Interracial short story surrounding a couple trying to overcome a rough patch in their relationship due to do Evie’s deep insecurities with any woman coming near her boyfriend, Warren, until one of her actions, sends her running and almost costs her – her life.

Evelyn fought fainting. Surely her heart would give out and she would die here on the spot. How much more terror could shock her body before it shut down on her? She placed one foot against the open door runner pushing back with all the strength she had. That strength was steadily draining. Exhaustion was going to take her, and then they would. She wondered suddenly, where would they find her body? How long would it take before they found it? Or even yet, would they find it? She wondered how long would it take her to die? How would they go about killing her? And when she could not be found, would Warren care? Was he even looking for her? Did he know she was about to die? She whimpered in her misery, because she couldn’t fight any more. Her clothes were ripped, her body burned and throbbed and nobody seemed to care that she was a human being. That what they were doing to her was wrong, that it was hurting her. Upon that thought. Her life flashed before her eyes.

She remembered all the times she wanted to live up to what her mother and father expected of her and had obviously failed often. Because her mother had always seemed to find some type of fault in what she did. She remembered her mother always dressing her up in the best of clothing, only to tell her. “Well, that’s the best I can do for you. Looking like your father, there’s not much I can do about your looks.” She remembered trying so hard to find something that would bring pleasure to her mother when she looked at her, so she got high grades.

But her mother said, “All the girls that look like you get good grades.” She had to remember to sit up straight, because, “A slouched back does little good in complimenting those expensive clothes you’re wearing. The least that you could do is appreciate what I do for you. How hard I work to make something halfway decent out of you.” It never ever stopped. Soon as she grew older, she realized that for some reason, her mother was jealous of her. Jealous because she was young, and pretty. She was attractive, even though she looked like her father. More so than she. Then she realized that her mother criticized everyone. Found something wrong with everyone but herself. Put people down. Pulled them down. Belittled them, if they appeared to be something more, or better, or prettier, or richer, or weaker. She hurt them. As she, herself had learn to do. As she’d done. She’d fulfilled her father’s words. And now, it was being done to her, for similar reasons.

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