Julia

My entire body starts screaming in pain as I grudgingly trudge out of bed. My husband, Andy came home early this morning in a fit of rage. This is something he often does after a night of drinking with the boys. I tried to calm him down, but for some reason, my usual tactics only made things worse.

As I stumble to the bathroom, I start reliving the violent events that'd taken place. I then recall how he left me bleeding on the cold tile floor.

"Why did I let my life get to this, why?" I ask, staring at my battered face in the mirror. Seeing our honeymoon picture in the trash I quickly scoop it up. We had such a wonderful time. My mind starts drifting back to that joyous time so long ago.

I remember how we gleefully strolled arm in arm through the tropical paradise. It was a week of total bliss. I then recall all of the hot passionate nights we spent making love in the sand. I thought you were my prince charming my dream come true. That this poor little orphan girl would have her happily ever after. Wiping a tear from my face, I continue to gaze at the picture. What happened to us, to them? Thinking back, I tried to recall when the abuse began. You were out celebrating with the boys, just like you did last night. I remember how you apologized the next morning saying it'd never happen again. Then you nearly killed me when I tried to leave. I remember how he left me to die in that dark, horrid alley. I spent two long months strapped to machines, thanks to your abuse. Angrier than ever, I tear the picture in half, then rip it in half again. A rejuvenating feeling starts coming over me as I continue to shred the photo. It was a take charge, taking back my life, warm, comforting sensation. Something I hadn't felt in a very long time. Two long years of Andy's abuse has left me feeling cold and lonely inside. Grabbing a hold of another large piece, I start tearing it into pieces.

"No more hitting, no more kicking, no more name calling," I mumble, ripping the picture to bits. Seeing the photo is nothing more than tiny fragments, I step out of the bathroom.

"Did you say something in there?" Andy asks.

"Just talking to myself."

"Well stop your gabbing and get me some breakfast, woman!" he orders, pushing past me.

"It'll be done by the time you get in there." Things are going to change after today. I smile, glancing towards his truck.

I'd just put his breakfast on the table when he storms into the kitchen.

"What did you do to my razor?" he demands.

"I didn't do anything to it, Andy," I quickly turn to face him.

"You must have done something to make it cut me like this," he says, pointing to the small pieces of toilet paper, dispersed across his face.

"I didn't touch your razor, I swear."

"Bullshit!" he yells, grabbing a hold of my neck.

"Please, Andy, don't," I sputter, trying to catch my breath.

"What did you do to my razor, Julia, what?" he demands, tightening his grip. Hot salty tears run down the side of my face as I gasp for air.

"I shouldn't have ever married you, you worthless piece of shit," he yells, flinging me across the room. My frail battered body tumbles to the floor.

"Please Andy, don't," I beg. Not wanting to be the brunt of his anger, I scoot under the table. He grabs a hold of my legs and drags me back out. Gripping a handful of my long brown hair, he starts kicking me in the ribs.

"The guys were right about you," he spat, kicking me again. I feel my ribs starting to splinter into tiny bits.

"They said you are a worthless piece of shit that you'd only drag me down," he yells.

"Please Andy, stop," I beg, trying to protect my aching side. He draws back his leg and kicks me in the stomach.

"Please, not the baby," I quickly double over, hoping to protect the frail fetus. He's already made me lose one child and I wasn't about to lose another if I could help it. Grabbing a hold of my head, he starts slamming it against the cold hard floor.

"I've had to put up with your bullshit for the past two fucking years. Two years!" he screams, forcing my head down again.

"Well, I'm not going to deal with your bullshit anymore! Here me? No more!" he spat, slamming my head against the cold hard tile over and over again. My vision blurs and my head starts spinning as I struggle to stay awake.

"Please stop," Looking down I see bright red blood pooling on the floor below me.

"I'm going to get rid of you and the kid once and for all." Jumping up he runs to the porch. Seeing a chance to escape, I grab a hold of the table and try to stand. I only make it a couple of feet before I collapse on the tile floor. I start to try again when he runs into the kitchen. Looking over I see he has two pieces of rope and a gas can in his hands. Afraid of what he's about to do, I try to scurry away. Grabbing my bruised up legs, he starts securing them with the rope. I try to yank free, but my body is so weak, so frail I can barely move.

"Please Andy stop, please stop," I beg.

"Shut the hell up!" he orders. Grabbing my head, he thumps it against the floor. I must have passed out because when I come to I find the front room completely engulfed in flames. I try to move, but soon discover my arms are secured to the table. Pulling the rope down as far as it will go, I start moving it between the leg and the floor.

"Please work, please work," I beg, nervously sawing it back and forth. A small piece of string finally works its way through. Glancing to my right, I see the fire is getting closer. I move the rope faster along the bottom of the leg. My eyes start stinging and my lungs began to burn as dark smoke fills the air. Coughing, I continue to saw the thick rope, hoping I'll make it in time. Looking up I see the fire is directly above me. Panic starts to emerge from the depths of my soul as I watch the flames spread.

"No, you're not going to win, not now, not ever! Do you hear me, Andy? You're never going to win! Never!" Having renewed inner strength, I start sawing faster. With one hard tug, my restraint finally pulls free. Realizing I don't have any time to spare, I start scooting towards the door. Excruciating pain shoots through my entire body as I propel myself to freedom. As I'm scurrying across the porch, I hear a loud bang behind me. Looking back I see flaming timber lying diagonally across the frame. More frightened than ever, I scamper towards the door. I'm halfway across the dust porch when I hear someone moving outside.

"Please, help me!" I beg, trying to make it to the door.

"Please someone, please help me, I'm trapped on the porch," I say, stretching my arm towards the latch. My fingertips barely graze the metal as my arm slides to the floor. I stretch my frail battered arms as high as they will go, but I still can't reach the knob.

"Please someone help me," I beg, trying to reach the latch again. I hear the high-pitched screams of sirens wailing in far the distance. Looking back I see the flames advancing across the old, rotten porch. They're going to be too late. I hear a loud explosion then see pieces of white metal flying through the air. I'm free at last; I smile, laying my head against the door.