I contemplated picking up my gun, pointing it at his head, then pulling the trigger but I was in shock. I sat on the side of the bed, slid the straps of my gold platform heels off my feet, then let them drop one at a time to the floor. Easing out of bed, I saw that the hem of my purple dress was unraveled. Threads hung to my ankles. Lowering my ass, I flopped on my chaise. My arms dangled as I stared at my red polished toenails. My hair hung like I was a rag doll. Thirty years ago I was in great shape. Now I weighed more and was less motivated to work out. If I had been stronger, I could’ve fought my way out of being raped by that filthy jealous bastard. Never again would I leave my home accessible under the pretense that I lived in a safe neighborhood. I used to run a 5K in fifteen minutes. If I were faster, I could’ve escaped, run out the house, and screamed for help. I wished my neighbor across the street would’ve heard me. Tom would’ve killed Fortune. Short breaths. Small steps.
