Monster

“Monster! How should I feel?” Delilah whispered, her head down in defeat while tears pricked at the corners of her green eyes. She watched as the man before her gave a half smile to her question. His chiseled jaw flexed and his eyes darkened, making them sink into his high cheek bones. Smirking, he walked over to the fireplace of their small two-bedroom home. Delilah watched his feet stop at the hearth; her heart heavy in anticipation of his rebuttal.

“What about how I feel, Delilah? Don’t you care about me?” he cooed. The smirk he carried fell from his lips, replaced by a sneer. She could see the anger building behind his eyes, causing her to take small steps backwards until her back hit the wall adjacent to the mantel. “What about me?” he reiterated, this time in a hoarse yell as he swiped across the mantel, violently sending the carefully placed picture frames to the carpeted floor.

The glass shattered across the room, his swing so mighty that one frame slid to a stop at her feet from across the room, leaving a path of sharp shards in its wake. Delilah slid down the wall, gently reaching for the now freed picture the frame once held. The photo was a cruel misrepresentation of who she and her husband really were. It showed them smiling, laughing, and holding each other lovingly. That was who they were to the outside world. If only the outside world knew the truth.

“Ethan. Stop this, please,” she implored with a quiet tone, bringing her eyes up to look into his icy blue orbs. He stared coldly at her for a moment, finally looking away to assess the damage he had done to their fake happy memories. His chest still heaved, attempting to recover from his outburst.

“Pick It up,” he ordered, the glare from his eyes swinging back to meet her face. He took a step forward to come closer to her huddled form, still bent down, picture in hand. When she continued to stay, a growl gurgled in his throat. “I said, pick it up, bitch,” he reiterated. His heavy black boot came off the floor, before coming back down onto a larger piece of glass, crushing it into tiny pieces. Unsatisfied, Ethan stepped on it again, swiveling his ankle to step onto more and more of the larger pieces. Each step resulted in a sickening crunch. Finally, happy with his work, he glanced to Delilah, “I hope you slice your fingers up.”

Delilah dropped the picture she held, balling her fists up into tight balls. She shot up, pushing her long brown hair behind her shoulder. With a defiant voice she called out, “No.”

“What did you just say to me? After all you’ve done, you won’t even clean up the mess you created? As usual, you’re completely ungrateful. Get over here, get down on your knees, and pick up this glass while you beg for my forgiveness!” Ethan shouted before rushing Delilah.

Caught off guard by his sudden assault, she screamed in fear. But her feet moved too slowly and he caught her in his grasp, gripping her upper arms with a painful force. He shook her fiercely, causing her head to bob back and forth, hitting the wall behind her. Bringing her hands up defensively, she pushed into his chest, desperate to escape. She kicked her feet at his shins blindly. Her hand shot up, her palm extended and connected with the underside of his nose, pushing it back into his skull. With a roar, he tossed her to the ground, grabbing at his face, which now had blood dripping down to his lips.

Delilah took this opportunity to push off the ground and run for the bathroom door to her right. After stepping inside, she twisted the lock, jiggling the door handle to make sure it had been secured. She breathed a sigh of relief, bracing herself on the counter of the bathroom sink. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, tears came forward again. Her face was flushed, her silky curls in knots, and the bright pink sweater she wore was crumpled in thick wrinkles above her dark skinny jeans. But before she could dwell on her disheveled appearance a bang sounded at the bathroom door. The door knob turned slightly, stopped by the locking mechanism.

“Get out here!” Ethan screamed, continuing to bang and beat on the door. Delilah could feel his weight against the door, and threw her own against it. “You’ll pay for this,” the man on the other side sneered.

The banging stopped and all went silent for a few moments. But just as quickly as the silence came, it was interrupted by another series of bangs, and the sound of a lock turning. Terror swelled in Delilah’s chest, knowing that if Ethan made it into the tiny bathroom, he would choke her, and this time she wasn’t sure he would remove his hands from her throat until a final breath left her lungs.

Swiveling away from the door, Delilah turned to the window above the toilet. The old window of their log cabin hadn’t been opened in the entirety of the four years they had lived in the home. She wasn’t sure the window could even be opened. The door handle jiggled menacingly once more. Glancing at the only barrier between herself and possible death, she made the decision to try the window. Stepping onto the lid of the toilet she pressed her hands against the glass panes and pushed upwards with all her might. The old wood frame creaked but didn’t budge. Her hands now becoming wet with a cold sweat, she pushed harder, but still only creaking followed her attempt.

The knob jiggled again, followed by the sound of cracking as a heavy weight hit the middle of the bathroom door. Panicked, she threw the medicine cabinet door open, searching desperately for anything that could help her open the window. She had opened this cabinet a million times and yet in this moment it felt painfully foreign. Her eyes grazed over the shelves quickly until a glint of silver stuck out and she grabbed for it. Finding it to be a large nail file, she turned back to her task. Jamming it as hard as possible into the crack between the trim and the sill, she put all her weight on file. It snapped under her weight but the window finally budged just enough to slip her thin fingers underneath it. Using her palms to push the glass upward once more, the window moved with jerks of resistance. The banging on the wood door continued to ring in her ears, barely covering up the pounding of her own pulse. The man was not giving up. Suddenly, a louder bang rattled the entire room. Ethan was now kicking the door, still screaming obscenities as he did so.

Delilah glanced behind her, her eyes widening even more as she saw the door beginning to buckle in the middle. Heart pounding, she hoisted herself on top of the toilet tank, hunched toward the window, realizing it was much smaller than she initially thought. Balling her fist tightly, she punched the lower corners of the screen with all her might. She breathed a short sigh of relief as the screen immediately popped out. Another glance behind her shoulder had her eyes meeting with a door beginning to splinter from her husband’s heavy kicks. There was no time, she decided. It was now or never. Placing her pale hands through the window, she followed them by her head, and then her torso. She was now hanging halfway out of the window, eyes meeting the frozen ground beneath as she hung limply. Using her hands against the exterior wall of the house, she pushed against it, shimmying the lower half of her body out of the window. Left with little choice, Delilah let her body slide down the cold wood of their cabin, until she landed in a heap in the snow under the window. A thundering crash left her no time to catch her breath, Ethan had broken through the door. Delilah stood and began running as hard as she could into the woods while maniacal screams of promised death echoed behind her through the open window. Her only hope was to run far enough away and hide until he calmed down.

Her socks first became wet, but now held a crunch as the melted snow sucked up by the threads began to freeze. The soles of her feet burned with a blinding pain, her toes quickly losing feeling all together. Her hair became damp from the falling snow. Freezing air seared her lungs as she desperately gasped. Her energy was waning. Slowing to a stop, Delilah stood still, evening her breathing as much as she could, trying to quiet herself to listen for her pursuer. She must have at least run a mile by now. Deciding she was probably safe for now; she found a tree to lean against. But leaning soon became sitting, exhaustion settling into her muscles. At the bottom of the gnarled trunk was a small indention between two large roots, just the right size for her to sit against. The snow soaked into her jeans, dulling sensation in her bottom and thighs. The snow was starting to fall a little heavier, turning the trees into a blur behind a patchy white curtain.

“Stay awake, Delilah,” she whispered to herself, curving her arms around her legs and setting her chin upon her knees. She was so cold, but there was nothing around their cabin for miles. She just needed to rest and then she could begin to walk toward a road and possibly flag someone down for help. Once she started to run again, her body would warm up. The snow continued to fall peacefully as Delilah’s heart slowed. Her head slumped forward, eyes closing as her body relaxed against the frozen tree.

“Just stay awake a little longer,” the woman said again, so softly, even she did not hear herself say it. Despite her bright pink sweater, Delilah faded into the white of the forest.