A fictional piece

***To be absolutely clear, this is a fictional piece that bubbled it's way out of my head. I just wanted to put it up here so that I could gauge a response. So let me know if you like it or have any ideas.

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what events brought me to this point. As I stood holding a gun, trembling, pointing the barrel squarely at his head as he slept, my palms were sweaty and an ice cold bead of perspiration drew a slimy line down my spine, like a slug in the dead of winter. Years of torment, berating and abuse both physical, emotion and sexual welled up inside of me. I was tired of being the victim. I wanted him to feel the burn of embarrassment and the cold hand of rejection slap him upside the head. He would certainly feel that if the butt of the gun came down on his skull. I wouldn’t kill him. I couldn’t. If I did, I would be no better than he. I would only maim him so he would have to live with his ugliness on the outside. I turned the gun and rammed the butt into his cheekbone. His face cracked.

Four years earlier, Charlie and I were married in a shotgun wedding of sorts. I barreled toward a toxic relationship with a relief that I would be out from under an overbearing and manipulative mother without regard to the horrors that I opened myself to by trusting a man who resorted quickly to manhandling and name calling when his way was not granted. His insecurity and complete lack of care for my feelings was a small price to pay to escape a tyrannical Ice Queen who took out the anger of her own childhood abuse on the children she claimed to love. She had hollowed out her husband, my father, into a ghost of a man and created another child, my sister, who eyed everything with jealousy and hateful disdain. I was left feeling utterly alone and unloved. Any attention was better than nothing and moving out into a place of my own with no one to answer to sounded wonderful. It wasn’t long before a steel-toed boot shattered that wistful dream.