They shot him right before my eyes. All the struggling, frantic movements and wild cries from the past hour were cut short as I now sat ramrod straight in my chair, heart still thudding from the shock of the gunshot. Tight ropes were slicing my wrists ruthlessly, cutting deeper into the skin with each slight movement. Sweat trickled down my forehead, mixing with the blood on my cheeks.

I stared wide-eyed into the nothingness of the dark room that I'd once shared with the limp body sprawled across the white tiled floor. Oh, what a bloody mess he'd become! Those damned murderers hadn't once flinched, hadn't cared a bit, hadn't even heard my cries and they?and they?why? What was his fault, after all?

I slowly let out the breath I didn't know I'd been holding. It was midnight. There was no light in the room except for the dim light of the streetlights, seeping in through the slits between the window curtains. A single tear rolled down my dry eyes from being open for too long. I tried wiping it off, when I remembered that my hands were bound to the chair.

I turned my neck to face the body - ouch! It hurt. It was all their fault! They killed him! Oh, poor Richard wasn't even sober at the time. I hadn't even made him dinner yet. Oh my God, Richard would've been furious! How did I even dare not to prepare his dinner when he came back home late, drunk and tired from being completely wasted at the bar? He would've locked me up in the cupboard till I fainted. Yes, that would've served me right. Oh, but he's dead! He can't punish me for my mistakes ever again. He can't beat me up until my lips bleed, he can't chokeme with his strong hands and he can't tie me down to this chair ever again. All because of those freaks who came out of nowhere, knew nothing! Trust me, they didn't know anything. What was his fault, after all?

He'd said he was protecting me from the cruel outside world that didn't respect women, and rightly so. Before he'd taken me with him, I was weak, stressed out due to work and my parents kept pestering me with phone calls every day (and I'd felt so lonely?). Why? What was his fault, after all?

There was a sudden banging on the door. I almost jumped. The banging grew violent, and was accompanied by shouts -

"Open the door! It's the police. I repeat, open the door right away!"

The police were late - just like always. They'd gone and Richard was already dead! My heart started pounding in my chest as the banging kept on growing louder. My throat was parched, lips were numb and my mind went blank - I couldn't speak.

And then they flung the door open. Bright light flooded in so I had to look away as they barged in with their swift steps. A hand grabbed my left wrist and another cuffed my right hand which was clutching a pistol.

"Ma'am, you're charged with murder and are under arrest," the officer had said before taking me away.

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