Langston knew I was pregnant.
He knew I was raped.
He knew I was alone when I gave the baby up.
He was always watching me.
Langston could have been there with me.
He could have held my hand as I gave birth.
He could have wiped my tears when my baby was taken from my arms.
I hate him.
Whatever I did to make him hate me now was warranted. He left me all alone. He made me like this.
Langston starts the climb up the cliffside back to the house.
He stirred emotions deep inside me, forcing me to re-evaluate my needs. Usually, I just fight with my words. And my words hurt Langston. But I want more than his tears; I want his blood.
I run at Langston.
I know he hears me, but he doesn’t stop me.
He lets me tackle him hard into the side of the cliff. I jump on his back as my fists pound into his head over and over, hoping to bludgeon him to death.
Only after I’ve gotten a few good punches in does he grab my wrist to stop me and twist me around to his front. I wrap my legs around his waist and continue beating his chest with my free hand.
“You’re a fucking liar! You knew! You fucking knew!”
I hit him so hard that he falls back onto the sand with me straddling him. I hit his chest over and over.
My frustration is building, brick by brick, as I pummel him repeatedly.
He lets me.
He lets me hurt him.
I need a release.
I try so hard to cry, to let out the emotions I’m keeping inside, but none come.
I scream—it’s a high pitched, glass shattering kind of scream. But it’s not a release, not a real display of emotions.
Finally, Langston grabs my wrists, forcing me to stop.
“I’m going to kill you. You say that I can’t kill, but that’s only because I’ve been saving my first kill for you.”
“Are you finished?”
“No, you fucking liar.”
“Yes, I lied.”
My breath catches. I can’t believe he admitted that.
“I knew you were raped. I knew you were pregnant. I knew you gave the baby up.”