Kim woke on a Persian rug in the center of what looked like a child's bedroom. The Rohypnol haze left her dislocated. Her silk blouse looked wadded up and sat on while her jeans lay neatly folded in the corner. Parakeets peered cautiously from a brass cage by a window. Daylight streamed in; wrapping her senses in barbed wire. Cheerful animal cartoons danced on yellow wallpaper. Dolls and stuffed animals held court on the floor around her.
"Sonofabitch." Kim rolled onto her stomach and tried to lift herself to the foot of the canopy bed without vomiting. It didn't work. Light patterns on the Persian revealed bloodstains. Her arms oozed with puss and blood from cuts and runic burns. A bent coathanger and lighter jumbled with an ashtray beneath her toes. He branded her. The motherfucker branded her.
Flickers of memory flashed little segments of the evening before. Work. Dinner. Apologies. He prattled on about how she should be closer to her family. How family is everything. "Closer to family is closer to God." What part of 'none of your business' isn't sinking in? He was going to get them back together. He'll fix everything.
No watch. No purse. No car keys. Another shot of gorge hit her throat. Black gelatinous vomit swirled in a dull vortex against the yellow gingham bedspread and soaked Raggedy Ann's playclothes. Winnie the Pooh sacrificed himself to save Paddington. Madeline looked on.
A wave of haze washed over again. Kim fought through it. She listened. If he's still there, she can't scream. More effort got her upright. The door felt barricaded. Anger stirred. Defiled in a child's room and forced to stay captive. Forced to admit some wrong or beg forgiveness. "No."
Kim listened again for noise. Anger revived more of her faculties. Her strength crept back. Vitality. Vitriol.
The parakeets chirbled and reminded her of the nagging window. Height made escape impossible. Leaving through the window was too cowardly, anyway. Kim wanted destruction. Tell him. Tell him you'll set him on fire. Tell him you'll weave his intestines through a picket fence. Tell that asshole he's dead.
Thrusting the child's chair through the window made a satisfying mess. The plastic-coated glass peeled easily from the pane. The rage fed. She smashed the chair against the desk, then the bed. The parakeets threw themselves about the cage in terror. Kim slammed herself into everything. Angel figurines destroyed one by one. Books flung around. Fire retardant pajamas. Barbeque lighter. Bookshelves splintered. Tempting but inadequate.
A weak spot. Cheap repairs. The wall is torn. The chair broke through the drywall. Kim hit it again. Weaker. She broke through and revealed wall studs. Exertion made her dizzy. Her stomach twisted from its contents. She kicked drywall on the other side. No shoes. Her foot bled. She'll make her own door. Straight into his skull.
"Sonofabitch." Kim rolled onto her stomach and tried to lift herself to the foot of the canopy bed without vomiting. It didn't work. Light patterns on the Persian revealed bloodstains. Her arms oozed with puss and blood from cuts and runic burns. A bent coathanger and lighter jumbled with an ashtray beneath her toes. He branded her. The motherfucker branded her.
Flickers of memory flashed little segments of the evening before. Work. Dinner. Apologies. He prattled on about how she should be closer to her family. How family is everything. "Closer to family is closer to God." What part of 'none of your business' isn't sinking in? He was going to get them back together. He'll fix everything.
No watch. No purse. No car keys. Another shot of gorge hit her throat. Black gelatinous vomit swirled in a dull vortex against the yellow gingham bedspread and soaked Raggedy Ann's playclothes. Winnie the Pooh sacrificed himself to save Paddington. Madeline looked on.
A wave of haze washed over again. Kim fought through it. She listened. If he's still there, she can't scream. More effort got her upright. The door felt barricaded. Anger stirred. Defiled in a child's room and forced to stay captive. Forced to admit some wrong or beg forgiveness. "No."
Kim listened again for noise. Anger revived more of her faculties. Her strength crept back. Vitality. Vitriol.
The parakeets chirbled and reminded her of the nagging window. Height made escape impossible. Leaving through the window was too cowardly, anyway. Kim wanted destruction. Tell him. Tell him you'll set him on fire. Tell him you'll weave his intestines through a picket fence. Tell that asshole he's dead.
Thrusting the child's chair through the window made a satisfying mess. The plastic-coated glass peeled easily from the pane. The rage fed. She smashed the chair against the desk, then the bed. The parakeets threw themselves about the cage in terror. Kim slammed herself into everything. Angel figurines destroyed one by one. Books flung around. Fire retardant pajamas. Barbeque lighter. Bookshelves splintered. Tempting but inadequate.
A weak spot. Cheap repairs. The wall is torn. The chair broke through the drywall. Kim hit it again. Weaker. She broke through and revealed wall studs. Exertion made her dizzy. Her stomach twisted from its contents. She kicked drywall on the other side. No shoes. Her foot bled. She'll make her own door. Straight into his skull.