The smell of cheap vodka fills my lungs and brings back hazy memories. Short skirts,tanned legs-the silhouettes of warm bodies swaying against each other as they tried to lose themselves in the fuzziness of the alcohol. I wince and gag slightly. The burning smell brings back memories and conjures nostalgia both good and bad.
Of course it won’t be anything compared to the eye watering fumes that will fill the house soon enough.
I reach into my pocket and pull out a grubby zip lighter. I make sure that almost everything has been drenched in the cheap clear alcohol, so acidic and vile it could be mistaken for paint stripper. My hands wrap around the cool glass bottle and I tip back the dregs into my mouth. I’ll need the liquid strength.
First the curtains, the flames catch from the lighter and consume the fabric almost instantly. I watch them flare up and set alight the couch as well to be sure. The cream couch turns a charred black as the fire spreads. Soon it’ll tiptoe its way up the carpeted stairs and tiptoe into his bedroom. By that time he could well have been slayed by smoke inhalation – but one can always hope he’ll be conscious when the flame blankets his bed.
In my fist I clutch the smoke alarm batteries as though they are diamond, not aluminium. The smoke begins to curl around the room and I smile softly to myself. I’m high on fumes of vengeance and drunk on satisfaction. I have an alibi and even if that falls through I’ll still gladly smile in the mugshot. They’ll vilify me, I know, but the only consolation I need is a headstone engraved with that prick’s pretentious name.
I practically dance walking out the door and into the night.
Make me the villain all you want but know you’re painting on the canvas of the patriarchy. He ruined me. He left me lying on the ground like a dirty washcloth. Disinterested in what 10 minutes before he held down as it struggled beneath him.
I’d cradled myself for months, feeling broken and fragile like a cracked piece of china no one wanted anymore. I couldn’t escape it. It was as if my body was a cage and I was trying to claw my way out unsuccessfully, I was trapped in an unending cycle of sore red eyes and waking up, my hair matted with sweat from the flashbacks that would creep into my dreams.
The stares seeped into the back of my head like tar. “Little sl*t,” they’d snicker. “Had it coming,” some would mutter almost pityingly .
This is the closest I will get to justice. Even if I’d gone to the police the little prick didn’t deserve whatever sappy punishment daddy’s lawyer negotiated for him. I watch the flames blaze through the upstairs window. As the flames engulfed the house I felt free for the first time in months. I’d found my peace.
