Cocaine Smiles & Violent Domestic Cries

I would like to start by stating that this story is the end to a struggle with psychological problems from what I had written prior. It may be crude, harsh and disgusting to some, but the build up has made every other ending inevitable in contrast. No views effect how I would think to deal with a situation, and the violent scenes described are what I strongly oppose. Do NOT read if you are strongly against the idea of domestic violence. Thank you, and enjoy.

I was flushed, my heart wrenching and palpitating. I wondered about my past night whilst stumbling through the alleyways leading to my home, catching sight of the odd star which wasn't blocked out by the light pollution or the side of the building cast across my view. What had went on in that wild, rundown bar? It was almost surreal, I never imagined I'd ever have went through so much and for my mood to change so drastically. I neared a corner, interlinking with several other dark stretches of pavement, and quickly decided which way to head home.

The night air was so crisp and fresh, chattering my jaw on the slight occasion, and whenever I breathed it left a cloud of condensing air. My hands turned to fists, and my mind raced through ever-growing problems. What would I expect when I arrive home? The mood set me fine, I even unleashed a dark smile at the thought of my wife sitting innocently caring after my little girl. I don't know why my kind was playing up so frantically, or the reason why it felt so comfortable and right.

My eyes distances the short stretch to my home, situated in the tiny village outskirts. I stepped out of the alleyway, engulfed in the smell of fresh grass. Just by a sniff I knew it had been cut today. I want to keep all of my emotions inside, I want to keep in line all of my actions, but the closer I neared I knew I was going to be out of control. Was it the fact I was slightly intoxicated which didn't condemn my evil acts? It didn't matter. Everything happens for a reason, as I've always thought.

I didn't care to gracefully open the door, but instead quickly twist the door handle and kick it open. It suddenly rebounded off the wall and would have came flying back at me if it weren't for my arm stopping it. In the silence I heard a gasp. Peering into my once beautiful home, the darkness gave it a murky layer and I felt more at home than ever. A few quiet steps later I was in the centre of my living room, peering coldly into the centre of her sea-blue eyes.

"Hello dear, have fun at the pub?" She asked in a joyous manner, her eyes looking at me right back. Her sentences were blunter than usual, and I can sense she's masking fear through a happy tone. "I was almost worried you wouldn't come home, so I stayed up later than usual." I glanced at the bright red clock on my wall, nailed to the beige surroundings, the time being twenty-five past three in the morning. "Are you alright?" She asked again, her voice more alarming and hoarse than before.

There was an eerie presence in the air. I felt isolated from what was mine, although preferring this mood. It wasn't right, but felt so. I knew there was no going back. The uneasy, stern atmosphere just made me realise the importance of everything lost through these past gruelling weeks. I sigh heavily, still staring deliriously into my ex-lovers eyes, where all I can see is betrayal and disgust. Yet she hadn't done anything wrong. Maybe it was my eyes playing tricks on me, but I've lost any sort of self-condolence for what I was about to do.

"Yes, I'm fine." I tell her, making a fake reassurance. She sighs in relief, standing up to come and give me a hug. "You shouldn't worry m-" I grabbed her head with both hands, twisting it around to face me directly. Her cheeks pushed slightly forwards as we met eye contact. My heart is racing, I've never felt so content with who I am with the thought of her being so inferior. "Don't touch me!" I blurt out. She suddenly leaps out of my grasp, simultaneously scratching my face in defence with her sharp nails. I watched upon her cowering and panicking.

The watching turns to staring, as if she was prey. She must know she's done wrong, because the look she gave me is the same look she gives whenever she would let me down or disappoint me. However, times have changed, this isn't the happy little marriage we were always constricted in; this is the abominable vortex of realisation I've always been searching for. "I won't hurt you!" I hiss at her. "You know I would never hurt you." My head slightly lowers as I start walking towards her, my eyes becoming more alive and protuberant.

"What has happened to you? You've changed, Logan!" She shouts, "You've never let me down before and now you're trying to hurt me. Don't even deny it!" She stands frozen, I'm gradually getting closer until I'm arms length away. "We need to sort ours-" I let a grunt of rage bellow from my mouth as I grab her hair from the scalp and drag her across the living room, I pull her upright before smashing her face through a glass cabinet holding many ornaments.

Miniature shards of glass and specks of blood are violently flung into the air. I remove her head and grasp it with my palms again, facing her with my piercing eyes. "Is this what you want?!" I yell in her face. I can feel her warm breath bounce off my cold skin through the result of a silent whimper. "Please… Please Logan." I give her the disconcerting look once again and watch and she closes her eyes, anticipating the pain.

I drag her across to the side of the room and smash her head against the wall. She begins to cry hysterically, and I chuckle in a dark monotone before hitting her again, striking her with the back of my hand. I can see she is wincing in pain but the power I have is too great. I begin again to hit her face across the wall, but repeatedly. One. Two. Three. Four. Her limbs are writhing uncontrollably but she can't escape my grasp.

I continue to see traces of blood which soon turn into streams spurting sporadically from her face. I get angrier, more violent and put more force into every blow. Her limbs are reaching out trying to grab me, one tightly grasped on my thigh, the nails almost cutting into my skin and amidst the violence I hear the odd whimper between her hyperventilating.

Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. I can hear her voice getting weaker and her arms aren't flailing as often. Tears flow from her face and blood leaks from most oriphaces. I kneel down beside her, jamming my face against hers, so angry that I'm groaning through my gritted teeth. "You deserved this, you ruined my fucking life."

She's almost in a daze, one eye is pouring with the warm, red liquid which streams all the way down her neck. Her other eye is open, perplexed, and sensing more danger. It moved wildly, and focuses on me at once, and her jaw allows the slight opening of her mouth despite it being out of place. "You're on drugs." She whispers. "From the bar, you've been taking cocaine."

How did she know? Then I realised it must be my eyes. I grab her face tightly and slam it even closer to the wall. "You're in no position to judge me, ma'am." I drop her, and leave her in a slump on the floor, the blood radiating from her body and producing a beautiful red glow to the laminate flooring.

I storm to the kitchen, ragging open a drawer, and eye up the haphazard arrangement of cutlery before seeking the largest steel knife. I re-enter the living room to see that even as a sprawled mess she has tried to get back up but it hasn't worked.

I grab her hair with one hand and pin her against the once beige wall to look me in the eyes. I hold the knife up against her throat. "Don't do it!" She screeches. "We have a daughter to look after!" The screech has altered to a moan, and panic has forced her the ability to move her legs again as she tried so desperately to scurry out of my reach. "Logan… plea-" I slice the knife across her throat, producing a gaping wound and let her drop to the floor, stabbing the knife securely into the wooden flooring in front of her eyes so it can be the last thing she looks at before she dies.

I get to my feet, my mind puzzled and walk over to the broken glass cabinet to see the large Japanese ornaments inside. My grandmother used to collect these before she died and passed them through the generations, and since I'm the only sibling, it was one of the few meaningful gifts I received in my mothers will. I've always admired the impact they've had on my home and all of the memories that have come with it, after all I have lived here for over a decade.

Silence. The room is completely silent. I like it. There's a slight scurrying noise protruding from the top of the staircase as I turn around, followed by the endured creak of a door until it shuts with almost no trace of sound. It must be my daughter Peyton, a child of nine years of age. The dark smile returns to my face as I begin to trudge up the stairs…