My Veronica story

[mirandafan]

It's long, so I only posted the first bit. If anyone likes it enough I will post the rest Just wanted to share some, just because I can lol ;D

Warning: Violence, and Murder
Veronica Scott is not my character, and I couldn't remeber if she ever mentioned her daughters name, so I just made one up please forgive any errors, and remember, it was written in one sitting, so it may not be that good

Cigarette in one hand, other arm sprawled over the dinner mat on the table in front of her, Veronica Scoot winced as her daughter touched the bruise.
“Mom, what did you do?”
She was sick of lying, but looking at the younger women’s concerned expression, she had to shrug it off. “Must of banged it into something by accident,“ She suggested, looking down as she knocked ashes in to a small circular tray.
She was looking a lot less then her old self lately, and her daughter must of thought she was a klutz with all the cuts and bruises she was turning up with. She had to grin at the idea of people putting her in some mental home, thinking she’s gone completely mad and was harming herself.
“What’s so funny?” Her daughter asked, pulling back from her mothers arm, in which instantly, Veronica pulled her long sweat shirt sleeve down again.
“Nothing, I’m just so happy to see you,” She clutched her daughter face in one hand, squeezing her cheeks playfully so that the girl had to squirm away.
“Mom!” She laughed, getting up. “Long as you’re okay, I’m gonna do my homework, then I’m going to see Bill at the diner.”
Veronica nodded. She hadn’t expected Sam to stay for dinner. She was going out a lot lately. The girl kissed her mothers forehead as she passed, through the kitchen arch and down the hall to her bedroom. Veronica finished her smoke, and checked the wall clock. He’d be home soon, and she hadn’t even started cooking.
“Shit,” She mumbled, pulling herself up from the kitchen table. Their kitchen wasn’t very big. It made the shape of a small rectangle, everything with in reaching distance no matter where she stood. She first snatched a few veggies from the fridge, and put them on to the cutting board by the sink. There was a knife rack, with several knifes of different sizes. She took one into her hand, feeling it’s weight as she leveled it over a vegetable, and carved in just as she herd the front door. The knife slipped, slicing her finger.
“Damn it!” She cursed again, quickly wrapping the wound in a dish towel, and moving to the sink to clean it.
The water ran over her open wound painfully, blood running into the drain. Lucky, she kept band aids under the sink, and so knelt to retrieve one. Standing again, and securing a sticky band tightly around her index finger, she looked toward the entry of the small kitchen. It must have been Sam leaving to see her boyfriend. He wasn’t home yet.
She dried her hands against the thighs of her jeans, and returned to the cutting board, surprised she was able to finish her pot roast, and he still hadn’t come to complain to her.
Pouring the stew from the stove and into a bowl, she started out to the kitchen table. And there he sat. Looking impatient, finger nails gritting the table cloth.
Her steady hold on the bowl wavered, some of the sauce spilling over the edge, dribbling onto the wood floor. He watched the single few drops splat at her feet, and so did she. Her eyes then ventured up to look at her husband.
“I’ve been home,” He shrugged, looking at his wrist watch. “Maybe thirty minutes. I’ve been sitting here,” he looked up at her, where she stood still, holding their dinner. “Maybe, twenty more.”
Veronica set the bowl in the middle of the table. She didn’t know what to say. She knew there wasn’t anything she could say. She stroked her finger past her hair, tucking it behind her ears. “Have you? You should have told me you were waiting.”
“I shouldn’t have had to wait!” he snapped, fist slamming so hard against the table that some more of the roasts sauce spilt from the rim of the bowl.
He’d spoken loud enough, that had Sam been in her room still studying, she would have come running. But she didn’t. They were alone. He stood from the table and came toward her. Veronica immediately stiffened, her muscles tightening in their own defense. Her feet took two subconscious steps backwards, nearly running her into the liquor bar.

[EarlyBird]

You already know I love it and you should post moreee:Dxxx

[mirandafan]

Here you go Ali you already read the bulk of it, but I added a bit more

He instantly snatched her by her arms, yanking her body towards his. Numerous times he had told her to have dinner ready when he got home. Just like her demanded the laundry be washed, and the table be set. Their daughter be home and sitting with them for their meal.
“Are you so stupid, that you can’t have dinner done by the time I get home?” He sneered, his face inches from her own before he pushed her backward, the bottles of alcohol keeling over and smashing against the wood floors.
He got even angrier. That was expensive stuff right there. She braced herself against the bar, gripping it tightly, looking down at the broken bottles and the spilt drink, that would save her a million drunken beatings.
And still a hand came to swat her across her face, knocking her back again. She tumbled downward, clutching to the bar to pull herself up. He grabbed her ankle then, yanking her so that she hit her head, as the rest of her body hit the floor. Once she was down he was on top of her, pulling her face up to look at him, his legs pinning her down underneath his bigger body.
“You have anything to say for yourself?’ He asked her, his fingers gripping the skin of her face so hard that she could swear she felt her teeth breaking under them.
Her lips curved, and she spat at him, the mucus hitting him just above his left eye. He shut his eyes, but only for a second before he looked down at her again, face red with frustration. The grip on her face shifted down her neck, gripping at her chest, painfully twisting her breast. She groaned in pain. Her lower body trapped beneath is weight, she pushed at him with her hands, arms stretched fully, her fingers moving upward, shoving at his throat. He was quick to remove the hand slapping it back against the floor, pinning it down, his face coming close to hers again, free hand moving down the length of her body to roughly undo her pants.
“I know how to touch you, Ronnie,” he grinned against the skin of her ear, nose nuzzling against thin red hair. “I know where you hurt the most.”
She squirmed underneath him, her wrist pinned under his hand, her other hand feeling for something, a shard of broken glass perhaps, something the get him off of her. Finding the neck of a broken bottle, she clutches it, but his hand removes itself from inside her pants, and takes it with force.
The next day she stands in the bathroom, looking at the scar that runs from her chest, and across her stomach. It’s not deep enough to have been fatal, he’s made sure of that. He liked her to suffer. But she didn’t think he’d care if he’d killed her by accident.

Left alone in the house all day she did her wifely duties. Vacuumed the carpets, dusted the furniture, strung the rugs over the front porch railing to beat the dust out of them. She then went to the dinning room, finding it was still a wreck. Broken glass, golden liquid having stained the wood, even her blood was still there to be seen. Lucky their daughter never ate breakfast, and so before school, she hadn’t seen the remains from the argument the night previous. She herself hadn’t bothered getting up from bed until he’d left, and he must of only found the arrangement amusing himself.
She knelt and cleaned the mess up, tossing the glass into the trash in a baggy, before taking it all out side, and dumping it. Wiping her hands together, she looked up to see the next door neighbor was mowing his grass. The sound made her head hurt. He waved at her, but she just lowered her head and went back inside, locking the side door after her.
In the kitchen she started dinner. It was only mid day. She lifted a knife from the rack, and looked at the blade, remembering how the glass had felt as it eased down her skin. The smile he had as blood drew forward, the glass jaggedly slicing just enough to cause her veins to burst under it, enough to make her nerves recoil.
Veronica stabbed the end of the knife into the cutting board, clutching her fist around it’s lever. She hung her head, and cried over it, slowly, letting go, and sinking, until she sat down, her back against the counters, her legs tucking up against her chest. She rested her forehead on her knees, and sobbed harder.
“I want to file a report of domestic abuse,” She cradled the phone in her hands, holding the receiver to her ear. He’d be home in less then an hour. She should have waited until tomorrow. Her fingers stroked the skin under her shirt, the skin feeling bumpy in a thin line all the way up her stomach muscles.
“You’re name please?’ The women on the other end of the line asked.
But she’d become distracted, looking out the window as her daughter was coming up the walk way. Their car was pulling up behind her, and she could tell he was in a bad mood as it was. He stopped, yelling something at the girl from the rolled down window of his car.
“Ma’am?” the voice said in her ear. “Can I have a name?”
Veronica watched her husband get out of the car, leaving the engine run as Sam was walking away from him, she looked frustrated, but he looked worse.
Slamming the phone back down she ran to the door, yanking it open as he husband snatched their daughters arm. “Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you!”
“What’s going on?” She was running from the open front door, slowing as she approached then, pulling the girl toward her, and away from him.
“She’s going out again tonight!” he howled.
“My friends are having a party,” Samantha looked at her mother, ignoring her father now.
“I said she can’t go!” he reached for the girl again, but Veronica put herself between them. She knew she’d pay for this later, but he wasn’t about to lay a hand on Sam. Not one finger, not one bad word.
“She’s old enough to go where she wants to,” She said gently, but her eyes were scornful enough to cause him to raise his brows at her.
Sam watched, sizing her parents up.
“She still lives under my roof,” He snapped. “She’ll do as I say. You both will.”
“I don’t have to go,” Sam finally spoke up after her parents seemed to lull into a starring match.
“No,” Veronica looked at her. “You’re going. Go get ready, I’ll drive you.”
Sam was hesitant, but eventually ran into the house. Veronica looked at him, knowing he wouldn’t dare touch her standing in the midst of their front yard, in day light.

[EarlyBird]

:)awww you posted it but no sign of you on yahoo

[EarlyBird]

loved it by the wayxxx

[michaelgiry]

Wow. That was intense and incredibly well done. But now you're making me hate my gender.

[mirandafan]

lol, not intended to make all men out to be bad of course

[Incapability]

This is pretty good, you know. How long is it?

[michaelgiry]

lol, I know. We all aren't. Some are better than most.

[mirandafan]

That's all I've written lol I know I said it would be long, but I got lazy

and yes, that's true, good men are sometimes hard to find, but they're there, and the real rotten ones are few.