As you shake your head back to awareness, you find yourself fidgeting with your .22 mini revolver that sits on the bed beside you, on top of your black suede crystal-embellished bag from Jimmy Choo’s Callie range that you carried the night before. You don’t think that the image of steel, suede and glitters on your satin pillow is strange.
You don’t know how the argument could push you to the edge. You haven’t realized that the small argument was not the main cause of why you are sitting on the bed as you do. You haven’t figured out that it was simply the rotten topping on the sour ice cream, that otherwise insignificant event that would push you to even consider pulling the trigger.
But there is so much more than the obvious.
You didn’t speak up when you realized years before that you were the outlet for his passiveness and overall shyness. You shouldn’t have allowed him to use you.
You should have spoken earlier, instead of worrying about the possible consequences of standing up for yourself, even if it meant talking back to your husband.
At forty-five, you feel there is nothing left. If only you had known then. You would have spoken up, or so you believe now.
Having repressed your thoughts and feelings, you do not think much before you speak. You are either fed up and you don’t care, or you are simply unable to hold your tongue. Either way, where you are currently, being able to express everything you think and feel is a escape from the prison where you held yourself captive in the last twenty-five years.
© Anna Jailene Aguilar, 2019 ( Work-in-progress of/excerpt from “25”)
Thoughts? I am experimenting on second person POV. I don’t even know why I am doing this. I should rather go to my old WIPs and finish them or edit a completed first draft. It must be fear…
Much love and hugs,