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thiswrittingblogblows · 7 years

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(A Night of Hell)

She wakes up when the wind pushes her eyes open. It takes her some time to digest her surroundings - Her chestnut hair flies against her, floating a mere inch or so above the dark (ground? water?) rushing past beneath. There's a steady vibration thrumming under her chest, she's unsure whether it's her heart or her engine. Wait, her engine? That's not right; she doesn't have an engine, the car does. The car... that's what's moving her - she's in a car. But why is there so much wind in her face? Is the window ope-

Her nose smacks into the cup holder at the bottom of the door. The resulting crack replaces a light bulb, as she realizes that the window's not open, the door is; she is hanging out of the passenger side of a car. Her nose tingles sharply, then threatens to bleed. She instinctively tries to scream but instead inhales 3 deep breaths of inky nighttime. She senses her brain sending out threads of consciousness to determine the current geometry of her body: her legs are folded up and tucked under, probably secured by the bottom of the seat; her torso half-twists as her hips and her rib cage fall out of line, her hips with her legs and her chest with her head; her head, which is hanging out of the open passenger door, which miraculously does not continue its assault on her face, though the wind keeps goading it to do so. There's a pinching tightness on her wrists, which are crossed behind her back.

Fuck. Where am I?

Now is not the time to think back over the course of events; she's got to stay (relatively) composed and rational to figure out how to get herself back in the car, before she loses her head.

Why isn't whoever's driving trying to help me?

She writhes carefully, trying to pull her torso back into the car with the power of her abs but fearful that a slight shift in weight will send her tumbling out of the car. As it turns out, crunches are an effective form of exercise - she's able to get her abdomen and most of her chest back in. Now, she tries to pull her head in too. She tries pushing her head up using her right shoulder and neck, but her head smacks back down against the inner part of the door. Her face stinging and hot with pain, she writhes frustrated, determined to squirm her way in. She manages to grasp onto the track that moves the seat forward, and with all the might her tied arms can summon she begins to pull herself bac-

** White hot agony spreads over her face like blood. No wait, it is blood - her (nose? forehead?) is spilling warmth across her eyes and ears. What happened?

Suddenly, she is lifted and roughly dragged back into the car by the driver. She wants to thank him, but gags on the blood at the back of her throat when she inhales. Good thing too, because the driver clearly was not acting out of compassion. His face is violently red, he looks beyond pissed, he is absolutely livid. She worries that he's about to smack her, but instead a strange, sneering grimace comes over his face.

"Alexa, what the fuck?"

She stares, confused.

"You see, this is why I told you not to fight. Look at what you've done to your pretty face, how am I gonna perform now?"

He chuckles with a gust of gurgled breath.

"Ah ha, don't you worry pretty girl. I'll take good care of you."

He gently caresses her face, wiping away the red lenses blurring her vision. He grabs her by the chin, squishes her cheeks playfully.

"Look at me. I wan- ah, ah, hey, hey now, behave Alexa, or you will hurt more than you have to." A malicious smile slices his lips. "All that I'm saying is that I want what I paid for. What'd you say, '$150 and I'll do whatever you want'? Yeah, I think that was it. Well Miss Sexi Lexxy, this is what I want."

He shoves her out the open passenger then exits the driver's seat. She holds her breath as the crunch of his approaching dress shoes on the deceased leaves echoes dully in her wet ears. She yelps a little when he grabs her by the hair, yanking her upright into an awkward half-standing position, but the liquid she feels roiling in her lungs with each exhale silences her quickly.

"Atta girl, okay, now let's go for a walk; I don't know about you but I for one am tired of fooling around in the car!"

He drips a repulsive slime of laughter over the words; he is so clearly in his element, it seems as if the murderous rage Alexa read on his face when he pulled her back in was actually his body's reaction to a stifled peal of wicked laughter. As she stumbles along beside him, Alexa tries to work her wrists out of their bindings. Are these zip-ties? Fuck. She wonders if it's even worth trying to piece together the evening's timeline; she remembers certain parts, but it's as hazy as when she opened her blood-covered eyes.

"Oh so you're a quiet one. I wasn't quite sure, but I had you pegged as a silent type, guess I was right! Ha, I've gotten too good at this! Well sweetheart, I can help you in this area - you're probably trying to figure out what's gone on since the last time you were fully conscious? It's strange that about the time they start wrestling with the ties is when you whores want to know what got you here. The louder of you night ladies usually scream-cry the question at me, it's fucking hilarious. But you, the quiet ones, you bother me a lot. The fuck is wrong with you? Aren't you afraid of dying?"

Alexa muffles her sharp inhale of shock behind her teeth. What kind of question is that? Exactly the kind of question that answers the one I didn't ask. He's going to kill me. She is still testing the strength of the ties (update: they are still fucking strong) as her eyes roll around, scraping over the forest surroundings, trying to consume as much information as she can get about where she is and what's happened to her.

"Did you ever think it'd end this way? That your pathetic life would lead to you being murdered, rather than dying of syphilis or a coke overdose like the other sluts? Hmph, life is strange. Anyway, sorry for your face, I didn't think I'd hit you that hard plus you're a tiny little thing, god. But you almost got us killed, and that is not part of the plan here babe. Sure there'll be a killing, but only one of us is going to administer it. And I have to say I'm kind of disappointed, I thought you were a smart one, a rarity. What the shit could have convinced you that yanking the wheel would save you? I mean, was impressed by your method; your legs are quite flexible huh? Ha, probably useful in your line of 'work'. God, you've got me gabbing like a bitch, come on girlie, say something. Don't make me talk to myself for the whole trip."

Alexa's brain is flooding with images - with memories - triggered by her assailant's rant. She still can't trace the entire trajectory of the night but certain moments stab out of the torrent -

"Hey there lady, won't you please keep me some company?" "Anything I want huh? Hehe, I think I'll take advantage of that deal! Speaking of which, babe, $150? You're worth at least a grand, don't sell your body short!" *cackling*

"Oh no, no, shh shh, come on come on now don't fight it babe, it'll be easier on the both of us." "Dude I don't know who you are but you need to get the fuck off of me or I'll -" "Wow really? A threat? Come on 'Lexxi', you know you can't do shit. *sigh* "And here I was thinking you were smarter..."

"You little fucking cunt," he snarls. "You trying to get us killed? God I can't stand shit like that, I can't - what is it with you whores, you think you can solve any problem by throwing your body at it, fuck." Alexa's eyes watered with the sting of his knuckles on her left cheek. Her head connects violently with the door handle, and just before she passes out she thinks she hear a low click...

Now she can't hide it; she gasps audibly, which makes the man giggle gleefully, each breath soaked in blood. "Oh did you remember? Yeah, that was an adventure, wasn't it! For a second there I was worried you might kill yourself before I had the chance to! Good thing you're strong, for a hit like that you woke up in like a minute, really quick, it was surprising. But hey, made less work for me!"

The man lets out an effortful grunt, and Alexa feels the dirt bandaging her wounds as she tumbles to the ground. She has again fallen in a sort of half twist - she is lying on her side, hands bound behind her, knees pointing left to counterbalance the weight of her torso and right shoulder as she turns to look at her murderer. The red of her jacket makes her look like an oversized leaf, and the white faux wool lining is covered in dirt and smaller leaves. She hears a bass drum, the steady thud of her heart slamming itself against her chest in a panic; it's so violent she can see her thin black tank top shuddering with the beat. In a strange way, the position reminds her of making snow angels when she was a kid, or the struggle to pull herself out of a snow embankment into which she had just dived. Her hair is indistinguishable from the dark dirt around the base of the tree under which her murder is playing out, and she likes that; Alexa has always loved the woods, rolling around in leaves and then laying on her back admiring the sky, feeling like a part of the forest floor, like a part of nature.

Huh, your life really does flash before your eyes. Who knew?

The man looks down on her and licks his lips. Without a word, he unbuckles his belt as his eyes trace the curve of her breasts and hips. He kneels, pauses for a moment, then says "God I know I shouldn't, I normally don't, too risky to leave DNA, but you're just so beautiful, and well I did pay for 'anything' so..."

***

After the rape, Alexa opens her eyes. It takes some effort, because her eyes must fight through the paste of dirt, blood, and tears that has caked itself on her face. She had gone away while it was happening, happily reliving one particularly wonderful day she spent with her family at the beach when she was 8 years old. She imagines that death will feel like the sensation of rising out of a warm dream into the chill of the night air. He is buckling up again, and then, surprisingly, kisses her tenderly on the lips, almost like a lover sending his love away on a long journey. She almost smiles, but then the tears trace a track between the corners of her eyes and the tops of her ears. She doesn't know if she can control her facial features when she goes, but she wants to try; she will die with a smile on her face if she can.

The man is uncharacteristically quiet, somber. It seems he's contemplating if he really wants to kill her or not. No, no, he doesn't want to kill her, not this one, but he has to. There is no choice. With his own eyes threateningly stinging with potential tears, he kneels over her once more. Alexa flinches instinctively, and that almost breaks his heart. Almost. He does something he's never done before - he looks her in the eyes, his face stone but for the imperceptible shadow of pain that washes over it, and lovingly whispers, "I'm sorry."

The man's warm hands envelope her neck. Alexa smiles.

#tw: violence #tw: rape mention #short story #fiction #dark

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thiswrittingblogblows · 7 years

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David’s Dying Words

“Hello, Helping Hand Hotline, this is David speaking. How can I help you, friend?”

“David?” She laughs dryly. “What are the chances?” she mutters.

“Hi, can you tell me your name?” he continues. He’s not sure why or where it came from, but there is now a feeling of rising panic blooming in his chest.

“David, it’s – ha ha – it’s Martha!”

She bursts into wild, manic laughter, which quickly disintegrates into chest-racking sobs.

“Martha?” He doesn’t know what to do now. His heart is beating its way out of its cage. He wasn’t trained for this. What do you do when someone so close to you calls the hotline? He doesn’t think he can transfer her, it feels like breaking some sort of rule, like how you are supposed to stay with the person for the full time; you can’t leave them under any circumstances until the call is completed.

“Martha?” he asks again, the mania in his voice matching her own.

“David, I – I’m done. I am done with this. I – I just wanted to let you know. I c-called because I was hoping to get someone who I could tell to tell you that I’m g-g-going, but…” She laughs spitefully. “I mean, what are the ch-chances? Oh, isn’t the universe funny, ISN’T LIFE GRAND?”

She’s screaming now; David can nearly hear the veins pressing out against her thin forehead. He is sick with fear and anxiety. What do I do what do I do what do I do.

Then he realizes. There was a funny echo to her shout, something not quite natural, not inside but maybe not completely outside.

“Honey, where are you?”

She sighs fondly. “Remember when you brought me here on our first date? I remember thinking, ‘ugh, what a sleazeball, bringing me up on the first date,’ then I felt bad about myself, like ‘but I’m the slut that followed him up here anyway.’ Heh heh. Anyway, it doesn’t quite look as beautiful as that night, but it’s still kind of nice – lights everywhere, the sky is a weird dark color, the wind is warm…”

Silence. Agonizing silence. For a moment David is certain she’s thrown herself over the edge, but then he hears her breathing again.

He wants to throw the phone across the room. He wants to send the police to the apartment. He wants to go back in time, kill the past version of himself, pin Martha to the floor with a tube in her mouth, and force the Lithobid down her throat the second she says she doesn’t want to take it anymore.

“Martha, listen to me. Listen to my voice. Hold on, anchor on to it, remember? Like that psych said? The one with the funny glasses and the wart on his nose that he should totally get checked out? Remember him, heh heh? Listen to me, Martha, listen. You are going to be all right. I am going to take care of you. You’re just in a depressed state right now –”

“Ha ha, and now you’re the one getting manic! It’s like we were made for each other ahaHAHAHAHAHA…” She starts sobbing again.

“Martha, listen to me! You’re depressed, you’re out of your mind, you don’t know what you’re saying, what you’re doing oh please oh please oh please Martha stop this I love you I love you don’t do this please –”

Now he’s the one weeping. The other volunteers are starting to stare, and his supervisor begins to walk over. No, they’re going to take her away from me, NO! I have to stop this, I have to…

“Martha, listen. I love you. I love you more than anything in this whole world. We just got married, please don’t do this. If not for you, then for me. Don’t you love me? Please, we will get through this. I will get you through this. Go home and wait for me, I’m coming. Do you hear me Martha? Please, I love you. I love you.”

Silence, and shallow breathing. Then –

“Mmm. Those are good words, David. Good dying words, good words to go on. I love you too. Goodbye.”

An iPhone hits a rooftop. A body shatters against the pavement below. A man, is covered in darkness.

#writing #short story #tw: suicide #realistic-ish fiction #final draft?

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