Blur to Black.

The power of the front entryway pummeling shut blew an untidy load of printed material into a snowstorm of bills and booklets. Charlie burst into the lounge room, nostrils flaring like a bull and caught her hard by both shoulders.

"Diana", he shouted, "you bitch!"
"How could you do it? I can't trust you, you killing bovine." He slapped her pointedly over the face, his own cheeks stinging with anger. "I thought we'd sorted everything out. We were going to have this child and be an appropriate family. My infant, how might you be able to dispose of my infant, without letting me know? I'm going to make you lament that for whatever remains of your life."

She shook, not able to resist the heaviness of his harsh, unforgiving hands round the back of her slim neck. A little fuss got away from her lips, white with apprehension and this set him off once more. He slapped her afresh, this time on the other cheek. Noiseless tears followed their way through the vigorously connected establishment on her hot, dishonorable face.

"Now that it's gone, you would do well to return to work tonight and procure me some fair cash, you slutty little prostitute. That infant had a fortunate getaway from you", he included. She brought down her head, feeling the heaviness of his hands lift as he strolled towards the kitchen of the small level.

It was no home to her. For it to be a home, didn't you need to have some kind of love and adoration? There was just depression, dread and despising here. She could run, however, as he would regularly remind her, there was no place to take cover. Although, she would have possessed the capacity to stow away inside her head and her heart. Presently, she was annihilated, uncovered, and blown separated like a vast shot injury, bleeding and crude. Her own flaw, she yielded, for getting on the amusement in any case; however nobody should be assaulted, significantly less to consider a guiltless youngster simultaneously.

She said thanks to God, the customer had never discovered and she had possessed the capacity to persuade Charlie that the unborn was his. She knew, most likely he would have added homicide to his criminal records in the event that he'd ever gotten a wind of it. He slumped back to the troubling, stained seat and tumbled onto it, a brew in one hand and started to unfasten his belt.

"Gracious God, no", she thought. "Not at the present time." She was still sore and hurt from the tragedy that morning. "Get here" he menaced. She knew it would benefit nothing to won't. "Bow down", he requested. She brought down herself before him, anticipating that he would remove his trousers. "Remove my belt". She went along, her hands trembling. He held up. His eyes were promptly taken prisoner by a crazed look, as the belt slammed against her sanctuary, her eyes, mouth, jaw – all crushed to pieces to match her effectively broken, sobbing heart.

She fell at his feet, he conveyed a last blow and left her there in a folded stack among the letters, now red, with her leaking blood. He exchanged onto the TV, sliding, inclined on the lounge chair; and as the dark screen brought forth its kaleidoscope picture, she shut her swollen eyes and blurred to dark.