I gripped the phone receiver between my slender fingers, staring fearfully around the dark room as I waited desperately for an operator, for anyone, to answer my call.
My face had been disfigured with ghastly bruises. My fingertips bled. My lips quivered. My bottom lip bled from a cut. My eyes were swollen. My palms had been slit by the blade of a butcher knife.
I could hear footsteps coming up behind me in the hallway. I hoped that someone would hurry up and answer.
I needed someone to pick up the phone and save me.
I began to panic. What was taking so long?
My breathing had become low and whispery.
I could almost feel myself gasping for air.
I was squatted in a corner in the kitchen, underneath the phone which hang on the wall.
“Hello. New Castle Beach Police Department,” a female voice answered finally while the sound of ringing phones, muffled voices and typewriters played on in the background.
“Help me! Help me!” I pleaded, trying to keep my voice low.
“Calm down,” the operator told me.
“I can’t!” I insisted, “My boyfriend’s trying to kill me!”
“Calm down,” the operator repeated, this time in a more soothing voice. “Where are you now, ma’am?” she whispered.
“2806 Silver Lake Drive. Please, hurry.”
“Ma’am, you have to calm down,” the operator said, her voice rising to something like a harsh whisper. “I’m dispatching a unit now, but you’re going to have to stay on the line.”
Suddenly, the house grew silent.
It was the most deafening silence I had ever heard in my life.
It was the kind of silence that hurt.
Then, the phone line went dead.
“Hello!” I whispered, my voice filled with fear, “hello!” But there was no answer. Only silence. Deep, deafening silence filled the air.
I wanted to cry out; to scream.
But who was I kidding?
There was no one in that house except for myself and Brad.
That’s when I felt the cold lead press up against the side of my head.
I slowly turned my face to catch a glimpse of my pursuer.
Of Brad.
“No!” I screamed, the receiver dropping from my hands.
Brad knelt down beside me, his index finger held close to his lips as if to shush me.
I could feel the hot tears well up in my eyes as he moved his hand up to my head to stroke my hair.
At that moment, I wished that I could just run away.
I didn’t want him to touch me.
“I love you so much, Jenny. I really hate it had to come to this,” he whispered in a voice so soft. So angelic.
“Why? Why are you doing this?” I asked, his finger resting gently on the trigger.
“Because,” he began, gently pulling the trigger back.
I closed my eyes. I could feel the pressure of the gun on the side of my head.
Felt him squeeze the trigger once again.
The bullet flew out.
It felt like I had been struck by lightning.
All I could think about as I prepared to take what would be my final breaths was the beautiful ring on my finger.
What was the purpose of that ring?
Why did he kneel before me and ask me to marry him if he had no intentions of following through with a wedding?
Why did he want to hurt me so bad?
What had I done to him besides love him?
I turned to look at him one more time before I closed my eyes.
I couldn’t believe that it had come to this.
I wasn’t ready to die yet. I had so much that I still had yet to do.
But, it was too late.
I was dead. The boy I had fallen so madly in love with, had killed me.
“I did love you,” he finished as he watched me lay peacefully on the floor.
“I loved you to death.”
Epilogue
Brad was present at my funeral as if he had done nothing wrong. He wore a black suit and a really nice tie.
I picked out that tie.
Megan was there on his arm, crying as if she really cared about me.
She even wore the traditional black dress as a sign of mourning.
Her belly was getting pretty big, so that was one thing Brad had managed to be truthful about.
And the ring she wore on her finger looked a whole lot like the one Brad had picked out for me.
The two of them sat right next to my mom and dad on the front row. My sister sat on the second pew.
I already knew that my sister would never sit next to him.
Not even death could bring her to do that.
It was funny how the police so far had not been able to link Brad to my murder.
But then, his parents had the power to make a lot of things disappear.
Even a murder rap.
Money did that sometimes.
Especially when your precious son’s football career was at stake.
But that’s another story.
The sad part was, I thought that Brad really loved me.
The way he paraded my around, who wouldn’t think that, right?
Love doesn’t hurt. Love isn’t a sad or scary thing.
And love doesn’t kill.
I had to learn that the hard way.
It’s too late to change it now.
Maybe one day someone will find out that Brad killed me.
Before he has a chance to do the same to someone else.
To all the ‘Brad’s Girls’ out there, get help.
Before it’s too late.
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