Thread: Caught Red-Handed (Cheshire Smirk & Angel)

Rebecca had been pushed down for far too long by her husband, had been pushed around and she had allowed it to go on, thinking it was just normal, thinking, perhaps, if he loved her enough, he would stop and he would change. Yet, in the two years she had been with him, had he? NO! Now, Rebecca was the typical shy, quiet girl who didn't like to be violent, and who rarely stood up for herself, but there was a point in time when she had just snapped, it was a few nights ago. After her husband had dished her out another few slaps, a few kicks, and had demanded that he cooked her dinner, and then later that night came begging to her for forgiveness, she snapped. She planned and schemed for a few nights, and days, working out how she could kill him, and she knew that it was morally wrong, that, perhaps, she should just get the police, but she wanted him out of her life for good, permanently. So she could always tell the police it was self-defense if she was caught. Finally, the night came, he had stumbled through the door, drunk again and she knew that it would be another violent night. She had his handgun tucked away in her waist line of her pants, with the shirt pulled down over it so that he couldn't see it and she was cooking dinner as he stumbled into the kitchen and over to her, slurring heavily, as he slapped her on the rear. Hey baeeee, what's thaaaa for inner? The smell of whiskey on her breath, made Rebecca recoil and she trembled slightly as she turned around. Her face paled to a ghostly white, but she was determined to stand up for herself, just to give him one more chance to change. Don't do that to me, I am sick of your shit, John, you either need to stop or.....or......or I'll......l...leave you. Her voice quivered at the end of the sentence as a tremble went through her. She saw his face turning a beet red with anger and his hand snapped out, closing around her throat, as he begin to yell obscenities at her, while pushing her back against the counter, pushing her down, until she could feel the heat of the stove, and he kept pushing her down. Oh god, was he going to burn her? She had to react, but black dots were dancing in front of her eyes and she was coughing violently, clawing at his hands to try to get him to let go. She tore one hand free, gripped the gun, pulled it out and she tried to aim, hearing the shot echo around the house. She felt his grip loosen as he fell back on the floor, blood pouring out from the hole in his head. Her eyes widened and she dropped the gun, straightening up, as she put a hand over her mouth, a scream piercing the air. Did she actually just do that ? She didn't mean to, well, she did, but she was panicked, and she was afraid that he would end up killing her if she didn't. Still weakened from the lack of air, she stumbled forward, her knees buckling under her as she fell to her knees, coughing as the scream finally died out. Her face was a pale white with fear as she looked up, suddenly seeing a figure standing in the kitchen. He looked angry, why was he angry? Was he a cop? She was panicked and coughing as she bent over, trying to catch her breath, her long raven locks hiding her ivory colored and oval shaped face from view. Her piercing, blue eyes flickered to the dead body of John and for a moment she thought she might be sick as her eyes flickered again to the gun that had killed him, and flickered to the blood that was splattered across the kitchen, as she momentarily forgot about the figure. Her long, thin, delicate fingers reached up to touch her neck as her slender, but curvaceous form remained bent over. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans that hugged her waist, and a tight red tang top, her neck curved down towards her chest where two C cup breasts were cradled by the red tang top, her smooth, ivory colored arms narrow, though, slightly toned, as her chest curved down to her small stomach, which in turn widened out to form broad and wide hips with a rather big bottom, though, it was not disgustingly big. Her hips curved down, forming a V crest in between her legs where the pressed fabric of the jeans creased and hugged her inner thighs, as her legs swooped down to form two narrow, slightly toned legs, her black high heels revealing a few toes and the slightly curved form of her foot as she looked up, finally, aware that she was not alone. She had, had time to calm down, though, she still felt sick as the figure came into her vision as her vision cleared and became sharper. She saw that the figure was a man, a man who was angry. Who was he? How did he get in? Was he here the entire time? Why was he angry? Was he with the police? The questions raced through her head, as panic gripped her again, and she felt her gut clench in fear as she looked up at the figure, trying to find her voice, and when she finally did, it came out hoarse, followed by a violent cough, who.......who......who are y....y...you?