Wicked Annabella

Blood on the floors

Next chapter in AnnaxLove and my story. :)

We are so awesome to post so much arn't we?

Listen to the song on the side, it's like the theme song for this story.

---------------------------------------------------------> That's who they see.

Vote and give feedback please :)

“I don’t want to go in Carter.” I whispered fearfully, standing at the foot of the steps that led to our front door. We had just been released from the hospital a lot sooner that I thought we would. It was only the next day but I guess Carter’s stab wound wasn’t that bad.

Carter got out of the passenger seat and walked over to stand behind me, gently pushing the small of my back to encourage me to walk up the stairs. My heart thumped wildly in my chest, and if felt like the world was pulsating around me. My head pounded so bad that I saw spots In my peripheral vision.

But I took a deep breath and slowly climbed the stairs until I reached the oak front door. Carter nodded and I pulled the keys out of my purse and inserted the correct one into the deadbolt. I turned it slowly, flinching when it thunked in the lock signaling it was ready to be opened.

“You can do this Annabella.” Carter encouraged, and I grasped the cold metal knob in my fingers and turned, pushing the door open. It creaked in its hinges, a sound that filled me with fear. I remembered how it had done the same thing when Carter had opened it last night, revealing our attackers.

Slowly, I forced myself to walk inside a few feet then froze at the scene before me. I scooted back until I felt my back clash with the wall. From where I was, I had the full view of my living room.. my now trashed living room. Vases were broken. Glass was everywhere, it would be impossible to not step on something. The tv's screen was broken from a bat that one of the men had. Blood covered the once beautiful wooden floor and the pristine white tiled floor that was in the kitchen.

Carter would blame this all on me, he always does because “good ole'” Carter could never do anything bad in his mind. It was funny how things worked in his mind. It was like I was his mental punching bag, I never wanted to fight back because I was too scared. He yelled at me enough already to last a lifetime and then some.

My OCD started to kick in from seeing how messy this situation was. I stood up and started my walk to the bathroom. I felt dirty and my body begged to be cleaned over and over until I could get the feeling of his hands from my memory.

Finally I reached the bathroom and walked in. Looking into the mirror, I didn't see the old Annabella anymore, I saw a more broken and vulnerable one now. My hand reached for the knob to the hot water and turned it all the way up. I wanted to burn the dirtiness I felt all over my body. Steam filled the whole bathroom, immediately making the mirror fog up.

My clothes dropped to the ground and I hesitated at first to walk in. After I built up the courage to go into the steaming hot water, I walked in with my left foot first. The boiling hot water against my skin made me wince in pain, but oddly made me feel a little bit better. It still wasn't good enough though. My body formed a crouching position as tears started to stream down my face. Every time I closed my eyes, even for a second I could see the burning image of one of the men attacking me. I started to wail in terror, I felt like it was happening all over again.

His fingers touching me where no one but my husband should… The feeling of his boots kicking my side over and over again…His laughter at my pain.

The door busted open only to see my husband, Carter with a concerned look on his face. He saw the upset look in my eyes and rushed over to me quickly.

Carter pulled me against his chest, wrapping his arms around my naked body, close enough to hear his heart beat. The words his voice spoke lingered into my ear, "Baby, it's okay. You're fine. I won't let anything happen to you."

Whenever I tried to speak, all that blurted out of my mouth was the soft cries my voice created. He seemed to be caring, which was odd because I thought he would be yelling at me right now because the trashed house wasn't cleaned yet. I didn't want to question it, instead I enjoyed the comfort he gave me.

The next few minutes were a blur for me, I could barely remember getting changed and grabbing cleaning supplies from the kitchen closet.

With one hand I poured a massive amount of bleach onto the floor. I could already feel a headache starting to form. With my other free hand I grabbed the scrub brush to clean up floors.

The blood was starting to stick to the floor which made me panic. I couldn't have blood stains on the white tiled floor or on my lovely wood, it would only remind me of the terrible times. Quickly, I grabbed onto the brush with both hands, scrubbing as hard as I could with all the pressure that my body forced upon it.

I could hear myself quietly sobbing to myself. Drops of my tears fell to the ground snapping me back to reality. I didn't realize that my mind was pondering about what happened until I felt the wetness of my salty tears forming in my eyes.

The speed of my scrubbing against the floor slowed down as I could hear the pounding of someone walking towards me. I knew that it was Carter, whenever you lived with someone for a while you always remember the distinct sound of them walking around.

I could hear his mouth open as if he was about to say something, "Those men don't deserve to live for what they did to us." Carter's voice was filled with sorrow and anger. I didn't respond, but he still continued on talking, "Horrible people like that need to be murdered."

My heart skipped a beat when he said the word "murdered". My husband was a sick person, but I never thought he was sick enough to wish someone to get murdered. Maybe it was just one of those times when people say things out of the fury when they don't even mean it at all. The way he spoke was like he was trying to hint something to me.

Without even thinking, I blurted out the words, "You don't mean that." my voice sounded different because my noise was stuffed up.

In the matter of seconds he was right in front of my face. He crouched down to be at my height level, his knees bent making those cracking noises that made me shiver. I never liked the sound of anything cracking. Carter's eyes stared into mine and without even taking his eyes off of mine, he said with a reassuring voice, "Oh darling, but I do mean it."

I started up the scrubbing again not even realizing that tears are still escaping from my eyes. I felt Carter's cold hand reach down and touch mine. The coldness gave me goosebumps. He brought me up to my feet then brought me closer, he had a smile on his face like he was up to something.  "What are you planning?" I asked out of curiosity.

"Let's go out to dinner." Carter smiled showing his teeth, I could feel his breath only because his face was nearly inches away from mine. "We had a terrible night, but we shouldn't let that mess with us."

I couldn't say no to his innocent smile so I gave into his offer. I dressed into short black dress that fit perfectly to my body. Along with the outfit I wore black high heels. I put on some concealer to cover the bruise one of the guys who punched me. I winced in pain as I was putting it on, but you know what they say, pain is beauty.

Carter suggested that we should walk to a restaurant that was less than a mile away, even though I felt a little on edge about walking out in this neighborhood, I reluctantly agreed. About a few minutes into the walk I could sense that Carter was looking around. Maybe he was just as paranoid as I was, but no, this was different. It seemed as if he were waiting for someone or something. I brushed it off as my crazy imagination getting to me. Carter stopped in his tracks. "What's wrong, Carter?" I asked him as he was staring off into a dark neighborhood. I looked in the same direction to see if I could see the same thing he was looking at.

My vision focused on someone standing near a stop sign. I squinted my eyes trying to see who he or she was and why were they so important. My heartbeat paced when I saw who the figure was, my breath seemed heavy. It was one of the men who attacked us, the tall good looking African-American guy.  I tugged onto Carter's arm trying to make him walk away, but he wouldn't budge.

A smile crept onto Carter's face and he patted my arm confurtingly and spoke, "Revenge is a good way to make the soul feel better Annabella." The weight of what he meant hung in the air all around us.