She nearly toppled down the stairs, scrambling to her feet as she reached the bottom and trying hard to calm her skittering nerves. Her heart was running its own marathon though, and her pulse playing havoc. The lightness of her stride receded only to be replaced by unsure, hurried footing of a prey being hunted down.
Her eyes dilated as she looked at the locked door to her bedroom, knowing her husband would break it down any minute now. She was well aware of the few moments she had in her hand before he’d trample down over her, crushing her soul to ruins and smashing her sanity into a million pieces.
She rushed to the other side of the house, knowing that the same distance between them which once she had tried to diminish, she craved now. All through her mind, she could think about how she had to get away, get away, get away.
The bedroom door remained untouched, and the bedroom surprisingly quiet. She tried to fight the chills crawling down her spine, unconsciously brushing over the bruises she knew she could take again if need be. That wouldn’t be a big deal, she thought. The mental breakdown which followed every time, though, she still hadn’t gotten used to.
It had begun a few months ago and so much had it worsened that she had lost all hope of ever getting things back together like before. It was like the setting sun, only this sun set without the promuse of rising the next day.
The schock wasn’t even that he was a beater; it was the fact that she had put up with it for so long and still hadn’t shattered. She was broken out of her reverie when the bedroom door gave a jerk. She stifled a gasp, and choked on her sob, brain running into a hundred directions of tackling the situation but mind not really letting her to.
Another jerk. Another gasp.
She backed away, her back meeting the wall and felt her hopes crash to the ground yet again. With a final jerk, it opened. A malicious grin and a dry laugh followed.