I didn’t stop.
Not when I drove the blade toward his face.
The knife struck his right eye with a sickening resistance before it gave way.
Wet pop.
Warm fluid splattered across my fingers.
He shrieked—a sound so raw it barely resembled human.
I ripped the blade free and plunged it into the left eye.
Blind now.
He thrashed weakly, arms flailing, hands clawing at nothing.
I leaned over him and stabbed again.
Face.
Throat.
Chest.
Each strike was fueled by everything he had done to me.
Every night.
Every violation.
Every time he told me resistance made it worse.
The knife carved through skin and muscle until his features blurred into something unrecognizable.
Until the man who haunted my nightmares no longer existed.
My arm finally froze mid-strike.
The blade slipped from my hand and clattered against the concrete floor.
The sound echoed loudly.
A scream tore from my throat.
It erupted from somewhere deep and primal—an animal sound that held grief and rage and release all at once.
I stumbled backward.
My legs gave out.
I slid down the wall until I was sitting in the corner, trembling.
Blood coated me.
His blood.
It soaked my dress, smeared across my arms, splattered on my face.
