June POV:
I got ho around 7 a.m.
I guessed by that ti they’d be gone — off to work, rushing through their perfect little lives, pretending I didn’t exist.
The house looked normal from the outside.
Silent.
Still.
Dead, almost.
I slipped my key into the lock, careful, cautious. The door creaked when I opened it, the sound far too loud in the heavy morning air.
I winced.
Waited.
Nothing.
Good.
I crept inside, heart hamring against my ribs.
Shoes off at the door.
Bag pressed tight against my side.
I didn’t breathe until I made it halfway down the hallway.
Then—
The sound of a chair scraping against the kitchen floor.
I froze.
The air changed.
Got thicker.
Got colder.
And suddenly I knew—
I knew—
I wasn’t alone.
"Where the fuck were you?"
His voice ca from the kitchen.
Low.
Razor-sharp.
Full of a kind of anger that promised pain.
I turned my head slowly.
There he was.
Sitting at the kitchen table.
Half a cup of black coffee in front of him.
A cigarette burning in the ashtray.
Eyes bloodshot, wild, drilling into like knives.
He hadn’t gone to work.
He’d stayed.
Waiting.
My stomach dropped to the floor.
My palms started sweating instantly.
Fight or flight slamd into , but my legs were too frozen to do either.
"I asked you a question," he growled, pushing back his chair so violently it screeched across the tiles.
He stood up.
Took a slow, deliberate step toward .
I swallowed hard, tasting the tallic edge of fear in the back of my throat.
"I—I fell asleep at a friend’s house," I lied quickly, my voice barely a whisper. "I didn’t an to—"
A sudden, harsh laugh cut through my words.
"Didn’t an to?"
He echoed, tilting his head like he was hearing sothing funny.
His hand slamd down on the kitchen counter hard enough to make the ceramic bowl there jump and shatter, pieces raining onto the floor.
"You think you can whore around all night and sneak back in like nothing happened?" he barked, the veins in his neck bulging, his body coiled with violence.
"No—no, I swear, I didn’t—"
"LIAR!"
He lunged, grabbing a fistful of my hair, yanking forward.
I gasped, stumbling into the kitchen as he dragged closer, closer to that cold table, closer to whatever sick punishnt he had stewing in his rotten mind all night.
"You’re gonna learn, little bitch," he snarled, spittle flying against my cheek.
"You’re gonna learn what happens when you disrespect ."
My heart slamd against my chest so hard I thought it might crack my ribs.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to run.
But survival kicked in.
Years of survival.
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t fight.
I just went limp, like a ragdoll.
Let him think he’d won.
Let him think he was in control.
Because I needed ti.
I needed one second — one second to figure out how to get out of this.
I wasn’t that helpless little girl anymore.
Not entirely.
And Justin—
Justin had reminded of that, even if he didn’t realize it.
My eyes flicked to the counter.
To the knives.
Just one second.
One breath.
One chance.
And maybe I wouldn’t be the one bleeding this ti.
******
"You knew I’d be waiting for you," he snarled, his fingers tangling cruelly in my hair, yanking my head back so sharply my neck scread in protest.
"And you didn’t co."
His breath hit my ear, hot and sour, soaked in rage so thick it made my skin crawl.
I could hear the blood pounding between my ears, feel my heartbeat in every bruised inch of my body.
"Now," he hissed, voice splitting into a low, hateful rasp, "we finish what we should have done yesterday."
My stomach twisted violently.
The world seed to tilt under my feet, a trapdoor opening beneath — only there was no bottom, no end, no safety net. Just endless falling.
My mind scread at to do sothing. Anything. Fight. Run. Scream.
But my body was frozen, paralyzed in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.
He shoved hard against the kitchen counter.
The sharp edge drove into my ribs, knocking the air from my lungs. Stars exploded behind my eyes. Pain shot through my side like lightning.
I gasped, a broken, choked noise escaping , but it didn’t stop him.
It never stopped him.
He was already pulling at my jeans, rough hands yanking at the fabric, peeling it down my legs in frantic, jerky movents.
Not this again.
Not again, not now, not when I’m already broken. Not when everything inside is already ash.
The denim pooled uselessly at my ankles.
I tried — God, I tried — to disappear inside my own mind, to find so corner of myself untouched by his hands.
But there was no safe place left.
Even the mories I used to hide in — Justin’s warmth, his arms around , his voice promising safety — were poisoned now.
Tarnished by yesterday.
By the way Justin had looked at after he confronted .
Disgusted. Betrayed.
That was how he would look at again — if he saw now.
If he saw how ruined I really was.
I heard him fumbling with his belt buckle, muttering curses under his breath.
I could feel him — hard, heavy, pressed against , grinding against my bare skin.
Why ?
Why does it have to be over and over and over again?
When will it end? When will soone make it stop?
Tears blurred my vision. I didn’t even bother to wipe them away.
There was no point.
I heard the clatter as his trousers fell to the floor.
He pressed against , sickening and sweaty and eager.
"You’ve kept waiting so long, June," he whispered, words slithering into my ear. "Daddy isn’t happy. So you’re gonna make him feel good, yeah?"
I flinched, bile rising in my throat.
I wanted to be anywhere but here.
Dead, even. Dead would be better than this.
His hand slid under my panties, ripping them down with a savage tug.
My body shivered involuntarily.
"Kill him."
The voices again.
"Make it stop, June. You can make it stop."
I squeezed my eyes shut, desperate, desperate for anything, any escape.
But there was nothing.
Just the voices.
I felt him rubbing himself against , pushing, demanding, taking.
"Look ahead," the voices said.
"There’s a jar of spoons. Take a fork."
I opened my eyes, blinking through the haze of tears.
There it was.
A glass jar on the counter. A clutter of spoons sticking out the top.
But it was far.
Too far.
My heart slamd against my ribs. Despair clawed at .
"Stretch. Reach. Try harder, June."
The voices were urgent, desperate.
He slapped himself against — once, twice — the sick sound of skin on skin.
I bit my lip until I tasted blood.
I reached, stretching my arm as far as it would go.
Fingers scraping the counter.
The jar just out of reach.
"Stretch harder!" the voices scread.
"You have to!"
My muscles strained, the counter edge bruising my ribs deeper with every breath.
And then — my fingertips brushed the jar.
It wobbled.
At that exact mont —
He shoved inside .
One brutal thrust.
Tearing, splitting.
I scread — a raw, broken sound that was smothered by his sweaty hand clamping over my mouth.
He didn’t even notice the jar tipping over.
Didn’t care.
He was too busy thrusting, pounding into with mindless force.
Tears stread down my face.
Everything blurred.
Pain. Sha. Fear. Rage.
"Make it stop, June."
"Only you can make it stop."
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t think.
I could only feel every jagged, blinding stab of pain as he used my body like it was his right.
I don’t even rember when I grabbed sothing — just that my hand closed around cold tal.
A fork.
Sharp. Solid. Real.
For the first ti, sothing real was in my hands.
I turned, twisting against his iron grip, my fingers locked around the handle.
I didn’t think.
I just moved.
The fork plunged into his face — into his eye — with a sickening crunch.
His scream ripped through the kitchen, high and shrill and animalistic.
Blood spurted from the ruined socket, splattering across my hands, the counter, the floor.
The door slamd open —
And there was Justin.
Frozen.
Eyes wide.
Mouth open.
Taking it all in.
My monster staggered back, clawing at the fork sticking out of his face, shrieking, a wounded, thrashing beast.
"Finish him."
The voices roared in my head now, triumphant, electric.
"Finish him, June. Finish what he started. Kill him. Stab him again and again and again."
I stumbled forward, fueled by sothing feral, sothing born of all the years he stole from .
I drove the fork into his chest, his throat, his belly — anywhere I could reach.
Each stab punctuated by his gurgling shrieks, each one spraying more hot blood across my skin.
Justin stepped toward slowly, carefully, hands raised.
His face was a horror mask — shock, horror, confusion.
"Killer."
"Murderer."
"June is a killer now."
The other voices sang, lilting, mocking.
I stabbed again.
And again.
I didn’t even feel my own screams tearing from my throat until I realized the air around was vibrating with them.
Blood coated everything.
.
The floor.
The counter.
The walls.
The monster crumpled at my feet, twitching, gasping, clawing at the fork jutting from his face.
Still, I raised my hand again, the fork slick with gore.
Justin was in front of now, so close I could feel his breath.
"June," he said — softly, carefully, like he was approaching a wild animal.
"June... it’s okay. You can stop. You’re safe now."
Safe?
There was no safe.
There was only the pounding in my ears, the chant of the voices, the endless loop of killer, murderer, monster.
His hands closed over mine — firm, steady.
The fork clattered to the floor.
My legs gave out.
Justin caught before I hit the ground, pulling against him.
I sobbed into his chest, huge wracking sobs that felt like they would tear apart from the inside.
The monster lay at our feet, twitching once, twice, then still.
Dead.
Gone.
But I didn’t feel free.
I didn’t feel anything except hollow.
As if he had hollowed out so completely there was nothing left but blood and bone and screams.
Justin stroked my hair, murmuring words I couldn’t understand.
"Murderer," the voices whispered.
"Broken thing," they hissed.
"You’re ruined now. Forever."
I buried my face in Justin’s shirt, trying to drown them out.
But they were inside now.
They weren’t going anywhere.
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