I wasn’t strong enough to physically stop him, but suddenly I wanted that whole part of my life to end. I wanted the beating to stop. I had felt freedom, and I was fearless.
The cabin was supposed to be a refuge, safe, but he had made it unsafe. I grabbed a heavy lamp and swung. He caught it. I clawed at his eyes. I shoved him backwards over the coffee table, tripping him, then jumped on top of him and hit him. I grabbed the lamp again, and this time he couldn’t stop me. I hit him until he didn’t move. But he might have wakened, so I lit a match. The wooden structure was dry and flared up nicely. I smiled, then passed out from blood loss and smoke inhalation.
A woman dragged me out, but I was numb. I stared as firemen put out the flames, and as I was wrapped in a blanket. I stared as a black body bag was taken from the charred cabin.
It was not destroyed by the fire, and I wanted it to be. I didn’t want people to stay in it, to see me, as I came back to cut off the infected memories. I haunted it at night.