ISLA
My eighth birthday.
That was the first night he had come to me.
I could still recall waking up to his hands taking off my pyjamas.
I remembered how my eyes had widened to see him there, staring at me.
He was supposed to protect me.
That was why I was with him.
But he didn't.
Instead, he had covered my mouth with his large hands as he defiled me.
I wanted to fight.
But, I was small and helpless.
So, I waited for help.
But help never came.
~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~
(Eleven years later)
I instantly threw myself in the way, hugging Eric tightly to my chest.
For some reason, I felt that my husband would not pull the trigger on me.
If he had wanted me dead, he would have left me alone when I slit my wrists.
But, he didn't.
The fucker had saved me.
"Isla, sweet Isla," he whispered behind me as I trembled against Eric.
"No, no, don't shoot," I begged.
"Look at me."
I didn't.
If I did, he might kill Eric.
"Look at me you insatiable slut!" He screamed at me.
I jerked in Eric's arms.
But, I heard the anger in his voice.
Right now, it was better to obey.
I slowly released Eric and began to turn around, shielding him behind me instead.
My eyes met his.
Ragged breaths freed themselves from my nose as shivers went down my spine.
I swallowed, but it hurt because my entire mouth and throat was dry as fuck.
He stepped closed, the gun still in our direction as his eyes bore into me.
"Tell me wife," he said through gritted teeth, "what are you doing in another man's bed?"
I tried to, but I couldn't speak.
I could only kneel there, gasping for air, mutilated by anxiety.
I didn't see his hands move.
But somehow, he managed to slide the gun to one hand without shifting target.
Meanwhile, he greeted my face with the other hand.
My eyes widened in panic as my head fell to the side from the impact.
I stayed like that, giving myself time to process the pain I was feeling.
Blood pounded in my ears alongside the ringing that followed the slap.
And as I turned to look at him, he repeated the action with a twitch in his jaw.
Dickinson never hit me twice.
He treated me like a doll, for display, and he hated to see marks on my face.
Whenever he wanted to, he would hit me once and take the rest out on a maid.
He had never hit me twice.
But today, he did.
That should have told me that death was probably lurking around the corner.
But, I didn't realize.
I ignored the signs, never knowing that soon, I was to see wonders.
Three.
It became three.
The slaps.
And then four.
And then five.
I tasted something metallic on my tongue and spat it out instantly.
It was blood.
That monster, he gasped.
I looked up to see him.
He looked mortified at the sight of my blood on the sheets and the tiled floor.
He stepped back, shaking with horror.
I stared at him, my entire body trembling as if I was brutally being tasered.
"Isla," he whispered.
I kept mute.
"I'm sorry mama," he began to plead, remorse vivid in his orbs.
Tears filled my eyes, spilling out the corner as he lowered the gun.
"I, I didn't mean to. I was just angry because he touched you," he explained.
He looked desperate.
But I wasn't buying it.
His eyes darted to Eric.
"This is all your fault!" He bellowed. "It's your fault that she is injured!"
He raised his gun then.
I could hear Eric breathing heavily behind me, probably waiting for death.
There was no way Dickinson would spare him, not in this life, and definitely not in the next one.
"Stop! Please," I begged.
His eyes settled on my face.
"Get out if the way," he said to me in a dangerously low voice.
I shook my head.
He cocked the gun.
"Get. Out. Of. The. Fucking. Way. Isla!" He screamed at me, his face red.
"Wait Dicki—"
The shot rang out.
I screamed, panicking, not knowing where exactly the bullet had gone.
And then, I heard him groan.
Eric.
I turned around to see that the bullet had buried itself in his left upper arm.
"Oh my God, Eric!" I screamed.
Blood gushed out of the wound incessantly even with the pressure I applied.
Then I felt it.
Something cold.
It was the barrel of the gun which that monster pressed to my nape.
I heard something click.
"Isla, I would shoot you and that fucker if you don't get off and come to me."
I shook like a bag of bones.
Goosebumps graced every corner if my body as I weighed my options.
"Please, don't kill him," I begged.
"He has to die Isla, no one touches what's mine and go scout free."
I heard the tremor in his voice, felt the one in the hand that held the gun.
He was too angry.
I couldn't guarantee Eric's life.
Mayhap I should do what I was told.
I gently stood from the bed, the gun following me as I came down.
Eric looked at me, a plea in his eyes, begging me not to leave him.
"I'm sorry," I mouthed at him.
And then, the gun went off.
I stilled.
Right before me, the bullet had passed me and pierced the centre of his skull.
I think he died instantly with his eyes wide, his body falling back in a heap.
Dickinson clapped a hand over my mouth as I let out a horrified scream.
"No, no!"
But it was all muffled against his palm.
"Stay still you bitch!" He bellowed as he threw me down onto the bed.
My elbow hit Eric's dead body and he toppled over to the side.
I was instantly moving, my hand shaking him with hopes that he still lived.
"Eric, please, no!" I begged as I shook him, willing him to live.
But he was long gone.
Dickinson was trying to pull me away, his hands tight around my forearm.
But I fought, pained.
The tears poured down my cheeks, obscuring my vision as I prayed.
I might not have loved Eric.
But I had come to like him.
He was the man who had brought some semblance of light into my dark world.
He was the man who had made me smile in the past three months.
He was the man who had showed me that there was more to life than just existing.
And now he was gone.
Dickinson had taken him.
"You killed him, you bastard!" I screamed as I turned to Dickinson.
"He touched you!" He yelled back.
My hands moved.
They greeted his cheek with a strength and fervor that I never knew I possessed.
I gasped as he stumbled backwards.
My eyes widened as I realized exactly wabt I had just done.
It felt like ice cold water was just dumped over my head.
I wasn't thinking.
I would admit to that.
Perhaps that was what made him decide to let go off me, the fact that I had lost my mind.
"Die, bitch!"
Those were his last words.
And then, he pulled the trigger.
I began falling backwards.
I blacked out before my body hit the bed.