My Word has been fucked every time I open it it shuts down so...this was written all on the cell...excuse my extra errors...
Enjoy!
I was born Lucy Quinn Fabray, the second daughter to a prosperous, but troubled businessman, Russell Fabray and a former debutante Judith Merriweather Fabray. My childhood was by no stretch of the imagination a completely happy one. My fa-Russell was both physically and emotionally abusive. It started off with my mother, there wasn't a day that went by when he didn't berate her for some infraction real or imaginary to "Russell's Rules". When she messed up, she paid. First with a quick armed smack, then his blows became more successive. He would leisurely beat her as if she had all the time to lay fists into her skin.
He never cared if we saw him hit her, he didn't fear us telling anyone. He was king and our home was his castle. We were just there to serve him.
When I was eight and my sister was eleven he moved on from merely yelling at us. He struck her because we'd come in from school, excited, I remember it was um...progress report day and we'd both gotten excellent everything, anyways in our excitement we'd come in and tossed our bags on the hook and I suppose mine fell off after we left and well, Russell couldn't stand a mess. He popped my older sister in the mouth as punishment. He said she was responsible because she was older and knew better. Her bottom lip was split wide open...there was so much blood and all our mother said when she saw was that we'd better clean up all the blood before Russell left his study.
I felt so guilty, but Frannie she never blamed me. She said she wouldn't let Russell ever hurt me. She said that if Mom wasn't going to protect us then the least she could do was protect me. And she was as good as her word. She protected me and took the blame for my little fuck-ups. I tried to stay in line, I didn't enjoy seeing Frannie take my licks any more than any sane person would, but I was the same as I am now, quick tempered...smart mouthed. She'd always chastise me late at night and I would try to do better, but I failed miserably.
The day I died, was a Tuesday, Russell had been in a peculiar mood for weeks; not happy, but more indifferent. We were expecting that good luck to end and when it did we knew it would be awful. Fran was a week from her eighteenth birthday and although I was sad that she would soon be leaving me alone , I was also glad that soon she would escape our home. I've never understood why she didn't just lay low, bide her time til graduation and then just leave and never look back. Whatever her reasons, Frannie had been dating some guy, Jeremy something or other, secretly for months. They had been so careful or at least they thought. See, Jeremy was one of the few African-Americans who lived in our city and Russell well, to him it was shameful what they were doing. No daughter of his. I mean he was the kind of man who used the word "Coloreds" , if not worse freely. Someone from the church saw Jeremy and Frannie holding hands or something...nosy busybodies...and Russell flew into the most spectacular rage. I'd never seen him so angry. He had Frannie backed into a corner and he just-he just kept hitting her. There was so much blood and I remember thinking that she'd begun to sound like a wounded animal. He was going to kill her. She'd protected me all those years, been more of a mother than ours had ever tried to be and he was going to kill her.
I couldn't allow that to happen. I went into his study, the one place in the house we were never to go, but I went and got his gun. He never locked it up, why would he? We were all deathly afraid of him and we weren't suppose to even be in the study, but there I was.
Have you ever held a gun? It's always heavier than it looks. I didn't plan on killing him, I just want him to stop hitting Fran. I just wanted it all to stop.
I held that gun; solid, black metal, straight out. My whole body was shaking. I shouted for him to stop. When he saw me. When he saw his gun in my hand, he looked right through me. His eyes were dead. I'd never seen a demon before, but Russell at that moment was the closest thing I had to what I imagined Satan was.
He came towards me and it startled me. The gun went off a bullet clipped his ear. I swear it was an accident, unfortunately he didn't see it that way. After it happened, I dropped the gun, it had scared the living shit outta me. I back up. I thought it was over, but I was too young, too hopeful. He picked the gun up, one hand holding it steady, aimed at me the other clutching his ruined ear. He was spitting curses at me, snarling and venomous. He started to hit me with the butte of the gun anywhere he could reach. All I could do was barely cover my head and face, but he was relentless. Maybe it was a delayed reflex or something, but I kicked out catching him between his legs, he stumbled and if possible his rage doubled. He pressed the gun to my chest right over my heart. I was fading in and out of consciousness, every place on my body hurt. I didn't think he'd pull the trigger, I thought he just wanted to show that he was God, he was all powerful in that house and we should never forget it.
The last thing I saw was his eyes again, he was staring straight through me, dead eyes as he pulled the trigger.
Thoughts? Comments? Concerns?
Evil Evil Russell...
Ink