An Honest Murderer

Hate can turn the greatest people into the worst. Power corrupts.
'Hate will guide you' does contain, and will contain, some disturbing content. I won't cover it in the description, but if you are sensitive or have experienced abuse, I don't advise you to read this.
Christine is a victim who in turn, makes others her own victims as result.

0Likes
1Comments
387Views
AA

1. Preface; Loathing

1956.

 

'I take you, Christine, to be my wedded wife. With deepest joy I receive you into my life that together we may be one. As is Christ to His body, the church, so I will be to you a loving and faithful husband. Always will I perform my headship over you even as Christ does over me, knowing that His Lordship is one of the holiest desires for my life. I promise you my deepest love, my fullest devotion, my tenderest care. I promise I will live first unto God rather than others or even you. I promise that I will lead our lives into a life of faith and hope in Christ Jesus. Ever honoring God's guidance by His spirit through the Word, And so throughout life, no matter what may lie ahead of us, I pledge to you my life as a loving and faithful husband.'

 

"Aren't you going to give me a welcome back kiss, then?" he muttered, and a pungent stench of hard liquor washed over Christine's face. With one capable hand, he pinched the bottom of her chin and restricted her head movement with ease. 
"What are you doing? You've been drinking again, haven't you? Get off of-" But Christine didn't have time to finish.
With one hard shove Christine was pushed against the hallway wall, and the brutish force made her knees give way, sending her to the floor. As soon as she regained composure, she immediately convinced herself that he hadn't intended to push her as hard as he had, and that it was merely an accident. 
An event such as this had sadly happened more than once, and usually occurred when her other half had decided it was a good idea to have a drink, and if she had learned anything it was to remain calm. He didn't mean anything he was saying - it wasn't his fault. It was the drink. Just the drink. So, taking a brief moment to collect herself, she stood.
"Honey, let me close the front door. Its getting cold." Christine smiled sweetly, hoping he was drunk enough not to notice her poor act. The last thing she felt like doing was smiling. As she made her way to close the door, he caught her by the wrist and gave her a harsh tug.
"I know what you've been doing behind my back, Chrissy," he slurred, ignoring Christine's attempts to free herself. Only he called Christine by that nickname. She didn't particularly like it, but of course never voiced her dislike. "You whore."
"Excuse me?" gasped Christine. She'd done nothing of the sort! What on earth could he be referring to? His imagination? He stared at her, and his expression made Christine's knees go weak. How could he look at his own wife like that? With such disgust?
"H-Hey, I think we've drank too much for tonight, haven't we? Let me take you to bed," she stuttered, looking away from him. 
If anything, Christine needed to take herself to bed. She had stayed up all night waiting for her other half's arrival. "Come on, Honey."
SLAP!
Christine recoiled violently, almost falling back down to the floor as her knees gave way. She held her face in shock, the other against the wall supporting herself, and was certain that a thousand invisible needles were now continuously prodding her cheek. She hadn't hit her this hard before. What... What had he done? Did he really hit her? Why? What had she said, that was wrong?
Christine couldn't comprehend what she had done to deserve such a blow. She looked up at her other half, unable to close her mouth so it hung in a could be comical (if not in the poor situation she was now) 'o' shape.
"H-Honey... Honey... You're scaring me now..." whispered Christine, and he gave a bellow of a laugh. He was laughing? His mood had switched to the other side of the spectrum. How could he just laugh? Maybe he was sick. Maybe Christine hadn't paid enough attention to him, and he needed to go to the doctor. No one could, or should, be able to laugh at a cowering, hurt woman. 
Though of course in a short space of time that facade, that smile, soon faded. Instead, his haunting grimace returned.
"You take me for some kind of fool, don't you?" he growled, grabbing the lower of Christine's arms and pinning them behind her back. As Christine cried out in pain, he released them. Instead, he pinned them to her sides and pressed her against the wall. "So you think you can get away with being a slut, do you? Well, you're wrong. So, so wrong." He said menacingly.
Christine shook her head, unable to believe the things he accused her of. Tears of pain, surprise, shock and betrayal fell from her eyes, and to Christine's horror these tears seemed to excite him. 
A slow, hunting hand began to move down her dress. It was a knee-length, grey ill-fitting dress, one which her other half had chosen for her. It did cover her bruises well, though.
"Please, no... No... Please don't..." Christine begged. Never before had he gone this far in one of his violent rampages. How far was he planning to go with this? Christine didn't recognise this man... Who was he? It was like he was a stranger to her now. This wasn't the same man she married...
He began to roll her dress upwards. Christine fought and fought, but to no avail. No... No... He couldn't... NO!
Then the screaming began... And didn't stop.

 

"Enjoy the film?" he eventually asked, giving up on Christine to make effort. Christine nodded, carefully applying a baby pink lipstick in the car mirror as she spoke.
"Sure. It reminded me of something, actually." answered Christine, and she didn't care to explain what. In fact, she didn't even really care about this 'date' at all. She couldn't even remember his name, and after minimal effort to do so, she gave up. All she knew was that he sweated too much, and by the sounds of it, craved company too much. Probably a loner. "Uh... Mind driving me to Latte Deux?"
"You want a drink?" he asked Christine, sounding enthusiastic at this proposal. Maybe he'd get some response from her over coffee instead of a movie. Christine gave a harsh laugh, popping the lid back on her lipstick and back into her purse.
"I'm meeting someone else. But thanks for the free film. Whats your name, again?" said Christine, a smile still etched on her face from the faded laughter. She watched as his face scrunched up. She couldn't tell if he was either upset or angry. As she thought of the latter, her heart began to automatically race. Had she gone too far? No... No Christine. You are not vulnerable. The 'man' in front of you is the weak one. You are strong, Christine, you are not weak. Besides, she was thinking back... To him. The man in front of her nothing of the sort; personality wise and physically. She doubted he was hiding anything sinister... I mean, why waste time with a film if his intent wasn't pure? 
You're over thinking, Christine, she told herself, calm down.
Christine needed to stop worrying herself over nothing. After the... Incident, she'd impulsively cut off contact with males if they showed any sign of hostility.
The car slowed. This street was not well lit, and she didn't recognise the area. No...
Where was she? They were on route to Latte Deux barely a minute ago! Was he going to drop her off here in spite? To leave her, helpless?
"Get out. Now." He muttered. "And my name is Josh."
He leaned over Christine, and placed a hand on her bare thigh as he did so, opening the door. The touch made her wince, and her heart stammered as he left it there too long. No... This wasn't right. Releasing her seat belt, she made her way out of the car unsteadily, drunk with nerves. 
"Thanks for nothing, loser." There. She had the last word. She was in control of the situation - she was fine. Just fine. Fine.
She pushed the car door behind her, listening as it slammed shut. But she noticed no movement of the car...
A second slam.
Christine spun around, only to see Josh making his way to her.
 No! What was he doing?
 Surely... Not after so long, could someone intend to hurt her again? After she had finally recovered from... It wasn't as if he was going to hug her. No... He wouldn't do anything of the sort. Most likely wanted to confront her. Yes. That was it.
"What are you doing?" shouted Christine as he approached.
"You deserve this, Christine!" Josh yelled back, deranged. He was already too close to her - she wouldn't be able to escape easily. Deserve what? No... He had said that... 
 She knew full well what his intent was. Why... Why had she let herself be a victim again... How...
He was very shaky with his movements - Christine could tell he was inexperienced, he had never done anything like this before. He was unsure. Maybe she could use this to her advantage. No - she had to use this to her advantage. His hand inevitability made way towards her too short neon skirt. 
She was frozen. This... This brought it all back too clearly.
"See, look, you want this, don't you?" Josh murmured. Christine couldn't physically move, she was still, completely still. 
Come on, Christine, come on...
Christine only felt hate for this man in front of her, this vile creature... men were no different from one another, only looking out to hurt people. To destroy them. They were all filthy, disgusting pigs. Disgusting. He made her feel disgusted... The same, nauseated feeling she had felt so long ago now struck her again, and it felt like salt in a fresh wound. 
Would she be able to block it out, like before? Did she have the strength? 
Why, why was Josh doing this? It couldn't be Christine's fault. Many girls act in that manner, that strong independent manner, and they do not suffer in such a way...
But... They wouldn't just stand here and wait for a unprepared, clumsy attempt of rape to be over and done with. They'd fight back, wouldn't they? 
COME ON, CHRISTINE! FIGHT BACK!
What was this new found power? Her limbs came back to life, no longer limp. She was doing it... She was fighting back...
 Christine began to struggle, throwing her arms about and kicking her legs. This shocked Josh, whom loosened his already slack grip. It took all of her will to move, to escape - but she did it. She took her chance and ran.
But she could sense Josh close behind her, and she could also sense that he was much quicker. Her tall heels did her no favours, and slowed her. 
BEEEEEEP!
Christine looked to her side, and a poorly lit object was coming closer with a great speed. No! A car? At this rate, she was going to be hit! Never before had Christine met a human being with the same rate of misfortune as herself. This was unreal... it was all happening so quickly-
She ran with every last bit of energy she had left in her, praying she was out of range of the car. After running what she thought was a safe distance away from Josh and the car, she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting.
BANG!
She hadn't made it. She was hit. She was dead.
No pain - Christine felt no pain. Was it... That easy? To die? It couldn't be... and it wasn't. No, nothing was that easy with Christine.
Her relief was short lived once she opened her eyes only to see the dark, dank street once again. Now she just had to wait for Josh to pounce on her, to strip her dignity from her, all over again. It would be much easier for him now she was exhausted, both mentally and physically.
Maybe she was supposed to wait in front of that car. To let it hit her. Maybe she would have been doing herself a favour. But... Where was Josh? 
Something in Christine's head clicked. The car had hit someone, something - and it wasn't herself that took the blow.
Christine spun around, and almost shrieked at the sight before her. She had half expected to see a corpse, a bloody scene... but not as gruesome as what it was.
Josh was sprawled out on the floor, drowning in his own blood. He looked twisted and broken, and one of legs seemed to bending in an unnatural direction... In fact, all of them were. The blood shone dark crimson even in the barely lit street. It was quite beautiful...
Christine drew closer to Josh with curiosity, slowly, inspecting his injuries.
The amount of blood... It was astonishing. The colour. The injuries... They... They were intriguing. He was like a work of art, almost. She was slowly noticing more and more details on the painting - she could sit and stare for hours and still be entertained. His intestines spilled from his body, and it didn't warm Christine to know his insides were the same as hers. She wanted to open him up, to find some abnormality. Some evil.
Christine, as she began to see the true extent of his injuries, felt... almost satisfied. They made her feel content - safe - but she was scared too. Never had she experienced such a rush... Such fear yet exhilaration. Was it adrenaline? Shock? Was it normal to feel what she did?
She couldn't think, or move. But she could feel - feel everything, the stagnant air that was now a soft breeze, and everything became clearer, and Christine was in utter bliss. And the best part was, she didn't feel an ounce of guilt. She was enjoying something guilt free, something she hadn't done for a good while. Oh, what she was experiencing! She let it consume her. Then she was struck with an epiphany. This was her - this is what she is. 
"All scum, the filthy little rapists like you deserve a fate like this!" snarled Christine, using Josh's previous words, finding her voice. In fact, she found more than that. She found her laughter, real true laughter. "And I'll make sure they do!"
And in that split second decision, hate guided Christine onward.

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...