"You're late," Tom accused, not once looking up from the screen. Sarah had hoped more than anything that he wouldn't notice her five minute tardiness.

"I'm sorry," Sarah murmured. "There was traffic." She prayed that this would be considered an acceptable excuse. But with Tom, it never was. He had precisely timed her drives from college to home down to the minute. He knew exactly how long it took her and would clock her arrival to the second.

"There was no traffic, Sarah. There's never any traffic, and you know it." Tom was still staring at the TV. He couldn't stand it when she was late. It was a direct disobedience of him, and no one ever did that.

"No, there really was traffic this time, I swear it!" Sarah pleaded. She knew what was coming. "I'm sorry! I really am, Tom! I didn't mean it, I swear!" Sarah's voice was shaking with fear.

Tom was quiet again. This was never a good sign. Whenever he was quiet it meant he was extremely angry and therefore violent. He never yelled, he hit instead. He thought the only way to really reach a person was physically, therefore words were unnecessary.

Sarah was trembling. She fearfully watched as Tom calmly walked into the bedroom. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she backed into the corner of the room. Tom came back out again, carrying a leather belt.

"You know I hate to do this, Sarah," Tom whispered eerily. "But you leave me no other choice. I told you last time what would happen if you were late again. But it seems you didn't listen to me." Tom was approaching her slowly, wrapping the belt around his hand.

"No, please, Tom. Please listen to me..." Her voice trailed off and cracked into a low whine. "Please Tom...please!" Sarah was curled up in a ball on the floor, back pressed against the wall as if she thought she would be able to push through it. Her stance was that of a kicked and scared puppy.

"I'm sorry, Sarah. But you know you deserve this. You didn't listen." Tom was right above her now, looming like the apartment building did, equally as rough and cold. He reached down and forcefully grabbed Sarah by the shoulder, tossing her across the floor. She lay face down on the rug, crying to herself. Tom yanked her shirt up to her neck and knelt down firmly on her back. Sarah tensed her body up, knowing just what was going to happen. The belt cracked against her skin with brutal force. The pain was so incredible, she felt like the leather was ripping through her body altogether. It smacked against her again with an even harder blow. She screamed and futilely tried to get away. Tom stopped for a moment, only to ram his knee into her face. Sarah went black.

When she awoke, she found her self in a pool of blood. The carpet around her face had gone from off white to a deep shade of vermilion. Her back was screaming in pain and her head throbbed with an immeasurable degree of agony.

The TV was once again spitting out overly loud commercials. The sound of Sarah getting up was lost in its drone. She stumbled uneasily into the kitchen, completely silent. Her vision was blurred and her feet felt like they were floating. She warily looked around her. Then she saw it on the counter in front of her, Tom’s hand gun. He always left it out in plain view of Sarah, kind-of like a reminder of what he could do to her. She picked it up, turning it over in her feeble hands. The metal was cool and unnatural on her skin. She inspected the bends and cracks in it with her fingers, accustoming herself to the weapon. She stifled a laugh. He was going to hurt me with this. Me! Funny. She slid her hand around the handle to it, and cautiously turned around.

Tom was once again sprawled across the couch. He shifted his position, and settled back down again, staring ahead like a mule. Sarah almost half expected him to bray or moo.

The floor creaked beneath her feet. Shit! Sarah thought. Tom whipped around in his spot. Sarah snapped the gun up in front of her face. Her hands were shaking more than ever. For the first time, Tom was the one looking scared.

"What the hell are you doing?" he gasped. He started to rise from the couch.

"Don’t move. Don’t you dare move, or I swear to God Tom, I will shoot." Sarah sputtered. She aligned the barrel with Tom’s head.

"Sarah, Hunny, you don’t want to do this. Really, you don’t."

"Oh, I don’t, do I? I’m not so sure about that Tom."

"Sarah, I love you sweetheart. Please put it down." Tom was pleading with her now.

Sarah was crying now, switching her grip to wipe her eyes on her sleeve. Her knuckles were white and painful from her tight hold on the handle.

"I loved you too Tom, I really did." She sputtered between sobs. "I loved so much more than anything more than my own life." Her knees were shaking along with the rest of her. She thought she would collapse if she stood much longer. But Sarah knew if she backed down and gave into him, he would kill her for sure. There was no turning back for her now.

"Baby, just put down the gun and we’ll talk, okay? Just put it down, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise." He was lying and they both knew it.

"No! You will hurt me! You always do! You always hurt me, Tom!" Sarah quickly launched her arms back up to their rigid position. She aimed the gun at Tom again. "You always hurt me and I’m so tired of it Tom!"

"Sarah," Tom was angry now, "Sarah you don’t want to do this. Sarah!"

Tom lunged forward towards her in an attempt to stop her. Sarah jumped, tightening her fingers on the gun, and the trigger. The shot rang out through the air. The sound of it made her recoil and tighten her hands again. Another shot was fired. Sarah’s ears were ringing with the twang of the metallic release. She looked down in front of her. Tom’s lifeless body was lying sprawled at her feet in a growing pool of blood.

"Oh my God!" Sarah dropped the gun limply and fell to her knees. "Tom!" She cradled his head in her arms, sobbing. "Oh my God!"

She looked at where she had shot him; twice in the chest. One directly in the heart, the other about two inches to the left. Why is it that this is the one thing I did right? Sarah thought. Of all the things she could have done correctly, killing Tom was the one she had chosen.

She lifted up her hand to look at them. They were covered in blood. Tom's blood. She shot back. The sight of it made the reality clearer. Sarah jumped up, startled by the present situation.

Sarah ran into the bathroom, stopping in front of the mirror. She stared at her vacant and pale complexion. Her skin was white and willowy, the only color being the drying blood running from her nose. That and the purplish yellow color growing around her right eye. Her eyes themselves did not resemble eyes any more. They were pits of sunken gray, deep in her skull, like empty light sockets. Stray strands of greasy blonde hair fell from behind her ears. It was cut short in an unflattering blunt bob about an inch or two below her chin. It hung pin straight and limp across her pallid cheeks. She stared at her reflection and it stared back at her. Her lips were cracked and whitish pink, like dried and caked clay.

Sarah gazed emptily at her shaking hands, red. Her hand were a deep and sticky shade of bloody crimson. She stopped for a moment and thought about them. Maybe these really aren’t my hands. She turned the notion over in her mind. This isn’t me at all. And when I walk back into that room, Tom will be sitting on the couch watching TV. She once again stopped to think it over. She looked back down at her hands and the reality hit her like a bus. Tom was gone.

Sarah frantically tried to turn on the faucet. Her hands slid over the ceramic knobs, causing her to panic. She was shaking violently making it even harder to turn on the water. She thought about that too. It was funny what one thinks about in a situation like this. Turning on the water had always been such a ordinary and mundane task. But now it was a dire need. More than anything, Sarah needed to turn on that faucet. Her life almost depended on it, ironically.

She got a firm grip on the cold plaster, turning on the blessed water with a gasp of relief. It was cool against her skin as she let it run between her fingers. It’s coldness was a sort of grounding for her.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. She was okay for now. She breathed deeply and brought her head back up again, slowly re-opening her eyes. Then she saw it. The mirror now reflected three people. In the middle was Sarah, ashen and ghostly. On the right was someone new, someone she had never seen before. The face was male with wild eyes of bright blue. His complexion was shady and had a rough look to it, like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. There was a menacing expression on his face.

To Sarah’s left was a more saintly face, this one female instead. Almost as pale as she was, this being had a more martyred look upon her. She had long and flowing hair in a glorious radiant shade of orange. It was straight and cascaded around her face creating an aura of orange glow on her skin. Her eyes were a piercing shade of emerald and held a look of perpetual agony.

"How could you?" the girl whispered in a pleading tone.

"She had to. What other choice did she have?" the man on her right replied with an air of confidence.

"She had many choices. This was the wrong one! Now a life has been taken You and I both know that wasn’t needed." Sarah’s head whipped around to look at the red hared girl.

"Oh get off it! You know what he did to her! He deserved what he got!" Sarah swung around to look at her other new companion.

"Regardless of what he did, he didn’t deserve to die! Not like that! No one deserves that, ever!" The woman was getting visibly upset. Her eyes were bright with fear and anguish. Sarah whimpered and grabbed the ends of her hair, cradling her head in her shaking arms. She clenched her teeth together and moaned.

"What do you know? Have you ever been in her situation? Do you have any idea what it’s like to be hit repeatedly with an aluminum baseball bat just because you got home five minutes late? Or to have three fingers broken because you changed the channel on TV? Or how about having two miscarriages because you were kicked in the stomach over and over again? You have no right to judge her actions until you know what she went through!" The man was screaming at the red head, who was retreating into the corner. His eyes were burning with an almost tangible heat.

"Stop it!" Sarah weeped, "Please!" She was frantically running her fingers through her hair, clutching it with desperate hands. The noise around her was becoming maddening. The voices grew louder and louder. "Stop it! For Christ’s sake! Please stop it!" Sarah looked up maniacally. Her eyes were red and bloodshot. She was still clutching her hair. The voices persisted, getting even louder, becoming deafening. Sarah groaned through her teeth which were painfully grinding together.

The room started to swirl around her. The only shapes she could make out were the mirror and the two other faces. She shot her head back from one to the other. She cried out to them to stop, but the volume only increased. Sarah screamed and slammed her fists into the pane of glass in front of her, shattering the fighting images that were menacing her so. The arguing stopped instantaneously. All she could hear was the detached tinkling of mirror shards against the ceramic sink and tile floor. Sarah looked back down at her hands, now wearing a new and more personal shade of crimson.
**Frooty

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