DARE 2BK

Thanks for all who participated in the first-ever Manic Mom's Progressive Online Blog Story, which is published below --

Erin from Whack-It-Wednesday!
Joel, who I'd love to link you all to, but he has vanished from Blog World.
Sara
secretcave
Ben O., who was an especially eager participant.
Charity, who just had a birthday!
Christa, who started her own chain story at her site so go play there!
Jess(I'm-so-jealous-but-happy-for-you-for-getting-a-book-deal)Riley
goldmoon

Hope I didn't miss anyone, and now, with further adieu --

DARE 2BK

Kay gritted her teeth as she sliced her morning orange. She knew it was going to be a bad day -- the kids missed the bus, the cleaning lady quit, and Brutus came in smelling like skunk.

I'll never make it to the appointment in time, she thought, and then looked down suddenly, shocked. Crimson rivers traveled across the cutting board and a terrible sting seized her; blood and citrus mixing. Kay had just amputated the tip of her pinky finger.

She cried out in pain, rushing to the sink to clean her wound. She watched in fascinated horror as her blood mixed with the running water.

It seemed like she had only been standing there a moment when she heard John come in. He wasn't supposed to be home from work yet; his shift wasn't over until 11. Her body tensed as she felt him come up behind her. She lived her life torn between love and fear of the father of her children. John came behind Kay and grabbed her by the hips. She jumped a little as he grabbed her, and both water and thicker blood splashed onto her white shirt.

"Did I scare you?" he whispered, grinning into her ear. "Alice gone already? You're not busy, are you? I've got some news." He spun her around, then took in the blood spattered on her shirt, the blood still streaming down her hand.

"Jesus, what happened to you?"

"I was just chopping up some cucumber and I guess I nicked my finger. Here, give it a kiss." She extended her finger up to his waiting lips. That's when she smelled the perfume wafting out from his collar as he leaned over to kiss her boo-boo.

"What the hell is that? Please tell me that you didn't go back to her. Please tell me all of those sessions were not a complete waste of my time." She was all teeth and nails now, and he felt like he was sliding back from her in slow motion.

"Well? I'm waiting."

John grabbed her wrist hard and he grabbed a towel to wrap her hand in. "Kay now is not the time, and I don't think you should start with me, do you?" John squeezed her hand harder to make his point. "Go to the doctor; you will need stitches, I will be here when you get back. Cucumbers, huh? These look like oranges to me."

Kay's eyes had filled with tears, not for her finger, but for what awaited her return. "I was thinking about getting some cucumbers for the salad tonight, I was a little mixed up when I said that. I'm sorry."

Kay felt the familiar form in her throat that she could only assume was her heart. It seemed to reside there, somewhere in her esophagus, cutting off her precious air supply. Ever since John's affair, ever since the marriage counseling and ever since the makeup became more for bruises than for beauty, she'd felt that lump in her throat whenever he was near.

Tonight, though, she knew it was also there for another reason. She turned her back to John, seemingly to reach into the drawer that housed the Spongebob Squarepants band-aids.

"Seriously, honey, you need stitches, not just Spongebob..." His voice trailed as his eye caught the gleam of a silvery object in her hands.

John's heartbeat began to sprint, but he relaxed when he saw what Kay was holding.

I should have known, he thought, and snorted. "Kay, if you're going to kill me," he said, "at least use the Wusthof. I didn't take you to see Essence of Emeril Live and buy the official Emeril Wusthof so you could go Mommy Dearest on me with that serrated piece of crap from Ikea."

But Kay had a secret: she'd taken knife juggling in 4-H back in 1982. And she was holding more than the econo-knife from Ikea.

As she held the knives, her life with him flashed before her--their first date where he wouldn't buy her dinner, stealing her virginity at prom, getting her pregnant on their honeymoon, the dirty motel rooms, the cheating, the lies, and all she ever did was submit.

This word echoed through her brain. Submit. Submit. Submit.

"I WILL NOT SUBMIT!"

Her first marriage was the picture of submission and she was fed up. This time it would be different.

"No, I think you are going to apologize. I want to hear you say that you are sorry." She elegantly switched the knife to her other hand. "I can't believe that I actually thought that you could stay away from her. I'm such a fool. I want some honesty from you . . . Mister!"

It was all getting to be too much. He knew he had pressed his luck with this one, and just as it was with the others- the 'others' Kay knew nothing about- it was time to get rid of her.

Even though he had been a paper pusher at the precinct for more than a year, he still packed the heat. In a move smoother than silk he swiped a pile of magazines from the island to the floor, and in bending down grabbed his .22 from its home on his left calf.

With nothing more than a cold look and firm grip, he ripped off three rounds in Kay's direction. The "pop-pop-pop" of a gun always amazed him. Amused him. Perhaps even turned him on.

A crack shot for years, he expected pieces of Kay to be all over the marble backsplash and oak cabinets. Instead, almost in a daze, he realized that every shot had missed.

After Kay relaxed from the gun shots, she looked at John. She had recovered in time to see the shocked expression on John's face.

He had shot her? No, there wasn't any blood, she didn't feel any pain...and then her eyes began to glaze over.

It was then Kay realized what it meant to see red.

Kay threw the knife she still had grasped in her had. John screamed. Kay smiled and picked up another knife.

"Its time to play my game now, John."

As John reeled from the pain of the kitchen knife now embedded in his thigh, the truth dawned on him. He had hit her. Twice in the chest, though the third shot had missed and taken out the cow-shaped cookie jar resting on the counter. But she wasn't bleeding. His docile, innocent housewife was wearing a bulletproof vest under that Anne Klein blouse!

Bullet-proof vest? Knife juggling? No submission? Who was this woman whom he thought he'd known all these years?

Had the player been played? John felt a vein in his temple throbbing with anger and confusion. Just then, the door that connected the garage to the kitchen burst open.

She Froze. He Froze. Footsteps rattled the tiny kitchen. After what seemed like an eternity, she came walking in... Kay's identical twin sister (who Kay always thought looked a little bit pudgier through the neck).

"I thought we agreed that you would just take the money and leave her? You still love her don't you . . . that's why you came back during the day. So you could see her one last time."

Kay felt cold and detached, not realizing that the bleeding from her finger had stopped. She had submitted before, but even so, she knew there was about to be a whole lot more blood on her yellow and blue tile.

The End