Brutally Beautiful(7)

“Ladies room?” I asked, barely above a hoarse whisper. Dylan stared wide-eyed into my glazed expression and quickly pointed to a back hallway.

The bar stool crashed against the floor, making a horrible clanging and banging sound as I pushed off and rushed into the hallway. Racing into the bathroom, I locked myself into a stall and emptied my stomach into the toilet. A cold burst of sweat broke out across my forehead and I dropped hard against my knees on the cold tiled floor of the bathroom, trying to brace myself up with violently shaking arms.

I slid down against the vileness of the cold porcelain and squeezed my eyes tightly, swallowing down the hard knot of disgust. Panic tightened my chest into fast pounding explosions and desperation to stand up away from the dirty-filthy stench of my insides and the white watery bowl that held them was overwhelming.

Life as I knew it was over.

My life.

Over.

That woman I once was, Samantha Matthews, was gone. Left for dead.

Everything and everyone I ever knew…Everything I had ever worked for…gone. Just. Like. That.

Poof.

Gone.

What happened?

It was building like an unstoppable freight train in the pit of my stomach and I clenched my fists tight. I couldn’t focus on clear thoughts. Frantic visions clouded my mind and my brain went off like a gunshot, fast and lethal. Thousands of images, words, and emotions fired out of my mind like a machine gun. Adrenaline surged through my body and my heart pounded unevenly. The dark gloves of panic gripped my entire body and squeezed. My head hit the floor with a wet thwack, and the edges of my vision blurred like reels of an old movie.

“Fuck you, Samantha,” he says coldly, when he finds me in the living room with all my packed bags. I won’t even face him. I can’t look at him at all.

I choke out a laugh, “No thank you. I don’t want to catch anything.” Jen will be here any minute; I hope there’s no traffic.

“Samantha, you’re sick, baby. You should have taken all your medicine,” his monotone voice drolls.

“You’re the one that’s sick…” I spin on him as he’s clamping his heavy hands around my throat, cutting off my words. Thick fingers press into the skin of my neck, crushing my esophagus. I kick and thrash wildly, frantically clawing my way to break free. Pure panic rushes through my throat as I gag and gasp for the air he is stealing from me. Lifting me easily off the ground, he slams my back against the bookcase, my head and shoulders landing on the spines of all my books. Pain explodes across my body; bursts of light blurs my vision.

He’s yanking me by my hair, dragging me along the coarse carpet of the floor, burning my palms and the skin on my knees. I pull away, digging my heels into the plush rug, but his fists just twist my hair tighter around his hand and my body lifts off the ground. Swinging my fists out, I fiercely try to connect with his flesh, clawing and punching.

I stopped loving him.

When I knew what he did, it was instant.

This, this is him just getting rid of the evidence.

Images of that monster clawed their way into my skull, how could they not? It was because of him my hands trembled so much. It was because of him that there was death all around me. Monster. A f*cking vicious troll; a beast who I once loved, like an evil mythical creature that lied and waited until he thought I was powerless and struck me hard and fast, like the poisonous bite of a cobra. Deadly.

Me. Unknowing. Foolish.

My panic turned into hysterics. Tears streaked down my cheeks, raining down on my lap. I let myself breakdown in the solace of the small closed off room, where no one would be witness to my weakness. Even strong people needed to break sometimes.