“It’s yours”
“It’s yours”
He stormed into the house, eyebrows furrowed, as he slammed the door, shutting out the gloomy day,
and caused the doorframe to rattle. He didn’t even bother to throw his raincoat off, which was dripping
the on wooden floor.
“Stella!” he yelled, eyes wandering around the dark hall, for some reason she didn’t like to
have the lights on during days like this. He headed for where he usually found her –the kitchen, sitting
at her usual spot by the kitchen counter.
Flipping her blue hair away from her face, her heart began to race, she knew it wouldn’t be good this
time. She hopped off the bar stool, just as he popped in.
“What the hell?” he asked in an angry tone, almost shouting at her.
She was staying calm, though her breathing was heavy from her fear of him. “What’s wrong?” she
asked, concealing her fear.
“You know damn well what I’m talking about; that Chris guy!” He yelled at her. He absolutely
hated that name, his face, that son of a bitch. They were a complete contrast of each other.
Her eyebrows shot up, surprised, and she managed to utter out a nervous laugh.
“Why are you so paranoid, Fred? You know Chris is long ago.” And he was. Now, he was just
an insignificant figure in the past.
“Then why the fuck did the guys tell me that you were hanging out with him?”
She went through her memory, trying to recall the last time she had seen Chris. Her eyes widened as
she realized what Fred must’ve meant.
“Oh, yeah, I bumped into him,” was her simple reply. She didn’t want to go in depth about that
meeting.
Fred looked at her untrustingly, “It’s not mine, is it?” he said quietly as his eyes fell to the small bump
that was formed on her stomach.
“Just tell the truth Stella, you’ve been messing around with him, haven’t you?” he accused her
with narrowed eyes.
Rage filled Stella’s body and before she knew what she was doing, she was slapping him. He
grabbed her wrists, and shoved her away.
Running to entree, she threw the door open. Fred followed her, grabbing hold of her arm, and shoved.
She tumbled down the small flight of stairs. She lay completely still at the bottom, and Fred could
hardly hear her crying. Fred’s eyes widened as he saw the blood running down her legs.
His hand subconsciously ran down to his pocket, digging for his cellphone, and with a touch of
a button, he was on the line with 911. He rushed down to kneel down by her side, apologizing, “I’m
sorry! I’m so sorry!” his hand helplessly trying to comfort her, yet she shook it away.
“It’s yours.” She struggled to whisper, meeting his eyes before they fluttered shut.
