Prompted by: Ember-Raine Winters a.k.a. Lady E
The crazy author says: Another one-word prompt. Errr, just stating the obvious haha!
It’s been nearly an hour of complete silence.
We’d spent five minutes making out like teenagers. I’d taken three to transfer into the car, disassemble my chair, and toss it behind me. Typically a ninety-second task, I had purposely slowed my movements, gone twice as slow, giving her every opportunity to change her mind.
To stay behind.
She’d slid into the seat beside me. Shut the passenger door. Moved closer to lay her head against my shoulder. And stayed like that for the entire thirty-something-minute drive into the heart of Bel-Air.
I park, kill the engine, and calmly get out.
She doesn’t follow me.
I never look back.
Wheeling up to their house, I find the front door unlocked and let myself inside. I head straight for the master suite, passing G in the hall.
A bra dangles from one hand. She lifts the other in a thumb’s up.
I barely acknowledge her.
Instead, I approach the bed where Mr. Julia lies in a deep sleep and reach for my hunting knife.
Alcohol lingers on his breath. Drugs course through his veins. Certain death looms in his near future.
I unsheathe the blade and press it to his neck.
His eyes pop open, confused at first. Then surprised. Then panicked when the piece of shit realizes he can’t move a single muscle…
His gaze whips past me to his wife. He’s apologetic. Remorseful. Pleading. Scared shitless.
“Jules,” I say, “do you really want me to stop?”
I gradually slice across his jugular. Deep enough to draw a slow seepage of blood. Shallow enough to do no real damage.
A garbled sound rumbles in his throat.
He’s trying to speak. To scream. To beg for his life.
She can though, “Tech, don’t.”
As the stark white pillow turns a bright crimson, I ask again, “Do you really want me to stop?”
Leaning down to kiss my temple, she pries the weapon from my grip and whispers, “Let me do it.”
What’s the prompt for next week, guys?
Make suggestions below. 7 words or less.