Snippet #2224711

Donald frowned. The effort he was making to control his anger was too big. He would give anything to be able to shout, slap Victoria, punch her, kick her pretty face until it became monstrous. On a quiet Monday morning, though, with someone at home, and on top of all with the girl away from school at his own request, it would be too much of a risk. Carina did not count when she was there, of course, he only had to give her his spare cash and she would be quiet, but even his mother, who always closed her eyes to whatever wrong he did, would probably not let him get away with beating his girlfriend up in their home. He considered gagging her so she could not scream, but her family would try and find out the truth if she came home from school with bruises and cuts, not to mention getting rid of her later would be a headache.

In fact, getting rid of her was already a headache, as Donald told himself miserably before throwing the syringe on the room's door, shoving Victoria to the side and nearly jumping up from the bed. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea, he thought, and the thought left a bitter "I told you so" taste in his mouth, even though no one had told him anything. It felt as if the small responsible and rational part of his brain he always suppressed had been telling him not to do it from the start, but he had chosen to ignore it. He shoved the thought aside as well, and considered gagging it too, before letting all the air out through his mouth and moving his hand over the top of his head worriedly. He knew that, the longer she stayed there, the harder it would be not to hit her, and the more she could possibly found out about... her small discovery. He would save all his anger for a more propitious occasion, to make sure she paid for what she had done; for now, all he had to focus on was getting her as far from there as possible, as quickly as possible. He turned to look at her.

"You must leave." He could not even get himself to whisper anymore; it was all he could do not to scream. "Can you sneak out without being seen or heard, or will you fail on this too?", he asked, trying to sound severe and unconcerned, begging she would not notice his tension and anxiety; that was usually what he expected her to feel when she had misbehaved. If she noticed, she could take advantage of him, and he would hate to see such an inversion on the way of things. "There's a back door on the laundry area, it's the door next to the kitchen. I'll get my mother to my room while you hide on that bathroom down the hall, then you go downstairs while she's here and leave. Key's on the keyhole. You didn't park your car too close to here, did you?, she would have said something, and I'd have seen you coming more easily. You can probably sneak out without calling too much attention, and the curtains on my window are drawn anyway. Don't go back to school, you're sick. Don't go home, you're at school. Just... hang somewhere. But not around here. Do it!"

He started walking toward the door, but turned around again. "Oh, I'll keep this", he said, patting her mobile phone on his pocket. "Let's see what other messages you've been getting and sending. And don't think you escaped. You'll get yours... just wait."