Cliche

Imagine being a gorgeous woman in high heels, a wine red dress and a cross necklace hanging down from your neck, shaking as you take your smooth steps..  Your name is Angelica Rose. Men can't keep their eyes off you and get dangerous thoughts even getting a glance of you... Little did they know what is waiting for them.

You get ready late in the evening, put on your popping red lipstick and grab your nightmare black purse.

The moment you stand in-front of the door of your "loving husband" a smirk showing 4 pointy teeth so sharp they are able to rip trough cows skin starts forming on your perfect face.

You ring the doorbell of the attractive white mansion. It makes a beautifull pure sound, not like ordinary ones.

After half a minute of waiting a handsome man with the highest quality of clothing opens the door.

You enter the mansion and follow your husband to the ginormous library.

Theres a modern, welcoming sofa next to a small table with 2 glasses of pink wine from 1965 and the bottle inbetween.

You sit down as he hands you the glass.

He starts talking with you with you.

"I heard you fired the maid. Sabrina, if i'm correct?"

You look at him with a cold empty face. It's not like he's used to anything different.

You pour the pink drink in your mouth, tasting the new expensive liquid sliding down in your throat.

"Don't you know why my dear?" You say in a calm tone.

You can tell by his face he understands.

About a month ago you found out he had cheated on you with several woman, including the maid, Sabrina.

After a long silence he places his hand on your thigh with a disgusting smirk on his face. You can't help but smile at the thoughts of revenge that are starting to form inside your head.

He continues to speak slowly moving hes fingers on you.

"You know i'm sorry for what i did Engelica... She was just a maid, she didn't mean anything to me."

He says speaking in a seducing calm voice.

You cant believe this same man used to call you his everything, a heavens gift and his wife.

The anger inside of you starts boiling up again as you grab his wrist and pull him off of you.

"I know what more things you did my dear, i'm not a careless woman that's a fan of forgiving.. I should've done this way back."

You speak and grab the wine bottle without a second thought and hit it down on the table making the bottom shatter.

You stab the man in his chest with the sharp remains of the bottle without hesitating, oddly having a big grin and shining tears on your face.

You expected it being harder and more painfull to do this.

You clean up the evidence, clean your hands and leave the mansion.

You feel your dress sticking onto your skin because of the wet blood.

"Good thing i chose the red one.."

I begin writing every time a new story inspires me but I can never find the words to tell the world what happened so many years ago.I always ask myself why am I not as strong as these other women? Why can’t I ever get the words out my mouth? Am I ashamed ? Does this define me and the choices I make? All these questions and yet I can never find the answers or seek the help that I so desperately need. I think that every girl has a story to tell, whether it’s been an unwanted kiss, touch or full blown pain of facing the truth that they’ve so long denied. Does this define who i am, well I don’t really know I just assume that it does because subconsciously it’s there taunting at me… don’t speak the truth it says, don’t tell nobody it says, no one will believe you it says. But on the outside I throb with that feeling of wanting to be wanted so does that mean that this defines me.

Does that mean that because I said no so many times over and over again as a little girl that I have grown up to want the same very thing I agonized as a child. Just touch me here, kiss me there I plea ignoring the feeling, and thoughts that once brought me pain. Don’t be so rough, but hold me down, don’t bite me too hard, but slap me up. All the things that I didn’t want but all the things that seem so natural to me.

    I was only 11 years old when my own uncles gateman  sexually molested me. I don’t know why it happened to me.  I couldn’t say anything except the areas were he touched me, and the whole time I sat there crying on the cushion. After a few weeks,  And until about at least 2 months did my brother and I actually start talking to each other again. It just pains me every day, that I have to live with the fact that I was molested, and that all I ever got out of it was, And haven’t told anyone, because of the name my parents will call me. It’s never affected me until I 13 and I got depressed. Even then, my parents didn’t even realize what was going on in my head. Am in secondary school now a boarding student. and each day that passes, I have to think to myself everything I went through and that people don’t even understand anything that’s actually happened to me. 4 years after the incident, I was arguing with my dad and he said, “stop acting like an abused child.” Completely him not knowing I was actually an abused child. So my response, while crying hysterically was «FUCK YOU»»  i try to stay strong and keep telling my self that i shouldn’t let this man make me become a different person… Love you