.ficlet/waiting/start

She's always waiting.

She's waiting for him to come home. She's waiting on her chair, waiting, waiting, and she wishes he would hurry up.

And now she's frowning, 'cause the clock is telling her he should have been home an hour ago, and she's still waiting—

And now she's scowling, 'cause the door knob is turning and the door is opening, and she knows what's going to happen next, and she's waiting to get it over with.

And now she's shouting, 'cause he's drunk and clueless and doesn't care, 'cause she's sick of waiting for him to hit her and hurt her and rape her and get on with life-

And she's crying now, 'cause he just ignores her except to tell her he wants some water, 'cause that's all he ever wants from her, and she's been waiting all this time for him to love her.

And now she's silent, 'cause she's done waiting, done-done-done, she knows what she's going to do now, and she's walking to the kitchen and picking up an knife, and she's done waiting.

And now she's listening, 'cause he's screaming every time she stabs him, and it's bliss, and she's not waiting anymore, she's loving this, loving the crimson splashes and the adrenaline and the pitiful pleading noises he's making, and especially the sick, overly satisfying squelch that comes every time she runs him through, and she's loving this and she's loving him.

And now she's smiling, 'cause it's over now, oh, it's over now.

And now she's screaming, 'cause it's over now, it's really over now.

And now she's losing it, 'cause she's killed him and now there's blood, pooling about his corpse, flowing around her feet, oozing down the walls, and there's blood everywhere, and it's on her hands and her dress and her face and her shoes and splattered across her heart.

And now she's dieing, inside, 'cause she can't take it, can't take it, no-no-no-no-no, don't make her do it, she doesn't want to, She doesn't want to kill him, no.

And now she's lying down next to him, laying her hand across his, and she's trying not to breathe, but it's hard and her body's fighting her, so she grabs one of his shirts from there bedroom and stuffs it down her throat, waiting, waiting, waiting, for death to come.

She's always waiting.

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Hmm… I love psychotic fan fiction…but it's kind of annoying to write. XP

Standard disclaimer...and really, while 'he' is supposed to be Roxas, it could be anyone, really. O.o

Review!