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This is Love, Baby(2)

By:K. Webster

It’s dark in the trunk he forced me into. When he shot War and then dragged me out of the house, I’d been hysterical and tried to bolt from his grasp. Since I was behaving like a rabid animal, he treated me like one by trapping me in here for the drive to who the fuck knows where. A stale, stagnant odor lingers in the stuffy air, choking me. And, though I’ve never had a thing with small spaces, I swear if he doesn’t let me out of here soon, I’m going to wig out.

Nausea overwhelms me again and my stomach grumbles. I fan my face in an effort to cool down and not throw up but it only makes matters worse. For several minutes, I retch and retch until there’s nothing left but despair in the pit of my belly. Slobber runs down my chin, mixed with the countless tears I’ve shed, making my face wet and sticky. The acrid taste of vomit lingers on my tongue, and my now soaked hair sticks to my face. The stench overtakes the trunk and I shakily roll to my other side in an effort to escape it.

When Gabe dragged me away from War, I was hysterical. I’d clawed his face and ripped my way through the flesh on his cheek with vicious delight, nearly catching his eye in the process. It earned me a dizzying backhand to the face that still has my head pounding but it had been worth it. I’m no longer the docile child he once knew. The frightened animal he thinks he so easily trained and subdued.

I’ll make his life a living hell.

It’s only fair since that’s what he’s done to mine.

I’ll hurt him in every way I can.

I’m jolted when the car picks up speed and I roll forward inside the trunk, knocking my head against something hard and metal, from what I can tell. It only serves to dizzy me further, which doesn’t help my roiling belly.

I pick at the carpet lining some more in hopes of accessing the taillights. I’m craving air—anything other than the sour smell of my vomit that hangs there instead. Mom and I watched a movie on Lifetime once where a girl had been stuffed in a trunk. She’d managed to tear away the lining, break the taillight, and wave to motorists behind her, which in turn saved her.

Problem is, in the movie, the girl made it look easy.

In real life, the carpet is really wedged under the metal and in my weakened state, I’m finding it difficult to—


I let out a crazed laugh when the material finally gives and I gain access to the bright, red light of the taillight. With all my might, I push, beat, scratch, punch, kick, and pick at the stupid plastic. It doesn’t budge. It doesn’t give in the slightest little bit. So, it definitely doesn’t break off and fall into the road as we drive.

No, that would be too easy.

This isn’t a Lifetime movie.

This is a horror flick starring the devil himself.

Defeated tears stream down my cheeks and I lie back, trying to catch my breath. In all of my efforts, I’d become drenched with sweat and now my muscles ache from the exertion. A horrifying thought claws at me.

Will I suffocate in here?

The air suddenly seems too thick. Too hot. Too limited.

How many breaths do I have left?

If War were here, he’d calculate exactly how much time I have left. He’d tell me the precise number of breaths to take so I’d have plenty to spare. He’d hold me and comfort me, telling me I was safe with him.

A loud, all-body quaking sob rips from me.

The loss of my lover, my friend, my safety—it’s too much to bear. A piece of me is gone. Forever. Not just my heart, but my soul. It’s been fractured and stolen from me. I’m no longer a whole person—just a broken, leftover mess.

Gabe finally ruined me once and for all.

I’ve been abused and tortured by this man—and it’s far from merely physical. Whereas before, he’d wrecked my body and my mind, he’s now obliterated the very parts of me that make up who I am. I’d actually managed to right myself after how much he wronged me. War’s love was crucial in that healing process.

But now?

Now, he’s fucked with my head to the point that I don’t even exist anymore. Gabe has managed to flay my heart and rip away every good part of me.

I’m a cold, lifeless shell.

And my War is gone.

A wave of sickness washes over me and I close my eyes. I pray for God to just take me, too. To take me to a place where War and I can live free of afflictions and psychopaths.

Exhaustion plagues me and I let it steal me away. I want to get lost in the blackness of unconsciousness and block out the misery. But every time I relax and give into it, blue eyes are at the forefront of my mind.

Darting back and forth.





He’d been shocked as he clasped a hand over his chest, blood blooming over his pale fingers, staining not only his skin and clothes, but his mind too. I cringe to think of what his last thoughts must’ve been like. The horrifying demons in his head. Laughing at him. Mocking him. His final memory of me was to stand there idle, having to watch Gabe brutalize me in front of him. The realization of his own impending death growing imminent, and the uncertainty of what would happen once he was gone.