Oh wow!! Look how fast I updated! I thought it would take a really long time to write this chapter, but it just started flowing and wouldn't stop! Anyway, I hope I satisfied you guys...the next and last chapter will be up soon. Sniff, sniff. It will wrap everything up, I promise. I hope you all enjoy.
She took a few small, unsure steps into the hallway. She could hear him; sense him, just on the other side of that wall. She heard the television humming, and knew he was on the couch, stretched out right in front of it, wallowing in his own disgustingness. She held her breath suddenly, slipping down the hallway quicker now, finding her strength and moving on it before it was gone.
From her place in the hallway, she could see him on the couch. She tried to steady her rapidly beating heart, and he stood suddenly, moving around the couch and towards the kitchen. She knew she had to do it know. She had to make herself known before he started to do something and didn't hear her commotion. She glanced around desperately, as if she hadn't lived here for eighteen years, looking for anything to knock over, anything to draw attention to herself. Upon realizing the umbrella stand was directly next to her, she swallowed hard and stuck her foot out, toeing the rack to the ground. It collapsed with a loud crash, and she let her eyes look up just as Chip's gaze moved to her. His dark eyes flashed, and a malevolent smirk pressed across his lips. He had seen her.
She didn't have to pretend to be afraid, then. Her blood was pumping through her veins; adrenaline was the only thing keeping her from running out that door right now. She had let herself begin to doubt it while she had been waiting, but now she knew. This was now, and it was happening. There was no turning back.
"You," He said the word as if it were a curse, standing still and watching her for a moment. She felt herself shrinking against the wall, inching her way down the hall.
"I just…I came back…I needed to get some things," her voice was smaller than she would have liked it to be, and tried to clear her throat inconspicuously.
"You sure about that?" He began to move toward her now, and she felt her legs beginning to tremble. She pressed herself against the wall for support, and without realizing that she was creating a perfect trap for herself. "You know what I think? I think maybe you wanted to come back here, you little slut. I think you came back here lookin' to get what you deserve from me."
She shook her head quickly, blue eyes widening as he moved closer to her. There was something different about tonight; something about that sway in his step, that glossy look in his eyes. Every other time he had touched her, his gaze had been sharp, focused on her. But not tonight; it was different now, and as he moved closer to her, she realized what it was. She could smell it on his breath suddenly, as he pushed himself against her. He was drunk.
She let herself panic suddenly; this wasn't what she had expected. She had never dealt with him drunk before, she was sure of that. She'd never even been around him when he was drunk. She was dealing with a completely different situation tonight. The smell of the liquor on his breath was so intoxicating that she coughed, and he let out a dry laugh, grabbing her wrists suddenly. She squealed at the sudden pain, looking up at him fearfully.
"This time," he said the words, his voice heavy with malice, "you're not going to escape."
She swallowed hard and he moved quickly, dragging her across the room to the couch and pushing her down hard. The back of her neck hit a hard part on the couch, and she gasped in pain as he forced a knee between her legs, pinning her into place.
"No!" She screamed the word at him, tears of hatred burning her eyes. This was not going to happen again; she refused to become a victim again. This wasn't why she had orchestrated this plan, and it sure as hell wasn't going to end this way. "Do not fucking touch me!"
"Shut up, girl." His voice was surprisingly calm, and it sent chills up her spine. She shuddered, moving quickly and glancing at her surroundings suddenly, looking for something to ward him off with. She tried to reach for a fireplace poker, but it was too far away and she needed to grab it before he realized what she was doing.
His fingers were pushing her skirt up, and she let herself begin to kick furiously, screaming hateful, angry words at him as his hands slid over her thighs. She tried to pull her legs together tight, but he was stronger and forced her apart with his hands, his fingernails digging so deep into the tender flesh of her inner thigh that she cried out in pain.
"No," she felt the deep sob of the word beginning low in her throat and slipping out as a whine. "Please, no." She was desperate now, glancing around quickly, and saw it suddenly. A vase; her mother's favorite glass vase, the one she had bought in Rome, on the vacation she had taken after Amber's father had died.
He leaned in slowly, his mouth finding the base of her neck, placing rough, wet kisses there. Her stomach churned, and she let her hand reach out for the vase, attempting to be as subtle as possible. He suckled on the skin on her neck, and she thought for a moment that she might retch on him, but when her fingertips grazed the crystal vase, she knew this was her moment. She had to incapacitate him. It wasn't part of the plan; this wasn't supposed to be happening yet because she had only been here for what…five minutes? Suddenly, and though it was obviously much too late, all of the foils of her plan became clear. However, she didn't have time to think about that now, and let her fingers slip into the vase. It was heavy in her hand and she raised it, closing her eyes as she prepared to slam it against the back of Chip's head.
He was faster than her, though, and he twisted suddenly, knocking it out of her hand and sending it shattering into millions of pieces on the hard floor. Her breath caught in her throat, and he turned on her quickly.
"Got some kind of ulterior motive, do you, girl?" He sneered the words at her and smacked her in the face suddenly, sending a sharp pain through her. "You tryin' to get rough with me?"
"No," she whimpered suddenly.
"I think you are. I think you're forgettin' that I like to get rough, girl. You wanna get rough? Okay, let's do it." He forced his knee between her legs again, pushing it so harshly against her that it sent a dizzying pain through her. His hand moved up, tangling itself in her blonde hair, yanking hard and causing her to cry out in pain. "Is that rough enough for you?"
She pulled her leg out from beneath his grasp and kicked at him suddenly, the sharp heel of her shoe digging into the flesh of his thigh. He cursed loudly, cried out in pain, and she took the moment to dodge him. He grabbed her wrist, catching her, and swung her around back to the couch, forcing her down and keeping her there with his knee. He tore her high heels off, throwing them across the room.
"Bitch!" He spat the word at her, "You fuckin' bitch." He backhanded her suddenly, and she groaned. It sent her into a brief daze, and by the time the room stopped spinning, she saw something in his hand. The light caught on it, and it gleamed. She felt a hard knot in her stomach suddenly, tears prickling her eyes.
"No!" She found herself pleading suddenly, almost whimpering the words as he moved toward her with the knife. "Oh, God."
He was upon her suddenly, and had pressed the sharp blade against the soft white skin on her neck, just above her windpipe. She sucked in her breath and held it, her blue eyes turning into hateful slits. He grinned at her, pressing the edge of the knife into her throat slightly, though not enough to draw blood. She found herself gasping for breath, and struggling against him, and he left the knife draw down her throat, to a spot on her chest, just below her collar bone.
"You think I won't do it?" He was taunting her now, his eyes dark. She let her eyes glance to the clock. It had barely been seven minutes. Corny would never make it; the police would never get here on time. She'd be dead before any of them ever found her.
She swallowed hard, and felt the knife press into her skin. It was a deafening pain, the feel of him slicing it across her skin, drawing a red ribbon of blood. She screamed suddenly, her adrenaline kicking into full force. The pain, the feel of the thin line of blood trickling down her chest; it was too much. She cried out loudly and found her strength in that moment. Her feet were suddenly alive, and she kicked him as hard as she could just below his ribcage, sending him reeling back, gasping for breath. The knife, its blade glistening with her blood, fell to the ground and she moved quickly, grabbing it up and towering over him suddenly, her eyes glowing with hatred.
She knew, by the force of her kick, and the way he had begun to claw at the ground, that she had knocked the air out of him. Shelley had done that to her once, backstage at the show; pushed her so hard that she'd actually hit her stomach against the back of a chair and had collapsed to the ground. At the time, Amber had been sure she was dying. Now, she knew that this advantage only lasted a few moments, and took a quick second to mop the dripping blood from her breastbone, thoughtlessly wiping it onto her dress.
She took each moment with caution, moved over him suddenly, pressing the knife against the edge of his neck now, glaring at him with nothing but hatred in her eyes. She tried to disassociate herself with this situation, just like she always had when she was around him. It was surreal; the thought of being here, holding this knife to his throat, being in complete and total control of his life.
"I should slit your throat for everything you've done to me," she nodded, suddenly no longer feeling like herself; no longer the terrified victim she had let herself become. She glared at him, "But I don't want your disgusting blood all over my hands."
Her hands were trembling, though she tried not to let on. She pushed the edge of the knife against the rough skin, his eyes wide, watching her, still wheezing for his breath. She curled her lips into a sneer, furrowing her eyebrows and attempting to suppress a frustrated groan. She couldn't do this. She couldn't be a murderer, no matter how much of her he had killed. She didn't want to do this; she didn't want to have to dig that knife into his jugular vein, didn't want to have to be the one responsible for ending another human life. Yes, she wanted Chip dead, but she didn't want to have to do it herself.
She didn't realize that he had used her brief hesitation to his advantage, and that he had already regained his breath by the time she had decided that she could not kill him. She narrowed her eyes again, still clutching the knife tightly in her hand. His foot went out suddenly, kicking her legs out from beneath her. She fell forward suddenly, the weapon slipping from her fingers. Her chin smacked against a coffee table, and she fell back, groaning on the floor. She was sure that her jaw was broken, and could do no more than roll onto her back, her fingers clutching at the hardwood floor helplessly.
He was back in control now, and she saw the knife in his thick fist again. He moved over her, straddling her and all but suffocating her with his weight. His eyes narrowed into dark, hateful slits, and he pressed the knife to her neck again, tracing it teasingly back and forth. He was showing her how he was going to kill her. She had no more strength; the fight had been taken out of her, and the throbbing pain in her face prevented her from even being able to think clearly.
"You know," his gruff voice was speaking suddenly, as he leaned over her, moving the knife, "the funny thing is…I've already had your fuckin' blood all over my hands. And you know what?" He leaned in to her, his face sickeningly close to hers, his lips against her ear, "I liked it."
She wanted to cry suddenly, as she knew her life was coming to an end. Wanted to cry for all of the things she had never gotten to be; all of the dreams she'd never gotten to experience. Wanted to cry for the girl she had lived her life as for the first eighteen years; the one that never given a shit about anyone but herself. The one who had never realized it could be so much worse than a chipped fingernail and a bad hair day.
She wanted to cry for Corny, who would be so disappointed in her, so hurt by her foolish actions. Wanted to cry because she'd never gotten to tell him that she loved him, or that she wanted to be with him forever.
But she couldn't cry. No, she could not. She refused. Because when they came in here, and found her lifeless body, she did not want Corny to see that she had been crying. She wanted him to see that she had fought until there was nothing left, and hadn't abandoned her beliefs. She had not let herself fall victim to Chip again, even if he took her life.
She raised her hand in one last, pathetic attempt to fight him off. He chortled maliciously above her, letting the knife push against her harder. He was taunting her now, teasing her with death.
She let her head fall to the side, her eyes brimming with the tears that she refused to let escape. From her place on the floor, she saw the front door open silently, and a pair of slender legs. She furrowed her eyebrows, letting her eyes trace up the legs her breath catching in her throat at the sight of her mother, brandishing a small hand gun. If only for the briefest second, their eyes met. Amber let herself gasp softly at the shock of seeing her mother, and though she assumed Velma was just as surprised to see her, there was no emotion in Velma's eyes. She only glanced at Amber for a moment, and then back at Chip.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion. She watched as her mother's slender finger went crooked, pulling the trigger and sending the bullet directly into Chip's side. He screamed suddenly, falling off Amber and onto the floor. She was too afraid to move, though of what, she wasn't completely sure. There was a loud clatter suddenly and Amber realized that Velma had dropped the gun, its barrel still smoking. She felt the heavy sob rising in her throat and kicked away from him, scattering to her feet quickly and racing across the room, only to collapse into a sobbing heap somewhere behind the couch, curling her legs under her and weeping hysterically.
She watched Velma from her spot behind the couch, but her mother seemed to be in a daze. Her blue eyes were wide and unseeing; her thin body was catatonic. Amber felt herself beginning to weep suddenly again, burying her face in her knees and curling into a tight ball.
There was a commotion from beyond the front door suddenly, and Amber knew, without looking, that the police had finally arrived. They began to yell in loud voices that echoed through the room, and she crawled from behind the couch, scrambling to her feet when she saw Corny. She rushed to him without hesitation, and he caught her, sweeping her into a tight hug. She sobbed against him, her fingers clutching at his shoulders, crying his name, sobbing incomprehensible words that he didn't even bother to ask her to clarify.
"I'm sorry," his arm gripped her waist, holding her to him, his fingers brushing through her soft hair, "God, Amber, I'm so sorry. They got here as soon as they could! "
"No," she sobbed against him, clutching to his neck. She didn't want to see the scene behind her. Didn't want to know if Chip was alive, or dead. Didn't want to know if her mother would go to jail for what she'd done. All she wanted right now was Corny's embrace, his love, him.
"I shouldn't have let you come here," he whispered against her ear, "I'm not leaving you again, Amber. I'm not."
She clutched to him like a child, memorizing everything about him suddenly. The way he smelled; she took a deep breath of him, as if it were her last. She held herself to him desperately, and he held her, his eyes still surveying the scene, hers clenched shut and buried against the nape of his neck.
He pried her away from him suddenly, and she began to cry softly. He looked at her, and the gaping wound that Chip had created on her with the knife. She was trembling, and he looked at her seriously.
"We have to get you to the hospital, Amber. You need stitches, and you need to be examined."
She nodded, shivering, and clung to him again, her arms wrapping tightly around her neck.
"Come with me," she pleaded into his ear, "Please, Corny."
"Shh, I will." He rubbed small circles on her back, "Don't worry, baby, of course I will."
The police officers, their faces blurred by tears and sheer exhaustion, informed her that an ambulance was on its way, and she heard the whine of sirens just seconds later. Corny helped her across the room, his arms wrapped tightly around her thin waist. She let herself glance at Velma, who was standing beside one of the officers, her face still deadpanned.
Amber called out to her as Corny began to usher her out the front door.
"Mother…" she said the words, her lips trembling as tears slipped down her face, "How did you know?"
Velma rolled her eyes casually at Amber; as if this weren't a crime scene, as if her fingerprints weren't on the possible murder weapon.
"I didn't know anything. He disgraced us, Amber. He made us look like fools. That's all I need to know."
And that was it; as if those words explained everything, Velma turned her head, and shut herself off again from Amber.
Corny helped her to the ambulance and she was moved inside by the paramedics. Corny took her hand, kissing the back of it gently. They rode silently to the hospital, Amber quivering against him, unwilling to let go.
She was suddenly so thankful; to be alive, to be with Corny, to know that he wanted to keep her safe, protect her. She couldn't stop the tears from slipping down her cheeks, even long after the doctors had stitched the laceration on her chest. Long after the pain had faded, and the initial shock of the entire evening, the past several months.
There was one thought she couldn't stop rehashing in her brain; one thing that she kept asking telling herself, over and over. Her mother, the woman who had never treated her like a daughter, who had never so much as kissed or hugged her; the person who had called her a liar when she'd tried to tell her about Chip, this same woman had just done something completely out of character.
Without even realizing it, Velma had, quite literally, saved Amber's life.