I felt nothing when I hit him over the head with the skillet, straddled his unconscious body with the pan raised above me, and brought it down five more times.
He was surprisingly light when I dragged him from the kitchen, kicked him down the stairs to the basement, and counted the thuds as he bounced off each step before reaching the bottom.
Fifteen.
I was still in my trance as I wandered to the second-floor bathroom, flicked on the light, and stood in front of the mirror.
Then I blinked and saw the blood.
© 2022 Nortina Simmons
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