Pete’s big, rough hands trailed from Jean’s belly to inside the tank top she wore before he began aggressively fondling her breasts again, and then pinching at her nipples till it hurt.
Jean stood, eyes shut, with hands pressed flat against the counter as tears spilled down her cheeks at the inhumane violation she was experiencing.
“You look sexy today, baby girl,” Pete whispered to her ear, and his breath reeked of alcohol and bad breath.
Jean wanted to scream, but she could not.
Beyond the fact that nobody would hear her, her screaming would only get Pete angry, and he would become even more physical, and there was no telling if he would be able to stop himself from killing her.
Pete’s grip on his bottle of beer loosened, and it shattered to the ground, which caused Jean to jump in fear, and in the next second, both of Pete’s hands were inside her top, squeezing at her breasts, fondling and caressing, while he licked at her neck with his tongue.
Pete let out a disgusting groan as he bit at her neck and heard her whimper.
“You taste so sweet, much better than your aunt.” He slurred, and then his right hand slid from her top and down to the waistband of her jeans.
He wasted no time before his hand slid lower, and he was pushing her pants aside.
Jean let out a startled gasp as his finger was forcefully shoved inside her.
Her tears poured more.
Usually this was around the time her Aunt Margaret returned and put an end to things by begging Pete, so that he turned on her, beat her, and then forced himself upon her, giving Jean time to run out of the house.
But Aunt Margaret wasn’t showing up as Pete shoved a second finger inside of Jean.
Jean felt sick to her stomach, and she forced her eyes open.
Everything was a blur, but one thing caught her attention.
Silver and lying on the counter was the knife Jean had been slicing carrots with.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Jean grabbed at the knife as Pete began fingering her aggressively.
She shut her eyes, twisted in his grip, and then began slashing.
Pete’s roar of pain filled the kitchen and Jean’s ears, but she kept slashing until Pete pushed himself away from her and staggered back.
When Jean opened her eyes again, all she could see was blood.
Blood poured heavily from Pete’s face and his chest to the floor.
She could see the line she’d cut into the side of his face and the slashes on his chest, shoulder, and arms.
Pete looked down at himself and at the blood pouring to the ground before letting out another scream and reaching for Jean.
He successfully grabbed the hand that held the knife, and in her fear, Jean let go of the knife, and it fell to the ground.
Panic seized Jean as Pete landed a backhand slap across her face.
He then proceeded to grab a fistful of her hair and pulled back so that her face was exposed before him and facing upwards; then he began to rain down punches on her.
“You stupid fucking bitch!” He screamed at her as his fist continued to come down on her.
He hit her face and her jaw; he also brought his knee to her stomach now and then.
Jean’s vision started to cloud as she took hit upon hit, and she knew she had to act fast; otherwise, she was going to die.
Jean aimed a kick at Pete’s groin, and she connected perfectly with his balls, which caused Pete to let out another sharp cry before releasing her and stumbling back a bit.
In that small moment of release, Jean turned around and fished for a weapon.
There wasn’t much on the counter, and all she could find was a frying pan.
She grabbed it, and when she turned around, Pete was already reaching out for her again.
Jean stepped to the side easily and avoided Pete’s outstretched hand, and that angered him, causing him to attack again, but this time he stepped on a big shard of glass from the bottle he had dropped.
The glass was so big that it pierced right through Pete’s foot and came out the other end.
Pete’s howl of pain was louder this time, and with all the force and hatred she could muster, Jean swung the frying pan with both hands.
There was a sickening crack as the pan connected heavily with the left side of Pete’s head, and the force of her swing forced his head to swing to the right, where he collided with the sharp edge of the dining table, and then everything went silent as Pete dropped to the ground, falling on more broken glass.
For a while, the only sound that Jean could hear was her loud breathing and thundering heart as she stared down at Pete, lying in a pool of his own blood.
I killed him.
I killed him.
Her mind whispered to her.
Jean dropped the pan to the ground and took a careful step forward.
“P… Pete?” She whispered, but there was no response.
He wasn’t even breathing.
Tears spilled from Jean’s half-shut eyes as she ran up the stairs, took her bag, and threw in some clothes.
She went under her bed, pulled out her savings box, and grabbed all the money in it before running back.
As she made her way down the stairs, she tripped and fell from the top to the bottom, but she was already on her feet.
The adrenaline made her barely feel anything.
Jean hurried back into the kitchen, and with one last look at her uncle, she picked up the house telephone and dialed.
“911, what’s your emergency?” For a while, Jean could barely speak.
Her throat was clogged, and a terrible part of her wanted to end the call and run away, leaving him to die, if he wasn’t already dead.
He deserves it.
Her mind whispered, and she almost listened.
Almost.
“My… my uncle, he’s seriously injured and he… he’s bleeding out.
I… I think he might be dead.” Jean stammered out, her heavy breathing making it almost impossible to talk properly.
“Okay, I’ll need you to be calm and tell me your exact location.” The woman on the other end of the phone said.
Jean spilled out their house address, and before the woman could ask any more questions, she dropped the call, took one last look at the house, and ran.
Jean never looked back….
until now.