Complete the short story/flash fiction, that has the following opening:
As the tub filled with water she looked at herself in the mirror. The bruise on her cheek reached to the corner of her eye and was more purplish now than when she looked at it just a few minutes before.
“Damn,” she thought, “I’m going to have to stay home for a few days. I don’t have enough concealer for this.” She bowed her head, thinking of the excuses that she would need to give her friends and family as to why she couldn’t leave the house, why she wouldn’t invite anyone over. The tears fell, like they did the last time and the time before that. Just another day in the Harrison household.
Someone tried to open the door, but she had locked it when she entered the bathroom. The door knob jiggled once, twice, and then the voice of her husband came through the door. “Honey, why’d you lock the door? Are you okay?”
The fear that coursed through her veins made her heart jump and her breath come in ragged bursts. She knew she wasn’t supposed to lock the door, he had told her that before, but she wanted, no, she needed some privacy.
“Just taking a bath,” she called out, her voice squeaky and shaky. Silence reigned for all of five seconds before he started banging on the door.
“Open the door, now, Ginny, right fucking now, before I break it down.”
Ginny held her head in her hands and shook it from side to side. She was tired of all the fighting, the yelling, the pain, and she wanted it to end, wanted it to all go away. “I want to take a bath in private, Sonny, just one bath.”
“Open the door, bitch, or I’m gonna break it down.” She stayed where she was, too afraid to open the door. The hammering on the door started, his fists banging on the door with animalistic ferocity. “Now, Ginny, now.”
She backed up to the now almost full tub, the idea of taking a bath now the farthest thing from her mind. He was mad, very, very mad and when he was mad she got hurt. She looked around for something to defend herself with, but this was a bathroom, not the kitchen. There were no knives, no skewers, no large utensils, no pots or pans. This was a bathroom and all she had were perfumes, shampoos, tooth brushes, a hair dryer and … she looked behind her. Water. She plugged the hair dryer in, but left it off, while the pounding on the door changed to him hitting it with his shoulder.
One thundering hit. Two crushing blows. Three and the door broke free, her husband stumbling into the room from the force of his attack. She was almost paralyzed with fear, almost. She gave him a small push, enough to send him into the tub where he landed with a splash causing water to shower the bathroom.
“Goodbye Sonny,” she said as she turned the hair dryer on and dropped it into the tub.
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