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    Girl Friday part 9 (revised)

    Story written on August 23, 2008 by thegaykid.
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    1 vote, average: 2.00 out of 51 vote, average: 2.00 out of 51 vote, average: 2.00 out of 51 vote, average: 2.00 out of 51 vote, average: 2.00 out of 5 (1 votes, average: 2.00 out of 5)
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    Genre(s):
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    Character(s): ,
    Number of Comments: 1
    Words: 1031
    Story Shortlink: https://mail.assertive-maroon-jellyfish.104-250-143-187.cpanel.site/?p=70785
    Author Notes:

    a very bloody helena

       

       Oh my god, my head hurts like hell. It feels like sculptors are scraping away at my psyche just underneath my eyelids. It takes all my strength to open my eyes and when I do, I find it incredibly hard to believe what they’re seeing. I see myself walking, but I’m not steering; I’m just a passenger. "Hey, sweetie. Did you have a nice nap?" Her voice is sugary and condescending to the point where I feel like an abused child, wanting no more than for it all to end; looks like I might get my wish. "Don’t you remember, baby? We’re gonna go get our girl! So I want you to sit back and enjoy the show. I assure you, it’s gonna be a doozy." I feel my own lips curl into a disturbing my smile against my volition. This is going to be hell. as I begin to picture what she has planned, I look up and notice that we have stopped in front of Helena’s door. My hand raises and I feel the old wood of the door as we knock three times. I can hear Helena telling us that she’s coming over the radio that’s playing. When she opens the door the look of utter shock and fear repulses me but you’d never know it with the smile that seems to be permanently plastered on my face. "Bette, what are you doing here?" There is a silence and I can hear what’s playing on the radio.

    What kind of man are you
    Why do I love you so?
    What kind of man are you
    Yeah, yeah, when you love me no more?

      "Bette-" The word is barely out of her mouth before my hand glides across and slaps her in the face. The feel of her baby soft face under my work worn hand makes bile rise in my throat. We push her into the apartment and shut the door. She stumbles, still clueless. God, scream, yell do something! Don’t sit here and take it. "Oh, but that’s exactly what she’ll be doing, and so will you. And trust me, there will be screams."

    What kind of man are you
    Why can’t I let you go?
    I wanna know, I wanna know
    I wanna know, yes, about you

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