Evelyn
My head is pounding, and I can’t figure out why. The last thing I remember is turning to see April. The look on her face… I remember the look she gave me. Disgust and burning hatred.
Why is she angry? I think to myself as I open my eyes; sweat coats my skin, the fluorescent light blares down on me, making my eyes hurt.
I can smell a strong coppery smell, feel something trickling down the side of my face. I try to reach up before panic kicks in. Why are my hands zipped tied to a chair? I pull on my restraints, trying to put the pieces together, trying to remember but coming up blank. I know I was going to see Lana. I know I saw April, but why is she so mad? My wrists start bleeding; the zip ties cutting into my flesh.
As I look around, I don’t recognize anything, and I have no idea where I am or how I got here. The floor is concrete and cold under my bare feet; my ankles are also zip-tied to the wooden chair. The room smells damp and cold, and I am facing a wall. Craning my neck, I try to figure out where I am. Is this a nightmare I am yet to wake up from? Nothing makes sense; how did I get into this situation?
Argh, I wish my head would stop hurting; it is pounding to its own beat. The more I move, the more I can feel the warm trickling of blood, hear it dripping off me onto the ground, my shirt drenched.
Hearing a noise, I try to crane my neck to see who has entered. They are behind me in my blind spot; I can see their shadow on the wall ahead, just standing there. Goosebumps rise on my skin, and shivers run up my spine.
Suddenly the chair is turned; the wood creaks on the floor as I come face to face with April. “April?”
“Don’t look so shocked, Evelyn; what did you expect to happen?” she asks, and my eyes fall to what is clutched in her hand, a baseball bat, coated in blood.
“Where is Lana?” I ask, trying to remember why I am down here. Is she here?
“Lana is at the hospital.”
“Hospital? What did you do to her?” I ask, and I can see an evil glint in her eye. She looks deranged, not at all the well-together woman she usually is.
“I did nothing to her. You are the one that did something, you slut. You ruined my family. You are nothing but a home-wrecking whore, seducing my husband,” she spits at me. I mean literally spits on me.
“I did not seduce your husband!”
She slaps me. The force whips my head to the side, my skin stings, and my ears ring.
“Two fucking years, I watched him lay in a coma for what you did, because he wouldn’t leave me for you. You spiteful bitch, you burned our home down and nearly killed him!” she screams, grabbing my throat with her hands. The bat falls to the ground with a thump.
Her grip tightens as she crushes my windpipe. I struggle, trying to loosen my hands. She is full of burning rage, her nails dig into my skin, tearing through the flesh as I try to breathe around her grip. She suddenly lets go and moves her hair out of her face, wiping her hands on her jeans. I gasp for air, sucking in each breath to fill my lungs.
“You thought you could have him, and when you couldn’t, you tried to kill him and take him from me.”
I shake my head at her words. “He is alive? Is that what he told you?” I breathe, trying to catch my breath.
“You really thought you could kill him? A man as strong as him? He suffered from what you did. Burns to seventy percent of his body. Two years he spent in a coma, another two years and he still can’t leave the hospital. You ruined him; you ruined me!” she screams, and I flinch at her anger, her hands outstretched like she is about to strangle me again. She laughs at my reaction. She is enjoying my fear, enjoying what she is doing to me.
“He lied. I never seduced him.”
“Whore! You think I will believe you over my husband? No wonder no one wanted you, always the throw-away child.” She chuckles, pacing. Nothing I say is going to make her believe me; make her see him for what he is. She continues pacing, muttering under her breath, pulling at her hair in frustration.
“April, just let me leave. Untie me. You will never have to see me again,” I tell her, and she shakes her head.
“I tried. I tried to forgive you. I really did, but it is too late now; I have to do this. I need to do this. You must die for what you did. But first, you need to suffer,” she says, stopping her pacing and looking around the room.
My eyes follow her, and my heart skips a beat when she stops in front of a wall full of different tools. What is she looking for? What happened to the woman who was kind and willing to help anyone? I struggle to understand how someone, who used to be sweet, loving, and understanding could now be so manic and cruel.
April grabs a hammer off the shelf, turning it in her hand as she walks toward me. I struggle against my restraints as she kneels in front of me.
“What are you doing, April? You don’t need to do this. I can explain if you would just listen,” I beg her as she brings the hammer down on my foot, my toes breaking.
I scream, but she doesn’t stop. She repeatedly hits my foot till every toe is broken, and I am fairly sure it’s the end of my foot; I can feel my foot swelling painfully. My screams echo against the wall, and my voice becomes hoarse as tears stream down my face. She stands up, looking down at what she did, then rushes to the sink in the corner to throw up. All I can do is try and breathe, breathe through the pain, and sob.