upright, afraid to come back to reality.

He comes to you when you call. His plaid shirt open and his chest washed clean of any wrong doing. You notice that you're not in your blood stained dress anymore and instead are wearing a silk night gown that barely skims your thighs. You pull on it instinctively and he notices.