The Realization of Horror

January 3, 2012
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I open my eyes; she is lying next to me just like last night. Facing away her hair rests under my nose while her side moves up and down with her breath. Directly at 6:30 that dreaded noise erupts from our clock. Wincing I cringe as she starts to wake up. With a graceful motion she reached out and pushed the sleep button stopping the noise.

“Alright sleepy, time to get up” Turning away I whined in response.

“Noooo…no no no its still sleep time” she rolled me over and climbed on top of me while giggling softly. Her green eyes hovered in front of mine; her chestnut hair drooped around my head, her skin was soft under my hands, her magical smile just inches from me. Laying a kiss on me lips my stomach fluttered as she seductively whispered in my ear.

“Well if you were too sick to go into work, then maybe we could stay in bed?” Feeling the blood heat up in my body I squeezed her thighs before I uttered the stupidest answer to that question.

“I want to so bad sweetie, but I shouldn’t miss anymore work.” Seeing how excruciatingly painful it was for me to utter that response she grinned.

“Well maybe tonight we can go to bed early to make up for it then” She whispered again skimming her hand across my crotch. “But if we aren’t staying in bed time to get up” She said pinching me on the stomach.

“Hey, that hurt,” I replied in a similar whining tone as before.

“Oh come on champ you can take it.” She stood up to go to the bathroom. She was wearing one a fairly large grey tee shirt and those pink panties that always turn me on whenever I see them. “You can look at my butt later hun, but get dressed,” she said while closing the door. I dressed in my usual pants and shirt with the black tie. I didn’t even have to look in the mirror because I already knew what I looked like. The same clothes every day, for the same job, five days a week, for the last six years. Right on cue I finished dressing and she opened the bathroom door, dressed in her tight black shirt and black skirt. Her hair beautifully brushed, her legs completely shaved, a smile on her face. “Well, look at you all handsome.”

“Sweetie, I have worn this same outfit for years, how can it be ‘handsome’ every time?”

“I just like seeing you dressed up, it makes you look sexy. Would you like me to tell you how ugly you look instead?”

“Well no,”

“Then handsome it is,” she said knowing she had gotten me to stop whining. “What do you want to eat?”

“I’m not that hungry today.”

“You say that almost every day and then you get grouchy at work, I’m making you something. I followed her into the kitchen and sat at the table as she started to assemble food. “Any suggestions?” she asked turning towards me.

“Ummm…I don’t know you pick.” Her gaze didn’t divert from my eyes. She tilted her head slightly looking concerned. She walked behind me and rested her arms around my neck.

“Listen sweetie, I’m sorry you didn’t get that promotion. I know how hard you have been working for all this time. Your boss made a mistake not picking you. I think your dad would still be proud of you if you called him.”

“He would laugh in my face like last time. I can’t talk to him until I get this bump into a six figure salary.”

“But he loves you. You are doing really great at the firm.”

“Not good enough…He made it higher so I don’t deserve his praise until I reach his level.” Laying a kiss on my cheek she whispered this time in a calm loving tone,

“Well I love you. You have done more than enough for me and I am so so so so proud of how wonderful you have done there. You are a wonderful person and an amazing boyfriend.”

“…I love you too…”

“Now, I am going to make you your favorite breakfast and I’ll get someone to cover my lunch shift so I can come have lunch with you. Okay?”

“Sounds great”

“Good” She gave me another kiss on the cheek and went back to the stove. Watching I felt like my body was floating up. She was so beautiful, she was so sweet, loving, and caring; but I just felt like hitting her. This urge just swarmed into my blood. I just felt like standing up, walking over to her and punching her in the face. But why would I think that? I shook my head confused with this thought. We have been together for four years, lived together for a year now, and all of a sudden I want to hit her. This doesn’t make any sense. My parents never had any domestic abuse problems. My parents got along fine actually. I remember them sitting across the table from each other. They never really talked to each other that much but they didn’t hate each other. Their divorce was a mutual agreement. It wasn’t a hard one and the split after I left. They never complained about each other to me. I looked back to her; she was batting the eggs in a small bowl humming quietly. I picked up our picture from the table. We took this picture while we were in Hawaii. That week was by far the greatest week of my life. A full seven days we walked along the most spectacular beaches, amazing hikes through the jungle, stunning waterfalls, and every night we would swim naked under the most romantic moonlight. We rented a small cottage on beach where we were secluded from humanity. I remember on the plane ride over, we both picked one thing we wanted to do on our trip. Hers was that we had to have a hula contest on the beach, short story she won. Mine wasn’t an activity but a rule that she had to wear a bikini every day. I remember her giggle to that. It was so warm and cute, and then I remember her looking into my eyes for a second and responding. She said “I’ll only take it off at night.” She got me so hard with those seven words. We had the most amazing nights there. Every time was just as amazing as the last, and every time we fell deeper in love. There was nothing wrong with that trip. Perfect throughout. Why would I want to hurt her in anyway? I want to cherish and love her for the rest of my life. Seeing my parents sit across from each other, knowing I have her makes me see them talk to one another. Knowing I have her makes me think they never got divorced. It makes me feel like they cared about me. Knowing the prettiest girl in the world is making me breakfast right now repairs history for me. With her I can smile about something, I can get excited about waking up every morning, and I can enjoy my time living because when I get home I can see her face. When my dad laughed at me, that laugh is like a handshake when I think of her. With her I am a success in my dad’s eyes. He welcomes me into his arms and congratulates me on my hard work. My dad would spend time with me, go a ball game, and have dinner, at least talk on the phone. I make good money; I spent years in school, more time working up in the firm, all he did was laugh when he heard about me being passed over for promotion. That promotion was a fifty thousand dollar raise. I wouldn’t spend any more time on the fifth floor; I would ride the elevator up to the tenth as an executive. I was properly groomed for this job. Educated more then I needed to be. I spent late nights at the office to get work done, weekends lost for this, and to have it slip through my fingers. My dad sees an annual income as a meter of success. As long as mine is lower than his I will always be a disappointment. He tells me my brother is something to be proud of. After he laughed at me, and said that Isabella should date my brother instead of me. He said someone like me doesn’t deserve such a pretty girl. My brother makes exactly: three thousand four hundred fifty five dollars and seventeen cents more than my dad a year. I make forty thousand less than him. Due to that difference I am a nothing to him, a waste of space, to quote him ‘a waste of sperm.’ Hearing that was a dagger. I thought I meant something to him. I thought that I would make him proud by doing my best. I thought I would be a child worth having in his life. All I did was devote my entire life to making one person, my dad, one person out of 7 billion, love me and when I fall short he wants a refund on his sperm. Why can’t he just play catch with me once? Why can’t he talk to me? Why can’t he care about me and how my life is? And then I was standing above her. The pan of eggs were scattered on the floor and she was on the floor in front of the refrigerator.

“What was that?” She asked her voice was beyond scared, her eyes looked petrified and her skin had lost its color. “What are you doing?” now with tears forming in her eyes. I reached out grabbed her hair and clenched my fist. She was crying now. In an instant she had tears streaming down her face. I froze there for a second; her hair was so soft in my hand, like butter I could feel it melt through my fingers. Then I swung my arm. One swing, my arm looked like it was moving in slow motion. I could see her expression change from horrified, to mortified, as my hand moved closer. Then it collided. My fist collided right on the side of her face. Everything still moved in slow motion as I finished my swing. I let go of her hair letting her head fall back against the refrigerator. I stood over her panting heavily, sweat dripped from my hair, and my face felt hot. She was almost unconscious. Her eyes slowly fluttered to try and stay open as the tears continuously streamed to the floor. I turned around and walked towards the door. I picked up my briefcase; I couldn’t stomach to look back. I turn the door knob, opened the door and walked out. It was like I had blacked out. I am sitting at my desk at the firm. My hands over the keyboard staring at the log-in screen on my computer. I hit the ‘S’ button to start my log-in code. Followed by the ‘T’ key, and with every letter I push, I feel worse. I hit the ‘L’ to finish the code and I feel a massive lump in my throat. I start to enter my password and I look at the keys. My right hand is raw; the skin on my first two knuckles is peeling. I move my fingers and the pain stings through my body. I type in my password through instinct. After hitting the enter key I look at the screen. The black screen presents me with a reflection. I see myself with no expression. My eyes are empty and my jaw is wired in place. Then my account opens. My documents, my folders, my programs are all littered across the screen unorganized. I feel sick. I start to breath heavy again. I can feel something inside me shoot up and I let out a wail. I scream as loud as I can. I lay my face in my hands hiding the background of us on my screen. I scream more. My throat feels like its tearing in half but I can’t help the overwhelming dreadfulness that is swarming over me. I am muffled slightly by my hands but the noise echoes through the office. My eyes become drowned in heavy tears. I slump out of my chair and onto all fours and let the tears flow onto the ground. I fall back against the wall and let out more agonized weeps. Through my blurred vision people start to clutter above me. They try to talk to me but their voices are silent. I place my hands over my face again, feeling nailed to the floor I sat and cried. I couldn’t think of anything else to do.

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