amityville_sweetheart: (Cry)
[personal profile] amityville_sweetheart
Warning: Very nasty stuff. Not for the weak of heart. The pup kicked me out of a sound sleep for this, and it's not pretty. You've been warned.

Corrine darts up the stairs to the second-level apartment, clutching the bags to her chest as she makes it in the front door and slams it behind her. "Cops are everywhere, Greg..." she mutters, making her way through the one-bedroom apartment to the kitchenette area.

She drops the bags onto the table, turning towards her boyfriend's back and the television. "Greg? Greg?" She approaches, putting a hand on his shoulder. He moans and slouches a bit, before sitting up to acknowledge her presence.

There's the stench of rum on him, and the box is sitting on the table, open. He's been hitting the angel dust again, but she doesn't know how long ago.



"Where you been, baby?" he giggles, stumbling to his feet. He's drunk again, and high, which probably means the water bill isn't paid. She steps out of his way as he stands, walking over to the table and looking over the contents of the bag. "You got food."

"I stole food," she says quietly. "Someone in Metropolis robbed a bank or some crazy thing, the cops are everywhere. I caught Fatima and Mikey on third, they went with me to the Acme over on fifteenth and we cleaned out the canned goods and fruit."

Greg looks up at her, that stare over at the tops of his eyes. "Mikey played interference for you?" A little grin. "Or Fatima?"

Fuck, she thinks to herself as she backs up a little. "No, Greg. He owed me. Owes you. Remember? Last May, you busted that cop up for him? In Katie's bar? They know I'm your girl, Greg. They'd do it for me."

"I don't remember nothin' like that," he says casually, still perusing through the contents of the bags. He pulls out a peach, going over to the far kitchen drawer. Corrine takes a few more steps back as his hands pulls out a knife. He slices the peach in half, cutting out the pit and tossing it into the sink.

"Mikey don't like me, 'Rine. And you been gone for three days. I wonder what the fuck you could say-- or do-- in three days, 'specially with Mikey bein' around." He takes a few slow steps towards her, never looking up at her as he continues with slicing up the peach. "Maybe you hadda convince him I was a nice guy?"

"No. I don't let any men touch me, Greg. You know." Corrine's eyes move from one end of the room to the other. If she moves quick, she can make it over the couch before he can make it around it-- too much debris, he'd trip as messed up as he is now. Damnit, why did she have to come home now? It's sunday, she should've known he wouldn't be sober. He doesn't go back to the site until tuesday.

She makes the jump, diving over the back of the couch and her fingers are almost on the door knob when Greg's hands are grabbing her hair and pulling her back. She feels a handful leave her skull and she screams, the force of his pull yanking her backwards onto the floor. He's on top of her before she even realizes it, just sitting on her chest. He pins her arms to the floor under his legs.

"Why you runnin' from me, Rine? I was worried about you, you know." He sets the peach and the knife aside, grabbing her face in one hand. "I love you, girl. I took you in, didn't I? Fed you, didn't I? I try to take care of you. It breaks my heart when you lie to me."

"'m not lying, Greg... you're hurting me..."

"You know I don't want to." He runs a hand down her face. "I keep takin' care of you, while you're out taking care of someone else."

Corrine shakes her head, tears starting to fill her eyes as she begins a mantra of "no". Greg shakes his head right back, grinning maniacally at her. "Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah, baby. Rine's been going somewhere else to get hers, and Greg gets to sit here and wait and play stupid. Right? Right? No, not anymore."

He slides down, leaning his face down into the crook of her neck. His breath is hot and uncomfortable, and she pushes up against him frantically but he's stronger than her, forcing her wrists down under his hands and putting a knee right into her hip. "Now we're gonna see, Rine. Now we're gonna see for sure, right? You said you never been nowhere, so let's see."

She's still trying to get away, trying to flip over to her belly and maybe reach his boot on the far end of the couch. He's too heavy, though, pinning her down and limiting her movement. His knee moves to the left, digging into her gut and the back of his fist flies out, catching her across the face. Her eye burns as the force of the blow splits the edge, blood trickling down her face.

"NO!" She screams one last time, and suddenly Greg's shuddering away from her. She can smell burnt hair, and the faint smell of electricity underneath of that. Corrine shuffles backwards, trying to get to her feet. Her hip hurts after his knee grinding painfully into it and she can't see very well, but she finally gets her legs under her.

Greg's stumbling upwards again, close to the knife he left on the floor. Corrine gets to it first, holding it out at him as she backs up towards the wall. "Lemme go, Greg. You're drunk."

"I ain't got nothin' else to do, now do I? You little whore. I know you. You been everywhere, ain't ya? Break my back for a woman that can't even love me." He sneers, darting for her. "You ain't gonna use that."

But she does, swinging her hand around and getting him in the shoulder. He wheels back screaming, falling over his own two feet.

"You..." He looks up at her through blond hair. "You stabbed me. YOU LITTLE CUNT!"

There's blood on him now, and on her, and on the carpet and the knife still in her hands. She moves around him when he makes another run at her, getting him in the mid-back this time and shoving him over the couch. He tumbles down with a thump, screaming and writhing to get at the knife in his back.

She stands still as she watches blood go everywhere and he's desperately trying to get to his feet. He manages to crawl closer and closer to her and she just backs up wordlessly, watching in shock as he begs for help. "Rine... Rine... c'mon, baby..." he whimpers pitifully. "I'd never hurt you."

Corrine shakes her head, swinging her booted leg out and slamming it into his skull. His head thuds to the floor.

"Oh... Oh God..." She stares for a moment, waiting to see if he'll move. He doesn't. "Oh, God..." Her hands grasp at the cross around her neck, the very last thing Greg hadn't forced her to pawn for the money.

Now Greg was dead. Well, she assumed he was dead. Shit. SHIT! She couldn't just leave him here, but she wasn't going to approach him. Indecisive for long moments, she finally conceeds, leaning close to him. His breathing is very shallow and faint but it's there.

She steps over to him, walking to the kitchen table and grabbing a bag of food and the bag of her belongings. She doesn't stop running until she's eight blocks away, then she stops at the payphone on Marcus and 17th and makes the call to 911. She waits by the phone, watching as ambulance leaves Metropolis General headed in the direction of, she assumes, the apartment.

Then she makes the call to Angie, and hopes her sister wants to speak to her after last Christmas dinner's fiasco. She doesn't want to stay in a shelter tonight, and she can't go home again, not to either of them. Money, hopefully, and a hotel room tonight, and she'd be out begging for a job again tomorrow.

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Corrine Bertrand

October 2009

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