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Tough Love

Author: mikepyro7
ASL Info:    15. Male. TX
Elite Ratio:    2.11 - 21 /41 /30
Words: 2195
Class/Type: Story /Serious
Total Views: 622
Average Vote:    No vote yet.
Bytes: 13863


A young woman faces the wrath of her abusive husband.

Tough Love

THURSDAY NIGHT (yesterday)

“Look at you! You’re disgusting! What did I ever see in you?” Ralph spat, pushing himself away from Christine’s embrace. Backing away slowly, he stumbled past the side table and sank deep into the cheap, vinyl couch behind it.

Ralph was drunk. As he spoke his words slurred in long stretches. A five o'clock shadow grew from below his lips. Brown blots of dried alcohol stained his white t-shirt. He had just gotten home, two hours later than he'd said he would.

“You’re late Ralph, you missed the doctor’s appointment,” Christine whispered.
“So what? You went, didn’t you?”
“But you missed it. Guess what happened today.”
“Christine, I’m drunk for Christ’s sake, do I look like I give a shit?”

Christine ignored him. He was, as he said, drunk. She rubbed her rounded belly and smiled, even though it hurt her bruised face.

“The baby was kicking today.”

Ralph stood up suddenly, his anger washed away, left with a look of innocent wonder.

“It did? When?”
“During the appointment.”
“I wish I could’ve seen it.”

FRIDAY (present)

“Put down the gun honey. Put down the gun!”

“No Ralph! No!” Christine screamed, shaking the small .38 pistol as she slid slowly across the kitchen counter. Using her left hand to guide her, she backed into the corner, never taking her eyes off her husband.

Sam moaned, lying on his back, wiping away blood from his face and clutching at the knife in his leg.

“Christine, put down the gun! You’re not gonna shoot me, and you know it! Now let go of the gun, I promise I won’t hurt you!”

Ralph’s nostrils flared as he breathed heavily through his broken and blood smeared nose. He took a step forward, slowly moving toward the gun.

“Get back! Get back now! Don’t touch me!”
“Christine, just calm down! Give me the fucking gun!"

Christine’s tiny hands began to shake. She whiped her eyes with the hand holding the gun, trying to stop the flood of sweat on her brow.

Ralph, seeing his chance, leapt forward, arms stretched outward like a needy child, trying to reach the gun.

“No!” Christine shouted, pulling the trigger.

FRIDAY (morning)

Ralph woke, his head pounding like a freight train, still buzzed, and as angry as ever.

“Oh fuck! Another contractor's coming to work today. Christine get up!” he said, turning over and almost shoving Christine off the bed.

“Come on Christine, I need my breakfast.”
“Ok, just don’t be so pushy.”

Christine rose, shaking her silk hair to wake herself, then left the small bedroom to fix 'the brute' his meal.

Ralph pulled on his clothes, not bothering to take a shower.

He chose, as always, a white t-shirt with faded blue work jeans to boot. As soon as he was satisfied with his attire, he smoothed out his greasy hair and left, taking the same route as his wife.

Christine was busy finishing his breakfast as he entered. She glanced up for a moment, then went back to scooping his eggs onto a white, china plate.

“I’m gonna be late honey!”
“I heard you Ralph, I’m coming.”

She slowly made her way to him, carrying both his plate and coffee. As she bent to put the plate down, she lost her grip on the cup.

Ralph screamed as the hot coffee spilled on his shirt and lap, burning his skin through the thin fabric.

“Damn it! You bitch!” he shouted, tossing aside the table and grabbing Christine by a handful of hair.
“I’m sorry Ralph, it was an accident!”
“Look at this mess!”

Ralph pulled her to her knees, holding her on the ground and smearing her face in the greasy eggs. He pulled Christine up and slapped her across the face, hard.

Christine screamed, kicking and scratching Ralph's pale skin, as Ralph continued his savage beating. With a grunt of disgust he let her go, finally satisfied.

Christine crawled to a corner in the room. Ralph sank back into the couch, his face slowly turning back to its original color, trying to catch his breath.

Christine sat against the wall, her hands raised in a feeble defense, just in case Ralph attacked again. Already, large, red welts were beginning to form on her fair face.

Ralph stood, wiping his greasy hands off and went to the bedroom. Christine didn’t move from her corner for the next few minutes, still petrified. He finally returned, donning a new outfit.

“I’m heading out to work. Clean up this mess. When you’re done, you can go visit that little faggot friend of yours. But if you go out, at least put some makeup on.”

With a sly smile, Ralph turned and left the house, slamming the door behind him.

FRIDAY (afternoon)

“My God Chris, you look awful! What happened?” Sam asked, standing up as Christine approached, trying to hide her face.

“Nothing Sam, I just fell.”
“Don’t give me that, Ralph hit you again, didn’t he?”
“Ok he did, but it wasn’t his fault, he was drunk.”
“I don’t give a damn how drunk he was! He hit you, Chris!”

They sat together outside their favorite restaurant, every week the two old friends had lunch together. Sam was the best thing Christine had in her miserable life.

“Why don’t you just leave him, Chris?”
“I have no money! I can’t just pick up and leave.”
“You know I’d take care of you.”
“Sam, I don’t want to be a burden.”

For the first time in all the years she’d known him, Sam lost his temper. He leapt up, slamming his fist on the table.

“Damn it, Chris! Think of your baby! Sooner or later, something’s going to happen, he’s going to hurt you and your kid! He’s a monster, and if you don’t do something, your child will grow up to be like him! Can’t you see that!?”

When Sam finally stopped, half the crowd was watching him with wary eyes. Terrified customers were asking for their checks.

Sam sighed. “Listen to me, Chris. I won’t press you any further, but I want you to, at least, be able to defend yourself. Do you own a gun?”

“A gun, Sam? What, do you think I’d shoot my own husband?”
“If it comes down to that. And if it does, then you have life insurance.”
“Sam, what are you talking about?! What is wrong with you?!”
“Chris, I’m fine! You’re the one who’s in denial! Your husband is a monster, and he will hurt you.”
“Sam, I think it’s time I went home.”

Christine turned but Sam caught her by the arm, gently.

“Wait Chris, at least let me give you a ride.”

Christine looked into Sam’s piercing, blue eyes and found that she didn’t have the strength to reject him.

“Ok Sam.”

FRIDAY (10 min ago)

“Ok Chris, here we are,” Sam whispered, opening the truck’s passenger side door. They stood parked in front of her small Victorian house.

“Thanks Sam.”

Christine made her way to the front, waving to Sam as she opened the door.

Inside the house, all the lights were out, it was darker then night itself. As Christine reached for the light switch a voice made her jump.

“Been out with Sammy, haven’t you, Christine?”
“Jesus Ralph, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Maybe that’s a bad thing,” he whispered, standing up and stumbling toward her, a half drained bottle of bourbon in his right hand.

“I figured you’d be out with that faggot.”
“He’s not gay Ralph.”
“Yeah,” Ralph replied, obviously not listening, “I bet he’s still out there...”

Ralph pulled up the blinds. Outside the blue pickup waited.

“Ya see? He’s still there! I’m gonna kick that little faggot’s ass!”
“No Ralph, don’t,” Christine warned, taking hold of Ralph’s arm.
“Get off me!” Ralph screamed, throwing her back.

He spun around, holding the bottle like a club and rushed at her in his drunken rage, tripping over the recliner and pulling himself back up. Christine turned and fled into the kitchen.

“Come here Christine! I just wanna talk!” Ralph bellowed, overturning the dinner table.

Christine ran until she could go no farther. She stood at the end of the kitchen, cornered. Ralph followed suit, dragging his way through the hallway, his eyes illuminated, a piercing dark red. He smiled wildly, and hurled the bottle of bourbon at Christine, who ducked just in time. Ralph let out a savage howl.

---Outside, Sam glanced up from the steering wheel at the sound.

Christine dug into the drawer, pulling out a thin, carving knife.

Ralph stood still, glancing from the knife to Christine's terrified face, and back. His eyes flashed as he slowly slid his tongue across his stained, yellow teeth.

“Ralph, I think it’s time we took a break,” Christine said, her voice shaking as badly as her hand.

“You can’t leave me! I’m your husband, and this is my house! You’re carrying my child! Now give me the knife Christine, give me the knife, honey,” he whispered, reaching for Christine’s outstretched hand.

In a quick and wild motion, Christine slashed through the air, cutting deeply into Ralph’s palm.

Ralph let go a piercing shriek, clutching his crimson-soaked hand.

“You cut me! You sick Bitch!”
Ralph tore the knife out of his wife‘s hands, raising it high above his head.

“Let her go!”

Ralph turned and released Christine, fuming like a wild boar. Sam stood in the doorway.

“I knew You weren’t gone, mind your own business, this is private.”
“I said, let her go.”

Ralph released his grip on Christine and turned to face Sam, holding the knife ready.

“Chris run!” Sam shouted, grabbing Ralph by the wrist.

Christine took off down the hall and entered the bedroom. As soon as she was inside she began to wildly shuffle through the dresser until she found a .38 pistol. Beside it lay a box of ammunition.

She stood, for how long she didn’t know, staring at the gun. From the kitchen Sam gave a cry of pain.

Hesitating no longer, she grabbed the loaded pistol and rushed from the room, taking the same route she had used for so many years. Turing the corner, she arrived at the kitchen.

FRIDAY (present)

The gun went off with an ear-splitting bang. Christine’s arm vibrated as the barrel exploded, sending the bullet right into Ralph’s arm.

Chunks of flesh flew onto the pure, white kitchen tiles that Christine had spent so many years scrubbing. Ralph stumbled back across the kitchen, tripping over Sam, and into the living room.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! You shot me! Jesus Christ, you fucking shot me!” Ralph screamed, burying his fist into the leaking wound.

“Shut up Ralph! You’re fine!”

Christine calmly lowered the gun, pulling Sam to his feet.

“You okay, Sam?
“Yeah, I'm fine.”
“You shot me!” Ralph screamed, continuing his rant.

Christine spun to face him, standing over the cowardly man. Ralph raised his hands, covering his face. Christine remained emotionless, uncertain of how she should feel, seeing Ralph as he saw her.

“Yeah, I shot you. And I’m glad to! You can keep this Ralph. I think you can figure out what it means.”

Christine slid off her wedding ring and let it fall onto Ralph’s rounded chest. She turned, taking hold of Sam, and together they made their way out the house, grabbing Christine's few personal items. Sam leaned on Christine for support.

As they reached the blue pickup, they could see that Ralph had regained the use of his legs, but not his senses. He had made his way to the front porch.

“Don’t you ever come back! You hear me?! I’m calling the cops!”

In a quick turn, Christine let loose another bullet, hitting the doorway. Ralph yelped as paint and wood splinters sprayed his body. He turned and ran inside the house.

Christine smiled. She helped Sam up and threw the bag of belongings in the back.

Christine held her rounded stomach, whispering sweet words to the child inside, as she put the pickup in gear. She glanced at Sam’s badly cut leg.

“We should get you to a hospital, Sam.”
“You don’t look so hot yourself, Chris,” Sam whispered, turning to face her.

“Hey Chris, what now? I thought you were all alone.”
“I am, but like you said, you’ll take care of me.”

Sam smiled and closed his eyes.

“Just don’t be a burden,” he whispered.

Submitted on 2006-09-22 17:39:22     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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  That was amazing, just like Vincent. I'm not sure which one I like better. I am now officially a fan of your writing. I'm gonna read all your stuff in time. Thanks for the awesome story. If elt as if I was in the story watching the whole thing. Excellent.
| Posted on 2006-09-23 00:00:00 | by Caotic_Disaster | [ Reply to This ]

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