Like clockwork he moves to the table and slips into the chair. He quickly rearranges the fork and knife not satisfied with my placement and takes a sip of the tea. Throat moistened he begins to devour the steak piece by piece. I stare at his fangs tearing through the meat sending blood splattering on the table and his lips.
He wipes the excess sauce from the corner of his mouth and jumps up from his chair. "You Bitch!, Do you expect me to eat this burnt leather ? Damn you whore! "
His hands now around my neck squeezing, choking me.
"Dogs chew on leather. Am I a dog? Do I lick my balls and shit in the yard?" His fingers tearing through my skin draw blood releasing flashes of pain throughout my body sending signals telling me to shut down and die. In the dark abyss that is a sure death a stranger's voice bellows a blood curdling scream.
Between ragged breaths I struggle to free myself." Get your fucking hands off me! "
Screaming curses of rage he lifts me up and slams me against the wall driving his knee into my abdomen sending me to my knees.
Lifting me back to my feet his eyes burn with hatred. "You are dead bitch! "
A siren wails down the street distracting him for a moment giving me a small window of opportunity. With all my power I land a stiff right punch to his groin.
"Fuck off! I will not die. Not today and not by your hands. " He stumbles backwards
stunned and in pain. My hands search blindly for a weapon. Straws, plates, and a cup; all useless utensils of death. Finding our broken wedding photograph I take a shard of glass and grip it tight and blood pours out as it digs into my hands. Blind with fear and rage I lunge forward thrusting wildly trying to puncture his flesh. The shard digs deep into his shoulder sending him backwards to the floor.
Not wanting to give him a chance to recover I sit on his chest and remove the piece of glass from his shoulder and thrust it into his throat. His skin ripped and ragged around the extruding glass covered in his blood bubbling to the surface like freshly struck oil. Unlike oil diggers I am not rich but I am now free. He tries to speak but only gasps and blood continues to flow, within seconds his lifeless body lays staring at the ceiling.
Crawling to the bathroom the stranger begins to laugh. She... I enjoyed killing him and all the years of abuse replaced with pure maniacal bliss. I just killed a monster but did I create one in the process. Sitting on the edge of the tub covered in both of our blood i think of the future. I fear for the world, my family, and myself. Stripping down to nothing, nude, scared of what I have become.