The Final Blow #Freewrite

There was some inaudible noise before the blackout. Lights just turned off and I tried to peer through the darkness looking for his face. I saw nothing. Warm sweat washed my back and I knew it had something to do with my trying to stay alive for more than an hour. Then I closed my eyes for a second.

You see... like a boxer training on his feet, I stayed on mine trying to avoid his getting his hands on me. He could stay at other side of whatever separated the both of us as far as I was concerned but he had some other ideas.

The distance frustrated him all the time and he kept looking for ways to close it for good. That's why I always had to stay on my feet.

He had changed my entire look since we moved in together by adding a few shades here and there when he could. They could be anything matching my skin colour but they weren't.

They ranged between purplish and black.

Branding bearing the closed knuckles of a cowardly man. Or should I say a fool exactly as I thought of him. He was a human looking like beast.

He once forced me to sleep in a vacated room while I held in hands our two weeks old child. This was after a throughly beating and his spilling water all over our cheap mattress so that I don't sleep.

My crime you asked, I took longer that I was supposed to open the door at the middle of the night while he was coming back from a local pub. He added a few slaps to cover the extra mosquito bites he got while my lazy self slept.

I once wondered to myself if the said blood suckers could stand his dreadful booze stench. Or if he recalled I had just given birth to another human being just a week prior.

When the second was over, I woke up from what felt like a coma and Alex stood at the feet of what I'd soon find out was a hospital bed. Her shirt tucked in a rush as were the sleeves folded up.

She was furious. Like her current shirt, she never could properly tucked away her anger.

'Are you waiting for him to kill you so that you can leave as the walking dead or? What the fuck is your problem? Why are you doing this to yourself? To me? To anyone who cares about you.'

I paused for a minute to take in her words... words I had taken in many a times before then politely proceeded to ask her for water with hand gestures. My throat simply resembled a desert.

How did I end up here?

Like she was reading my confused face, she asked what was the last thing I remembered. I told her we were fighting which she quickly cut in by saying being beaten isn't the same fighting with someone then sarcastically motioned me with her hands to continue.

Then I told her the lights went out and the last thing I remembered was me staying alert so that he doesn't hit me unprepared then closing my eyes for a second.

Her face became soft with worry, she looked at me with distinguishable pain in her brown eyes.

But honey, she began, lights never went out. Not once.

They did, I cut in slowly like I was talking to myself. I remember that I was sweating, I continued.

She pointed out that what I thought was sweat was actually my blood. And the blackout was just my giving in to a trauma caused by a blunt object he had thrown at my head.

And it was my turn to signal her that was enough and the decision had been made.