The Devil's CrownPart Two - Monica James Page 0,50
in me dies, and I welcome death as I crawl on hands and knees toward it.
I want to tell him about Alek. I want him to know being here has nothing to do with the Macrillos and everything to do with Alek, but I can’t. If I do that, they’ll go after him. Tears stream down my cheeks when I realize I won’t ever see him again. I won’t ever be able to tell him that I love him with all my heart.
Frank picks me up and tosses me into the vanity table, perfumes and makeup cluttering to the floor. My head crashes into the mirror, breaking it. Glass shatters all around me. I slump over the vanity, gasping and gurgling on blood. I think I’ve bitten through my tongue.
No one can hear us because every room is soundproof. No knight in shining armor is coming to my rescue.
“We’ll see who’s bigger,” Frank snarls, yanking up the hem of my dress forcefully as he comes up behind me. He shoves my face into the vanity, muting my screams.
His words, coupled with his actions, kickstart my heart, and a surge of utter fury animates me back to life. I was content that I had destroyed Frank by revealing his father’s devious ways, but no, I will not allow another man to take from me against my will.
With bloodied fingers, I frantically fumble for a weapon, something, anything, and when my hand passes over a silver nail file, I take that as a sign from above. Mother Superior said He works in mysterious ways, and now is no exception.
Just as Frank rips off my underwear, I spin around and violently stab him in the side of the throat with the nail file. Frank’s eyes widen before he staggers back, cupping his throat, which is gushing blood. The nail file trembles in my bloody hand when I realize what I’ve just done.
As Frank fumbles to find his footing, I think of his father, pinning me to the bed facedown as he forced himself on me. I think of how Frank was seconds away from doing the same thing. With that thought surging through me, I chase after him and stab him again, this time in the chest.
On instinct, he presses a hand over the wound, which only has the hole in his neck spewing forth a river of red. He gurgles, desperately trying to disarm me. He’s losing blood fast, which makes him weak. But when he realizes he’s going to die if he doesn’t stop me, a surge of power overcomes him, and he launches forward, crazed and covered in blood.
“I’m going to fucking kill you!” he wheezes, frenzied.
We wrestle with the nail file, both wounded and fighting for our lives. At this moment, he truly is a monster—both inside and out. He elbows me in the face, and I fall backward onto the floor. Just as he comes charging after me as I scurry across the carpet, nail file in hand, he loses his footing, tripping and hitting his head on the sharpened corner of the dresser.
He is dead weight as he collapses on top of me.
Screaming, I frantically pummel his chest, trying to shove him off, but my muscles have given up, and he doesn’t budge. I’m certain he’s going to come to at any moment and punish me for disobeying him and sullying his mother’s Persian rug. But then I realize he’s not moving…or breathing.
Squirming frantically, I manage to roll out from under him and scamper away. He flops onto his stomach with his face pressed to the floor. A bright red puddle stains the white carpet where he bleeds out. But there is no movement.
Drawing my knees toward my chest, I lean against the foot of the bed and stare at Frank’s still body, watching for any signs of life. But there are none.
“Oh m-my go-god,” I cry, dropping the nail file with horror at what I’ve just done.
Leaning forward, I tremble uncontrollably as I press my fingers to his neck, checking for a pulse. His skin is hot and sticky because of the blood. But no matter how many times I try to wipe it away, it only resurfaces, confirming what I know to be true.
Frank is dead…and I killed him.
Unable to accept this fact, unable to accept what I just did, vomit rises, and I’m sick all over myself. I’m a murderer. I killed a man. Yes, he was a bad man, but I ended someone’s