Page 9 of Dollhouse

"Shut the fuck up now, Lee. I'm not playing around!" Sebastian yells, but I keep fucking pushing because I do have a death wish.

"What if someone else kissed that spot on my thighs that gives me goosebumps?"

"You fucking bitch!" In a flash, I’m on my stomach face down, his hands tangled in my hair. He straddles me as he pulls my head back toward him. "You fucking cunt can never keep your god damn mouth shut." He smashes my head down into the carpet, one hand holding me while the other delivering blow after blow to any part of my body he can reach. I reach a hand back and claw at his thighs, feeling his skin collect underneath my fingernails. He roars, stopping his assault and removing his body from me. With him away from me momentarily, I’m able to stand and run up the stairs, noticing the blood on my fingertips from scratching him.

Once I reach our bedroom, I lock the door and run to our closet, shutting myself inside. With all the strength I can muster in my throbbing body, I shove the dresser in front of the closet door, blocking myself inside. Pounding comes from the bedroom, and I know it would only take mere minutes for him to break down the door. Sebastian yells inaudible words as I busy myself with dressing. My heart’s beating so rapidly I could hear it. My head is pounding, my body aches terribly, and in the back of my mind, I know this is it. This is our final fight. All that we are is ending tonight.

"Lee!" Sebastian's voice and bangs from outside the closet startle me. I jump, my hands flying to my mouth to muffle the scream when the dresser comes crashing down, and the door flies open. I've never seen him as angry as he is at this moment. He stands in the doorway fuming, his fists clenched at his sides, and his chest rising and falling quickly. His skin is flushed red, and his usually blue eyes are now black as sin.

I don’t cry. I don’t beg. I don’t plead. He doesn’t deserve my words or my tears. Not when his fist connects with my face, or when he gut-punches me and takes the air from my lungs, and not when he pins me against our bedroom wall and holds me off my feet by my throat. "Why do you make me do this to you, huh?! I love you, Lee. Yet you continue to fucking push me, and now look!" he yells, beads of saliva hitting my face as he yells. His grip on my neck is tightening. I kick my legs and scratch at his hands and arms, any piece of him I could get my hands on. This isn’t what I intended. I didn’t expect my death like this.

They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. That's how I know I'm dying. My life plays in my head like a slideshow, and I can see all the times in my life that I've been happy, which hasn't been often. I have regrets for how I've lived my life—all of the things I once wanted to know and do but now will never get to. The day I met Sebastian was the day I signed my death warrant. There was never any chance of walking away from him, not then and not now. Was this my fate all along? To die at the hands of someone I loved?

I stare into the eyes of the man I once loved and see a stranger staring back at me. An unfamiliar monster, not my husband who once made me chicken soup when I was sick and spoon-fed me, or the man that carried me for miles when our car broke down and my feet ached from my shoes, or the man that would massage my tired bloody feet when I'd push myself to dance too hard. No, that wasn't the man that was staring back at me. The cold emotionless eyes I stare into belongs to the man who beat me into a miscarriage, who broke two of my fingers when I didn't get the nail color he chose, who threw me down the stairs because I complained about wearing the shoes he liked, but I could hardly walk in; who beat me without mercy for nearly five years.

Honestly, I'm surprised I've been alive this long. I'd thought I would've died long ago by his hand, but here I am. I lived for almost five years being subjected to his abuse, only to die when he decided it was time for me to.

He wasn't God, and he didn't get to decide when I'd die. Yet, here he was, making that decision. We've been dancing on a thin line between life and death for years. At any moment, he could've taken my life, and I guess he chose now to take it. But I was ready for it. I've been waiting for the moment when he went too far and did something he'd never be able to come back from. Would he even care that I'm gone? Not likely. I would guess that he'd be grateful he didn't have to deal with me anymore, and he could find someone else to replace me. Perhaps he can marry Sara next, and she can deal with his shit. Fuck Sara; she can have my bastard of a husband.

Sebastian loves control. He craves it, and he needs it. Everything he does, he's in complete control. The only reason he hasn't killed me in the past is that he didn't want to. And now, he wants to. I can see it in his eyes.

The lights are dimming. Darkness is clouding my already blurry vision, my head too fuzzy for me to be able to hear what he's saying to me. I can see his lips moving but can't tell what he's saying. I'm sure it's profanities. It always is when he's angry. My body feels limp and weightless, my eyelids too heavy to keep open. I’m in a plane of total and utter numbness.

Cold.

This isn't how I planned it.

I'm so cold.

I'm floating.

Down, down, down.

I stare into his cold blue eyes until I reach the abyss.

The darkness of meeting my death.

I'm finally free.

Lee is gone.

I could feel the difference in the air. The emptiness. The cold.

Gone is the sweet scent of her perfume that greets me every morning I open my eyes. Her honey vanilla scent has been replaced, and the smell of rust has taken her place.

I'm lying face down on my pillow, and when I extend my hand to reach for her, my hand touches her cold pillow.

Gone is the warmth her presence brings, that always made our house feel like a home.

She's gone. And emptiness is her replacement.

But something's wrong.

My hands itch. My arms itch. My chest itches.

Why am I itching so much?

Something isn't right.

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