She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part V)


This is post is one of many in a several part webseries.  While each part varies, this story, overall, will contain the following; Strong Language, Sexual Content, Graphic and Violent descriptions and it may not be suitable for a younger audience.

It does not reflect the views or opinions of the author and is purely a work of fiction.  All names and locations are drawn directly from the author’s imagination.  No animals were ever hurt in the writing of this webseries.  ;p

If this isn’t your cup of tea but you enjoy my other writings, please visit back time to time and let me know!  I’ll be making the occasional post between these mini-chapters as, I think of them.

He stood before the yawning door, one hand still on the knob and the other holding onto the frame for support.  His knees wobbled beneath him as he looked upon what the light had revealed.

The alabaster skin of her right foot burned into his retinas, damning him for what he had done.  It lay there, protruding from beneath the sheets, never to stood upon again.

His breath caught in his throat as he suddenly yanked the door closer to him.  There was no way he could continue to let it open.  He couldn’t go any further and see the grim results his rage had produced.

He struggled with his thoughts.

What have I done,” he wondered softly.  He had never meant to hurt her.  If anything, he had only ever thought about scaring her.  For all of his life, she had looked down upon him. Berated him for the things he did and humiliated him before her friends.  He wanted nothing more than for her to feel what she had made him feel.

But no more.

Never again would he suffer her emotional games.

He had crossed a line that he didn’t even know had been drawn.  When she had come into the room, antagonizing him with her favorite nickname for him since he was a child, it was as if a piano wire somewhere in his mind had snapped.

Everything around him had ceased to exist, except for her waggling posterior and the sound of her voice as she hummed softly to herself.  Nothing mattered at that moment, and nothing would matter again until he could find a way to silence her.

And so he did.  He could still feel each impact of the refrigerator door, as he thundered it closed on her head.  Each blow reverberated up his arm, over and over again until she no longer cried out for him to stop.  Again and again, he crashed it into her skull, until she lay still in a growing pool of her own blood.

But…  Then what?  How did he get her from there to here?  Why could he recall every sight and sound up to that final moment, but nothing afterward?  He had known in the kitchen that something was amiss, but it hadn’t occurred to him just what.  The sour cream, the dent at the bottom of the fridge door; it was all before his face, mocking him with the simplicity of it.

He must have hurriedly cleaned the kitchen and moved her…


He shrieked.  His voice erupted in pure terror, rising quickly to a high falsetto as he leapt backward away from the door.

Megan was standing in the bathroom door across the hall, covered by a large beach towel. Similarly, her hair was also wrapped up in a smaller towel which sat on her head in that funny way that made it look like soft served ice-cream.  She didn’t give him time to answer. She stormed out of the bathroom and, grabbing onto his shirt with both of her hands, threw him back against the wall.

“Answer me, creepo, what the hell do you think you are doing?”

“I…  I was just…”

She jerked him forward, putting her face right in front of his.

“You was just, what, you little twerp?”

He was confused.  His mind was screaming a hundred questions all at once, while his emotions tipped back and forth.  Just seconds ago, he had been elated at the idea of not having to deal with her ever again.  Part of him still cared for his sister, but it had been a very small part.  Even as he opened the door (and saw her lying there?), he had felt a considerable weight roll off of his shoulders.

Now, as she slammed him into the wall, demanding answers from him that he could not give, let alone explain, that weight came crashing back upon him.  His head ached from the impact, still sore from when Tommy had slammed him into the concrete and she must have read the pain from his expression.

She let him go, her own expression momentarily softening as she tightened her towel around her.

“Stay out of my room,” she warned ominously, pausing between each word for effect.  “Or next time I’ll kick your ass worse then what you got at school yesterday.”

She brushed past him and stormed into her room.

Likewise, he quickly retreated to his room as well.  He was suddenly tired.  The last two days felt as if weeks had passed and he needed a nap.  Maybe when he woke, he would have the answers he sought.

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