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monster among men pt iii | drabble
* this is a rework of a previous drabble that I had already posted. Wanted to incorporate it with the last two i've done. Thanks for lookin!
Spring 2017
The gun feels heavy in my hands - as if it weighed a thousand pounds. The once cool metal now burned against my palm, and I almost threw the damn thing away, cursing myself in an exhaled breath. It was the first time I had ever held a gun - I had been no stranger to firearms, surrounded by them for most of my life. But I never felt the urge to hold one, never really cared for them much, either. Adreneline rushes through my veins, through my bones, and there's a part of me that feels guilty for it. Guilty that I enjoyed the way delicate fingers wrapped around the handle, guilty that I enjoyed how powerful it made me feel. Though my breathing is steady, I notice my hands shaking, and I can't tell if it's fear or if it's excitement... In a few hours, I would be free from all of my problems.
In a few hours, my father would be dead.
I've sat on the idea for months now, wondering if it would really pay off, if life would be better without Walter. Realistically, I knew it would be - I knew that I couldn't life like I had been. Couldn't live with the constant torture that I had been enduring for years now. But on the other hand, he was my father. My only flesh and blood. The only thing I had known consistantly. He was a f***ing succubus, but it pained me to think that soon, I'd be without a family. The thought caused a lump in my throat, and the more I swallowed, the more apparent it became. I knew that this was risky, but it had to be done. If I didn’t get out now, I’d be dead in another month or two, and I couldn’t wait that long - I wanted to live.
Making myself comfortable on my bed, I tucked the weapon under a pillow, leaving it within arms reach for when the opportunity presented itself. If I knew my father, he’d be walking in the house in no less than thirty minutes, go straight to the fridge, drink at LEAST half a bottle of whiskey in one sitting, and make his way to my room. It was a routine that I had fallen accustomed to. The silence allowed me to think over the plan thoroughly, but also allowed me to grieve the relationship we once had.
My father wasn’t always a monster; when I was a child, he was my best friend. Anywhere Walter went, so did I. Things only started to change when my mom got sick, and suddenly daddy’s little girl became daddy’s favorite punching bag ( my mom had become too weak to take his hits so his frustrations were taken out on me ). My once favorite person quickly became my mortal enemy, and eventually, when my mom died, things escalated, and I was left to clean up my own blood more than once. He didn’t care, either. He laughed at my pain, told me to ‘suck it up’ and act like a big girl. And most of the time, I did.
But now, as I reflect on the last twenty-three years of my life, reflect on the last six since my mother died, I no longer mourn for the man Walter once was. Deep down, I always knew he was a monster, it just took me too long to see it.
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The clock above my door read 6pm, and I knew it was almost time. Knew that I'd had to go through with this, no matter how much the voice in the back of my head tried convincing me otherwise. The plan was simple - I'd wait until he was vulnerable, sleeping in his bed down the hall, put the barrel to his temple, and pull the trigger.
But then I heard Walter’s footsteps, heard them grow louder as he inched his way to my room, and suddenly any plan I had was tossed out the window. A shaky hand wrapped around the handle of the gun, still concealed by the pillow on my bed.
“Lennon! Get your ass out here!” I could tell he was angry, he always was - but I stayed still, refusing to move. “Lennon!!” His voice grew louder, and suddenly Walter was standing in my room, his strides moving in closer to where I sat. “When I call you, you f***i-”
A loud ‘BANG’ surrounded the air between us, echoed off the walls, cut off his words. His gaze shifts from my face to the weapon, and suddenly I'm brought back down to earth, the realization of what I had done seeping into my pores. Thick crimson blood coats my face, trickles down my arms, and I cringe at it's warmth, as if it's wrapping me in a hug that's unwanted and unfamiliar. The hole in Walter's chest is small, and part of me wonders if it did any damage. If he'd come out of this alive. I sit frozen in fear as I watch him stumble forward, hand clutching the open wound, and for the first time in my life, I saw remorse in my father's face.
I couldn't feel guilty though - not for this. Not for protecting myself. I watch as he lay on the floor, blood slowly pooling around him, trickling out of his mouth. I can hear him choking on it, and it's then that I decide to get off the bed, gun still in hand. I don't say anything, don't feel the need to. Instead, I raise the gun, pointing it at his head and pulled the trigger, this time to make sure he wouldn’t survive.
Only then, did I scream.
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