Short Story

Short Story: The Exploding Bedroom

The room exploded.

Pens, dirty clothes, CD’s, a chair, bedding – all shot about in a whirlwind of rage.

At the centre of it, a malevolent entity, filled with such a damning ferocity that it made the blood from her head drain into her feet.

Her back was to the wall and only after he had finally exhausted his flinging and shouting did he stalk towards her.

She stood wide-eyed and aghast. Never in her life had she seen such temper exerted by a grown man. Now, it was concentrated in the look in his stone cold eyes.

His face loomed suddenly too close to hers, his dirty breath heavy and rasping through his teeth.

“When do I have to start throwing you round the room instead?” he snarled.

Her mouth bobbed open and shut like an absurd fish, gasping. Her brain couldn’t articulate what had happened, let alone supply her with answers.

Quick as lightening, loud as thunder, his fist connected suddenly with the wall immediately above her head.

BANG

She instinctively flinched and shrunk as much as she could with his body all but touching hers and acting as a human wall, robbing her of movement.

Or escape.

“When does it have to stop being the wall?” he growled, spittle flying at her face, forcing her to wince.

This cannot be happening this cannot be happening this cannot be happening…

He stepped back, his fists clenched and his breathing rapid. The murderous look scrawled on his face remained and as she looked on in horror as she saw how, for the first time since the room had exploded, his features had changed.

Gone was the handsome young man, the love of her life and in his stead was this vicious, snarling, angry monster. His twisted mouth and clenched brow rendered him repulsive. She hadn’t dreamt it was possible for him to ever look ugly to her eyes, but for the first time, he was.

She stole herself away from the room, her fight-or-flight instinct kicking in and sending her in the direction of the latter. She quickly snatched up her blue suede bag from his little dingy living room and fled through the front door.

She held on tight to the banister as she left the flats – quickly and calmly as if following a mental drill. No one could know. No one could see this.

One foot in front of another one foot in front of another one foot in front of another…

The fresh air mauled her as she stepped out into daylight, leaving the darkness behind. Her mind back-flipped and careened. He didn’t mean it. He loved her. He wanted to marry her. He’s just having a bad time of it. He’s feeling low. It’s okay, he’ll see he did wrong and say sorry.

But sorry never came.

A real sorry never, ever came.

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