fright flight

It is late and she is alone in her cubicle when he steps behind her.  His breath on her neck startles her.  As she jerks back in fright his attentive smile morphs into a pained grimace.  

He curses in react then tries to recoup with obvious effort.  The effort frightens her even more than his sneaking up behind her.  It’s been two years and much has changed for both of them.  He seemed jubilant.  She remained wary. 

“Come away with me,” he coaxed as though no time had passed since they were last together.  In her growing upset she made the mistake of brushing him off like some inconsequential gnat. 

Over 250 pounds of angered irrational hurt descended on her.  He dragged her two football field lengths from her office cubicle out to the parking lot.  In front of the building security guard he slammed her down on his car hood and brutally kissed her on the mouth.  

As the guard stood undecided she bit hard into his lower lip and drew blood.  He reared back roaring and slammed his fist into her face.  But his grip slackened and she managed to roll off the hood and away from him.  He just stood, dragged his middle finger along the bleeding cut and licked it slowly with lustful malice.  Then he screeched off into the dark. 

In profuse embarrassment the guard carefully lifted her off the pavement and guided her into the lobby sofa.  She was wobbly with tremors shaking her to the core.  Later a friend came and drove her home.  The daze of police reporting was over for the night. 

Her friend grilled her more insistently than the police did.  As she answered, what run through her was the shock of never imagining anything so remotely violent ever happening to her.  “Why me?” she wanted to know. 

Her friend reached out for both her hands and turned them palms up.  What she first thought was an act of comfort turned out to be yet another investigation.  Her friend pulled her palms side by side, measuring both little fingers as they lay against each other. 

Her friend pointed out how the inner knuckle lines were not aligned and how one finger was much longer than the other.  She looked down in fascination and disbelief.  There it was the right small finger extended half an inch over her left one.  “You’ve been hexed,” her friend declared as she dropped both palms in exasperation. 

Months later, after the court case, after the hold order - at his wake - she discovers he hired a witch to put a hex on her.  In desperation he just wanted her back, believing that his life had fallen apart in her absence.  Never realizing he’d driven her away with his irrational obsession. 

Sadly, the road to hell is indeed paved with good intentions.