Where Were You?

Where Were You?

Status: Finished

Genre: Mystery and Crime

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Mystery and Crime

Summary

A story about revenge. But should she be guilty? In statistics male-female rape only 4% of offenders went to prison. Here's one of the stories.

Summary

A story about revenge. But should she be guilty? In statistics male-female rape only 4% of offenders went to prison. Here's one of the stories.

Content

Submitted: August 24, 2014

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: August 24, 2014

A A A

A A A


"Where were you? Huh?" I said slamming the cold shackles on the table. I gave him a strern look. My eyes bloodshot red as I held back the tears. They eventually fell. He didn't understand. I wasn't ready to speak. My hands on the cool table, I began to scratch it. Carve into it. He spoke. "Why did you do it Abby? Why did you kill him?" Silence. His blood began to boil as his heart began to beat faster and his breathing heavior. We've been going at it for some time now. I was calm. He slammed his hand on the table. I did not budge. He sighed heavily then raked his fingers threw his hair. "Believe it or not. I'm trying to help you". There was a long pause. He got up to leave. Now I was ready. I began to sing in monotone. Soft and slowly on a manic tune. Creepy. "You ask of my sins. But you must first repent". I cocked my head to the side. "Before I tell you why I killed a man". He walked back over toward me and eased his way in his seat. He was uneasy. Sweat beating down his neck. His muscles tensed as his jaws clenched. He was afraid. Rattled. Oh and I loved it. To make him quivel in fear. Beating him down. Making his body tender. Striping down his barriers that makes him not afraid. I am fear, and I will show him fear of a madman because all madmen have a reason. Why is it called madmen? Where did that term surface, or is this narcissistic world built apon sexist and feminist laws and bystanderds? We teach girls that they cannot be sexual beings
In the way that boys are
Feminist: the person who believes in the social
Political, and economic equality of the sexes. They say im crazy? I think not.   I looked into his hollow eyes. Staring beneath him. Beyond hiself. He was threatin of my nefarious ways. Demanded me mad without giving me a fair intuitive trail. My reasons? Society. We raise our boys that it's ok to touch a girl and have relations with a girl but, if it's your daughter then no! She must wait till marriage or she is a disgrace. Why is that? Because women can bare children? It's fine when guys have sex on camera but if a women does it she's considered a harlot? Women are to be philanthtropic bodies and men are to be gods with many lover's and mistresses slaying beast and drinking the finest of wines. Women are beneath men. He wouldnt understand because he is just a man. "Enough bullshit Abby! Tell me why". His voice rouse echoing off the walls. I looked at him giving him the glagslow smile. I saw the uneasiness in his face. "Look at the scuff marks and abrasions officer. What do you think happen?" I showed him my wrist, pulling the handcuffs with them. I lifted my skirt giving him flashes of my thighs which where scraped with cuts and bruises. "A guy was drunk. My once papersack brown legs where now a dark bluish and purple. My eyes heavy and swollen. "He saw an attractive women". I shifted in my seat. I felt him watch me. He was tryna break me. Like how all cops break down there victims. Badger them until they confess. Confess to anything no matter how small the penalty. That little confession is what they thrive for. Is he defending him? Trying to reason for him? Exactly my point. "Let's say a tall glass of wine, and he wanted a sip". I was enraged. He could hear my heart beating rapidly. I began to laugh. Laughing the pain and anger away as I controlled my rage of strangling his scrany neck and banging his enormous forhead repeatedly onto the table until it oozed. My heart rate slowed as that picture filled my mind. "He's often just in the shadows or far off to the side. Guess that's why I didn't notice him". He looked at me. Staring as he tried to read me. "When he was done- ravishing me". Silence fell. "He took apart of me. Do you know how that feels-" my voice began to break. I choked back the tears. I leaned over the table. So close that our noses touched. The officer next to him stepped up but then backed away when he raised his hand. "Can you imagine something being shoved inside you? Something that you try to push out but so forcefully etches it's way back inside you? Piercing your walls. Destroying any chance to have kids. Having PSTD and dissociative disorder. But your just a man". I said sitting back in my seat. "What does that mean?" My cold brown eyes never looked away frome our studded gaze."Your sexist and demeaning women"."Im sorry Abby im just doing my job-". I cut him off. I didn't want his pity. "Your job? Baffling a women who was using self defince against a drunken bastard who raped her?  But she is baggered and threatened because she is mad, fucking crazy? You make us crazy". I looked at him. Glaring. A look that will send chills up your spine. My eyes empty and lifless, but contain this malice that tends to get attributed to creepy old dolls. These eyes are unnerving, as are my plastered-on smile. A stare that sent him on the edge. A smile appeared across my face. "I cut his neck. But not to deep in where the blood would ooze out, giving him a quick death. No. I wanted him to suffer. I disembodied him. Starting with his feet". He gulped. "What about the. Ummm". I smiled slyly at him. "The dildo. Come on-". I glanced at his name tag. "Officer Daryl, you know what that is. And you can tell or safely infer what I did". I became quiet and waited for him to say it. He did. Slowly. "Sexualy Assulated him". I chuckled. "No. I assimilated him in which of his experiences with me. And when I was done I carved him. He pleaded for his life then pleaded for me to end it". I let the words roll off my tongue. I could hear the rain beating outside as the lightning craked the sky. The raindrops tapping on the window. It sounded so smooth and wet. I wanted to feel the rain against my skin. He tapped lightly on the table knocking me out of my daydream. "So for the record you admit you killed him". I stared at him. His eyes sympathetic, yet angry. "I never agreed that I did not kill him nor did I agree that I did". He swore underneath his breath. I chuckled. "For documentation".  He paused for a moment swallowing his anger. "For clarification did you or did you not kill Bruce Wells?" Silence. It was long and dreadful. I coutinued listening to the raindrops as I stared at the ceiling. The flickering lights. Faulty electric system. Missing tile upon the ceiling. The officer looking at me as if im derranged. I smiled. How did I get this far? I wasnt this way at first but, know im mad. Was it when I woke up this morning? Drinking my coffee? Going to work? Watching on the news another teen getting shot and police killing citizens because there "just doing there job". Or was it when Alisha called me and invited me to her party? Introducing me to druken bastards and guys with blue balls. Maybe when I was forced on my back. My closed riped from my bare skin. Or when I was forcefully thrusted. When my arms was tied to keep me from fighting. Or when my legs was scratched as he went harder. An impression I feel all in my stomach. Feeling his juices fill inside me and he mumbled dirty words. Sliding down my thighs, feeling sick. Is that when everything stopped? Repressed sins, emotions, and atributions."Yes". I knew when I said that my future was gone. I heard the cage to my cell slam shut and the handcuffs jingled as they hummed a folk song. It felt good. Repenting.  "I knew he was a drunk. And a good for nothing bastard but he didn't deserve that. He could be in jail while your writing a statement but instead your loosing your freedom". Told you he wouldn't understand. "Rough estimates that one in three girls and one in six guys will be raped. Their is only so much the law can do. They don't show up on time. They get busy. Signal gets jam. The call drops". The last sentence rolled off my mouth in cold and bitterness. "I did call. No one didn't answer". My tone off voice more mellow. "How could no one not answer?" I turned and looked at him. "The fucking emergency number. How could there be no fucking answer?" He had no reply. "I did what I had to. I knew you wouldn't understand. Police don't care what happens to use kind off folks. I witness police brutality everyday and I thought they would try to help me? No. I helped myself". He began to read me my Miranda rights and the charges that I will be charged with. He got up. But before he unlocked the door I whispered. "There's no need to martyr myself again because now I know where we lie. Society against the force that claims to protect us and women will always be beneath man". I heard the locks click  and the door open but before it closed he said something. You know Abby,the only reason your being arrested is because the way you killed him. With skill and perception. That was no self defense. That was a criminal mastermind. Or for better emphasis, a sociopath. The door slammed shut. His footsteps trail off. "Can you file the report for Abby Johnson, Bucket?" He handed her the files as he walked into the office. "Sure. Case done". "Yeah but I'm going to try to go for the asylum on this one". "That bad huh?" "No that broken and damaged". He wiped his face as he sat down in the seat. He was worn out and tired. "Chris what are you doing?" The tall officer turned and looked at him. "Grabbing a donut". He buried his face in his hands. He eventually rouse back up. "I meant I thought you were watching Interview room 3". He looked at him apologetic and sad. "Jimmy said he would". Daryl got up when the lights abruptly went off. The few extra convicts began to scream. The officers hushed them up as the backup generator came on. Jimmy ran in. "Come quick". They all ran to the room that was once occupied. "Where did she go?" Asked Bucket. They each looked at each other. Daryl walked over to the table, gazing around the room. "How?" He thought. He slammed his fist on the table. "She was right. I should have listened but I judged. I let my emotions get the best of me and cloud up my judgement". He slammed his fist onto the table. "Take it easy captain". Bucket said softly. "No she turned to me and I badgered her when she was supposed to be supported. Is the world this biased? Men can rape woomen but if she kills him then she must go to jail?" He sighed, regained his composure then turned to leave. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something. Words. He walked over. It was something scratched onton the desk as if someone took their nails and painfully dug those words in. He read it aloud. "Where were you?"


© Copyright 2017 perrythepervert. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Other Content by perrythepervert

More Great Reading

Popular Tags