Greeting the Ex-

Word Count 100

Iced peas numb my bruised temple. The face staring back at me is disheveled with clear stains of mascara running towards gravity. Tonight he’d tried to make good on his promise, that if I he couldn’t have me, no one would. A low rumble starts in Fritzie’s throat as he stalks toward my bedroom window, fur raised like a hyena’s just before a final fight. Knowing the inevitable, I set my peas down and sit on the edge of my single bed. The sound of the window opening, barely audible. The shade ruffles. I raise my gun to greet him.