My Great Escape

Cpt 4

I grab a knife from the kitchen and perch on the arm of the couch. A door slams shut. This is will be "mother". She gets home a good hour or two before he does; this will make plenty of time to try and get some answers. I deserve answers after all I've been put though. The handle to the front door turns and I flip the blade in my hand in anticipation.

"What the hell you do you think you're doing in my clothes. Take them off this instant you worthless piece of shit," she spits at me. Little does she know that the tables are just about to turn. It's my time to talk.

"Oh Mother, I wouldn't make things worse for yourself than they already are."

"How dare you call me mother. What woman would want to claim a slut like you as her daughter."

The knife, previously hanging in my hand on the other side of the couch, is now resting on my lap in full view. Fear flashes in her eyes followed by a look of pure anger and disgust. Stupid bitch. She should really be more frightened. If she knew what I have planned... well she'd be groveling at my feet for forgiveness. Oh well, by the end of the night I'll be free of them and I'll have gotten my revenge either way. This is the beginning of the end and the beginning of a new life.

I slowly get up off the couch and walk over to her. No matter how badly my ankle hurts I refuse to show it. She doesn't deserve the satisfaction of seeing me in pain anymore. Her back hits the door as she backs up; there's no where left to go. The knife is pressed slightly against the skin of her neck and she let out an audible gasp.

"Now, here's how this is gonna go. You're going to sit your ass down and I'm going to ask questions. You answer me and I'll make death swift. Lie or don't answer and I'll drag it out. Either way I'll make you pay for all of the shit you ever put me through." I say grabbing her arm and dragging her over to the kitchen table. Holding her to one of the chairs I set down my knife and grab the duct tape from the table. He conveniently leaves duct tape there for when I try and fight back; I never thought the asshole would do anything that turned out beneficial for me. Planting my foot on the bar beneath the seat and placing my knee against her stomach, I held her body down while duct taping her hands together and then to the back of the chair. Her breathing turned shallow and she started screaming. My elbow connected solidly with her jaw; that, paired with a large piece of tape stuck to her mouth, sufficiently silenced her. Turning, I replace my knee with my ass, setting my full weight onto her lap. With great determination, my ankles hooked around the chair legs, holding hers in place; holding this position, I was able to restrain her legs with the tape, as well. Taking the knife from its spot on the table, I twirl the tip against my index finger as I take a moment to look at the vulnerable woman in front of me. The fear is bright in her eyes, but I don't believe she's ready to tell me anything of true value, yet. Squatting down and staring into her eyes, her green eyes, my eyes, I slowly trail the sharp tip of the knife over her left bicep. I don't know which was more satisfying, her muffled screams or the thick line of blood that came running down. The cut ran from almost two inches from her shoulder to just about the elbow joint. Repeating the process on the other arm, I stand quickly and grab the salt from the counter, along with a paper towel that I wet.

"Now, I am going to take the tape off of your mouth and ask you some questions. If you scream or refuse to answer I'll rub this salt on your cuts. You remember how I screamed when you and daddy did that? Yes, it's quite painful. Nod if you understand what I'm saying," she nods. I take the tape off her mouth and she whimpers. "Why did you let dad hurt me?"

"If he hurt you he didn't hurt me," she whimpers.

"Why did you marry him if he was abusing you?"

"He... he wasn't always like this. He was sweet when we first met. Then I... I got p...pregnant. That's when it started. H...he beat the me and I lost the baby... After six miscarriages y...you came along. At first things were good. Then you started getting older. He started getting bored win you. The drinking started because you were no longer the potential gorgeous daughter we wanted. Anger made him start. You always had a way of getting under his skin. It's your fault you know. I you had just been pretty this wouldn't have happened," she responds. Her last comment pissed me off in so many ways you couldn't fathom. Salting the towel, I run the rollover the cuts on her arms and she screams. Oh how her screams penetrate my very core bringing me both joy and terror. I have never heard such a blood curdling sound... I love it.

"Why did you start helping him?  Why didn't you stop him?" I scream. She's crying, gasping for air as the salt stings her wounds. "Tell me or I'll plunge this knife through your thigh."

"You. It's your fault. You stole his attention. He spent all of his time on you." Her voice is raspy, so much so that her words are hard to distinguish. "He was mine. You tried to take him. You deserved everything that came your way you skank."

My temper snaps and grab a piece of tape and cover her mouth. I coat the blood drenched knife in salt before plunging it to the hilt into her thigh, making sure to sever her artery completely. Her screams of excruciating pain, though muffled, echo off the walls. Muttering every four letter word I'd ever heard, I quickly stab the other leg and walk away. I go to the sink and wash the blood off of my arms. Her breath is shallow and raspy. The blood is freely flowing and she has but moments to live. There's a low gurgle and she's gone.

I just killed my own mother.