Short and Sweet

AKA Glass Shards

TW: Physical abuse, Kidnapping (mentions) 

The window breaks.

The shards clink to the floor all at once, the already fragmented pieces shattering further upon the impact of hitting the tiles below. They lay there, unmoving, glinting under the golden hour light streaming in from the now rectangular hole.

There is an eerie quiet, a stillness, after the cacophony of noise.

A pause in time, where nobody moves and nobody says anything.

Then she hears his heavy breathing, and she slowly turns her head towards him, noticing his bloodied knuckles. She forgets, for a moment, that she is still standing still, watching him, until he steps towards her and she takes a step back and clink, goes the sound of the glass with small shards now embedded on the soles of her feet.

She hisses inwardly, the pain from the sharp objects piercing throughout her legs. It was that familiar stinging sensation that brought her back, and though she was still dazed, muscle memory was taking over her with every hurtful step towards him, invisible puppet strings pulling at her limbs.

She spared his hand a glance, walking past him with her eyes on the ground to the kitchen cabinet, ready to nurse his wound like he had nursed her, kept her safe.

The cabinets were blindingly white and she hated them, but they served a purpose.

"Nothing in my house can be dirtier than you, understand?"

She nodded.

Putting her weight on the foot that hurt less, she took out the items she needed. Rubbing alcohol, gauze, a pair of safety scissors. (He didn't trust that she wouldn't take her life. She didn't either.)

She limped subtly back to him, hoping that her winces went unseen. Carefully, her surprisingly steady hands made good work of his wound, bandaging it up nicely. She caught whiffs of smoke and vodka off him, and was unsurprised by his scent, figuring it was part of the explanation for his sudden anger at her. She fought the nausea off (even after four years she wasn't used to it), keeping what she took back where it was.

She wasn't done yet.

Her movement was akin to that of a robot, monotonous and programmed. She walked to where the glass shards lay, bending down to cup them in her hand and getting back up, cautiously moving to the bin to dispose of them. She repeated that a few more times, aware of the shadow looming over her, flanking her from all sides and darkening the light that had been beaming into his home.

Finally, all the sharp objects had been discarded or stuck on her feet, but all that mattered was that the floor was clean, safe. All for him, but now she was tired and her feet were aching, she just wanted to sit down (she didn't care if it was on top of him).

She waited, her palms up and open beside her thighs, head down, heart beating in anticipation, feet absolutely throbbing.

She was ready.

She remained there for a few more hours, until he was satisfied with the pool of crimson surrounding her feet from the glass still embedded in her soles like nails to a wall, until he was satisfied enough of her face had lost its colour, until he was satisfied she had learnt her lesson.

"Pull a stunt like that and try anything stupid again, worse will happen. Understand?"

(She wished the worse already happened.)

She nodded.

~End~