She Belongs to Me (Rewritten Version)

Chapter Twenty Three

Emily:

My body trembled as the man's blood spilled on to my shirt, his eyes wide open in shock as he grabbed on to me before tumbling down to the floor. His legs twitched violently, and he used his hand to try to prevent the blood from spilling out, but within a couple of seconds he stopped moving.

I stumbled back from the pool of blood threatening to soak my bare feet, covering my mouth to keep the bile down. "Oh, Vincent.  What did you do?"

He looked as horrified as I felt. The knife fell from his hand, and he sank to his knees. My instincts begged me to make a run for it while he was in the state of shock, but my feet were glued to the floor.

This man, my potential savior, was dead because of me. If I would have stayed quiet, he might still be alive. How was I going to be able to cope with this massive guilt? The last three weeks of pretending to love Vincent have been for absolutely nothing.

Something in Vincent's eyes changed when he was finally able to break his gaze away from the corpse, and he looked at me with terrifying hatred.  "This is all your fault, Emily."  He seized a clump of my hair and dragged me towards the closet.  "You should've kept your mouth shut.  He's dead because of you!"

"I wasn't the one who killed him!"  I cried, though the guilt inside of me was very real. "He was trying to help you, and you fucking slit his throat!"

He threw me in the closet so hard I fell down to the hard floor, standing above me with his fists clenched by his sides. "You're going to pay for this!" He said, raising his hand in the air to hit me.

I braced myself for the beating by squeezing my eyes shut, but it never came. He heaved a frustrated sigh and slammed the door behind himself. I was left in the dark to fear his next move.  Part of me hoped he would kill me and put me out of my misery once and for all.  I laid down on the floor and began weeping.

I thought about my family and how worried they must be.  My father was probably hounding the cops day and night to find me, while my mother had to mask her feelings to comfort Robbie. 

I would give anything in the world to be with them.

Why didn't I find a way to kill Vincent?  I could've shattered the mirror and stabbed him in the neck.

My cowardice was the reason that man was dead.

What would people say when they found out?

Would they really blame me?

Those were the thoughts that haunted me until I cried myself into a cruel, nightmare filled slumber.

I was awakened when the closet door opened, the dim light from the basement shining in my eyes. I bolted up and backed into a corner as Vincent came towards me with the roll of duct tape in his hands.

His chest was bare, and I could see his shirt rolled up behind him.  It was drenched in blood.  "You don't want to fight me right now."  He said calmly, "Step towards me and turn around."

I did as I was told, keeping silent as he wrapped his hand around my arm and ushered me up the stairs and into the kitchen.  There was a white bedsheet sprawled across one of the chairs, and the table had a bottle of hair bleach and blonde hair dye. 

I could feel my knees buckle.  "Vincent, what are-"

"Hush."  He moved the sheet and sat me down in the chair.  "Put your hands behind your back."

I obeyed him again, cringing as he bound my hands together with the sticky tape. I remained still and quiet, not fighting him as he wrapped it around my mouth. There was no point in angering him more.