Casey stared up at the painting that had hung in Todd’s living room for years. His living room. His house. He never let her forget. He made the money. He made the decisions. Her wrist was still red. He’d squeezed it so hard after he checked their online banking and saw she’d bought new shoes, despite the fact that all the ones she had were falling apart.
She looked closer at the painting. She’d never paid it much attention. A cowboy from the Old West, a ranch, some horses. But now, she saw a brutal master, his animals cowering under his steely gaze. Sadness in their eyes. She wished she could jump into the painting. Release each one, let them run free.
Her heart raced. She grabbed her purse, making sure Todd hadn’t confiscated her debit and credit cards again. He hadn’t. She left her house key on the table, walked out the door with the clothes on her back and new shoes on her feet, hailing a cab.
“My bank. ” She’d leave Todd with $1. He made the money right? Replacing it should be easy. “Then the airport.”
In response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers!