The Sassy Vault: Endings Mean Beginnings

I recently told you I was opening my vault. It is a painful and scary process, but I welcome you to walk this journey with me…

I feel his eyes on me and the world slowly comes into focus as I wake up. I catch the glint of the blade as he attempts to hide it behind his back. I feel like a caged animal laying in this bed. He clears his throat and we each remain silent until he retreats from the room without speaking to me.

My heart pounds against my ribs and fear knots itself in my belly. I’ve caught him again. So long as I catch him in the act I am confident he will not have the balls to follow through. This was the second time this week. How many more times would he try? How many times before I don’t wake up soon enough? Before I don’t wake up at all?

I lie there in the dark for hours, staring at the ceiling and using my fear to formulate a plan. I could not do this any longer. Living in fear day in and day out was wearing me down. Night and sleep pressed down on the small house as I crept to my doorway and peered out.

He was there, sprawled on a mattress in the middle of the living room. The light of the moon shining through the bay window reflected on the needles that were scattered beside him. I think of my children sleeping peacefully, mostly unaware, behind me. Without warning, anger consumes my fear, propelling me forward.

He wants to kill me. He wants me dead. He desires it. This was not a new thought, but he was now willing to blatantly endanger our children, my children. To toss his newest poison on the floor, knowing they would see it, touch it. Without fear to tamper it down, my anger begins to burn me from the inside out.

I am standing over him now and as I stare down, I let the anger seep into every fiber of my being. It tingles in my fingertips and blazes through my chest. In my belly, it settles like bile, waiting to be released, to be spent. I work methodically using information garnered from television. It feels like common sense to spill the fine powder onto the spoon already sitting here. There is a cup of water and I drop a bit of it onto the spoon. Using the lighter from the pile of crushed dreams and wasted lives, I heat the spoon. I am burning like this flame, but my focus is clear.

I debate the belt lying on the floor, I didn’t want to wake him. I might not have the balls to follow through. I fill the syringe, fuller and fuller and flick it like they do on TV. On second thought, I give it a good shake. Just in case.

A warm hand touches my arm and I snap out of my twisted daydream.

“Mama, we should go now. I’ll help you pack the car.”

No one was going to die in that house. There was a new life, and a whole world, waiting for us outside of those walls and it was time for us to find it.

Until next time, scribe happy!
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A.L. Mabry
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A.L. Mabry

Executive Editor at Our Write Side/OWS Ink, LLC
A.L. Mabry is an Executive Editor for Our Write Side. As an author, she enjoys writing in all genres and forms, even grocery lists. She is an artist and Wiccan who has an obsessive love of vampires, kilts, and blue butterflies. She is passionate about many topics and her posts are often laced with the snarky sense of humor one acquires from raising five teenagers, all at once. In her downtime, she can be found with her loving husband, Shawn and their children. She maintains her shreds of sanity with yoga, tea, and cats.
A.L. Mabry
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