THE MURDER

SAN FRANCISCO; JUNE 2023

ARIANNA FRASER'S POV

I clutched the duvet tightly, trying to rein in my fear as I listened to his footsteps down the hallway.

He was coming to my room, no doubt.

Ever since my mom was shot dead a few months ago, my step father had been behaving weirdly.

The once loving father figure turned into an element of nightmare to me.

It started with incredibly tight hugs, just after mom's burial.

I initially thought it was just an action triggered by grief, I was all he had, so we had to be strong for each other.

He had been raising me with my mother ever since I was ten, I was nineteen now.

I would have been in college if not for mom's demise.

She's a successful lawyer.

She bought this house and pays most part of the bills.

However, after her death, my step father didn't say anything about sending me to school.

I didn't know if mom left a will.

I don't know if there's money left in her bank account or how much.

And I can't really walk up to my step father and demand to know how much mom left.

Her death left a huge chasm in my heart, but I forced myself to live on.

My inability to further my education is the least of my problems now.

My step father had gotten handsy, a tad too much.

From the hugs, he soon began to corner me at the passageway, holding me against the wall and grabbing my breasts.

Yesterday he tried to take it a step further by dipping his hands in my pants, but I managed to push him away and flee from the house, sneaking back late in the night.

I had to sleep hungry because I was afraid of alerting him to the fact that I'm back home, by making noise in the kitchen while trying to cook.

This evening, I had been bathing when I felt a presence behind me.

I had turned, only for me to see him watching me, his trousers down as he massaged his rod.

I was immediately creeped out by the sight.

I scrambled to cover myself up and rushed past him.

But not before he tried to grab my towel and strip me naked once more.

I have tried reminding him severally that I'm his step daughter.

I'm not his wife.

Even if I look like her, I'm not her.

Having an old man in his fifties after me in such a manner, made me gag with disgust.

If he was younger, it could have been excused as the actions of a horny teenager.

His response whenever I tried to remind him he is my father is always:

"Why are you resisting? Haven't you seen a naked man? You have done it before, right? Let me make you feel good. I will definitely have you".

The door opened and the lump in my throat got bigger.

I clutched my sheets tightly, trying to play dead as I watched him in the darkness.

He stripped off his trousers and walked towards me in his underwear.

He got on the bed and my heart jumped out of its cage.

Immediately he grabbed my breasts, I held his throat, pushing him away with all my might.

But he wasn't budging.

He was bigger and stronger than I am.

"What the hell are you doing in my room? Go away! Think about my dead mother! Why are you so disgusting?" I cried, trying to fight him off.

"Shut up. Don't make this hard for yourself by struggling. I must have you tonight, either way. You can relax and enjoy it, allowing me to make you cream and moan in ecstasy. Or you keep struggling and cause yourself pains" he growled and tore off the sheets, destroying the barrier between us.

I screamed in horror as he ripped my nightwear apart and tore my pants in an instant.

When I felt his hands in between my legs, trying to shove his fingers in, I immediately realized that if I don't stop him now, he never will.

He has turned into a monster without a conscience.

I kicked his groin, making him shout in shock and shift.

"How dare you? I wanted to make it enjoyable for you but since you want it this way, be my guest" He roared furiously, and lounged at me.

I rolled away, narrowly missing him and quickly grabbed the wine bottle I had hidden beside my bed, and hit his head with all the strength I could muster.

He screamed in shock as the bottle shattered on his head.

I angrily stabbed his neck numerous times, shouting profanities at him.

Blood splattered on my face, rolling down my body.

I looked at his neck and saw blood oozing out of his neck.

I had cut his jugular with the jarred edge of the bottle.

I gasped and my blood ran cold as I immediately realized what I had just done.

I had killed my step father!

He began to fall towards me in slow motion and I screamed, jumping out of the bed.

He fell on my bed with a dull thud.

The pieces of broken bottles on the floor tore at my skin and I quickly stood up.

Tears ran down my cheeks.

I had become a murderer at just nineteen years of age.

What should I do?

I ran to the bathroom, washing the blood away.

I quickly wore my sneakers and grabbed a backpack , haphazardly throwing my clothes into it.

I grabbed all the jewelry and money I had in my room and shoved it in.

I ran into my mom's room, hurriedly searching her closet as tears ran down my cheeks.

I grabbed her jewelry and quickly picked the lock of her drawer.

There were wads of cash in it and a few documents.

I added it to my bag, still crying profusely.

I went through my step father's room and searched for money to add to my stack.

I ran to the kitchen and grabbed some canned foods from the fridge before running out to the front porch.

I gasped, my head pounding.

I knew I needed to run away, just run and never stop.

Far away from here.

But where do I go?

 Where will I run to?

Before I could analyze my situation properly or think of what to do, I heard police sirens approaching our house.

My heart shook.

Impossible, so fast?

Will I end up a murder convict and face the firing squad at this age?

God, no!

This was not my plan