It's My Life

Inspired by Bon Jovi's "It's My Life"

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Charlene. (pronounced "shar-lean")

Chapter 1: Gunpowder and Lead

Pre-Apocalypse

She was a relatively small woman- standing at five foot four. Her frame was tiny, but lean. Her arms were thin and at the same time muscular. Her face was planted in a permanent frown as she exited the small police station in Waco, Texas.

Her cerulean hazel eyes scanned the parking lot while she jogged quickly to the rusty pickup in front. She yanked the leather jacket over her shoulders- people leapt out of the way of her furious strides. Goddamn justice system.

It had been exactly eight years. Eight years since her husband was locked away in prison. Her petite frame trembled as the rage roared in her veins. Bastard should have never gotten to leave.

Her fingers clasped the handle and wrenched the door open. The door's hinges screamed in protest to the violence. She slammed the door as her butt slid into the drivers seat.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel with a grip that rivaled that of death itself. She leaned her forehead against the blazing leather. Fucker.

It had been eight years since the last time her dirt bag of a husband laid hands on her. She snarled under her breath. Fucker never would again.

She would never return to the hospital covered in lacerations and riddled with fractures. She would never lie down for that man again. He wanted a fuckin' fight?

Now he had one.

Eight years previous…

She screamed pitifully. The pain seared itself into her mind as the man thrust into her over and over. She cried and begged and pleaded. No, No, No.

Marriage didn't mean the right to sex.

The tears steam rolled down her face as she felt as if she were being ripped open. Insecurity raged through her body as the man rolled off her. Without thinking twice, Charlene grabbed her clothes and began to dress herself.

Nineteen fucking years old and she was being raped and beaten on a weekly basis by her husband. By the man she thought she knew- her high school sweetheart. The timidity and submissive nature of her was thrown away momentarily as her brain scoffed.

The temperament recoiled as his fist collided with the back of her skull. Her pretty, battered face planted into the hardwood floor. The small, frail woman yelped like a wounded animal.

Her vision blurred violently as darkness began to descend on her. She crawled towards the door and only stopped when his foot crashed into her ribcage violently. She cried- the tears mixed with the pooling blood as her husband gripped her shoulders.

Her near death body left the floor as he threw her up against the wall. His rage-contorted face snarled menacingly. "When did I say you could get dressed, bitch?"

His wife whimpered, "P-please! I'm sorry, Derek, I'm sorry!"

Sobs wracked her body as the blazing green eyes of her husband dipped into her soul. A manic, drunken grin crossed his snarling lips. He flung her body like a worthless rag doll.

The woman's small frame crashed into each step on her way down the flight. She laid still for several seconds- her breath rushing from her lungs as rapidly as she sucked it in greedily.

The pain was unimaginable.

And then, like a beacon of light in a dark, dark cave; she heard it. The gentle raps of a police officer knocking at her humble abode. She gasped in relief and called out weakly against her better judgment, "I-I'm here! H-help me!"

She screamed in terror as she felt her husband's violent grip once more. He roared in anger. "YOU CALLED THE POLICE?"

The woman cried, "No! No!"

"STOP FUCKIN' LYING!" His hot, drunken breath washed over her face like a volcanic eruption. Her battered body tensed for the onslaught of fists.

They never came.

She however knew the feel of the cool barrel against her head. Her eyes jerked open in horror as she looked down the barrel of her husband's handgun. He glared down at her uncaringly.

The cold washed through her body as the tiny woman realized her fate. The door to her home was kicked down- a man attacked her husband just in time to wrench the gun from her forehead.

That didn't stop the bullet from piercing her chest as it went off. She screamed again. Everything felt so distant, so old…so dead. Darkness descended upon her. Yes, this was her fate.

The fierce woman clenched her jaw violently. It pulsated as her right arm draped over the steering wheel. Her rusty pickup barreled down the high way.

Eight years later and she decided to end the horror that had been her life. He would return for vengeance upon her and she would fight back. In those many years spent apart, the woman had learned to defend herself and others in times of disaster from her enlistment in the Marine Corps.

Though, this disaster affected her, and her alone. And she was going to fuckin' defend herself.

Her small frame jumped from the cab. He wasn't home yet- good. She jumped up the steps into her little home. Her hands worked her jacket off as she strode towards the gun case.

Her mission cut short by the sound of a bottle breaking. She tensed up as her body quaked in fear- she turned quietly. Her resolve faltering slightly as fright began to seize in her muscles.

She took deep breaths and strengthened her resolve. Her body straightened, "Derek?"

She felt the collision of bottle upon the side of her head. The woman hissed in pain as she felt the slice of glass into her skin. Shoving it to the back of her mind, she whipped around and planted a boot in the man she had used to know's chest.

His ass planted into the hardwood floor as she dove for the gun case. Her breaths were fast and rapid as adrenaline roared in her veins. She smashed her fist through the glass.

Her fingers grasped the gun violently as she was wrenched to the floor. She felt his greedy hands grip her through her jeans- disgust and rage ripped through her small body.

She screamed in anger and whipped the butt of the gun into the man's face. A satisfying crunch echoed in her eardrums. A small, sadistic sort of a smile crossed her full lips.

Her boot clad feet connected with her husband's head. He fell to the floor clutching a hand to his nose and groaning in pain.

She jerked the shotgun in her hands, cocking it and raising it to her husband as his hands gripped a bottle of liquor. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

His blazing green eyes screamed into her mind as they connected with her cerulean ones. A tormented smile twisted across his face as he rose to his feet. "And just what are you going to do it about it, dumb bitch?"

He waved the bottle in her face and broke out into a boisterous sort of laughter. Her eyes narrowed at the fool before her. His demeanor changed rapidly and he roared so suddenly, she backed up for fear.

"GET THAT GUN OUT OF MY FACE, BITCH!"

Her steely resolve kicked in and she sneered. "Sit the fuck down, Derek."

The bottle swung towards her head, she ducked its reach and clutched the trigger all at once. The shotgun slammed into her shoulder angrily as a large hole blasted through her husband's chest.

His guttural rage had been silenced forever. A sense of relief washed over her small frame as she slouched against the wall. Her breath finally returned to her body in harsh gasps as the blood pooled around Derek's still body.

Her hearing picked up on the gentle rasping moan echoing from his mouth as his body twitched ever so slightly. Rage and nausea took place of her relief as she jumped to her feet. "JUST FUCKIN' DIE!" She screamed angrily.

She pumped her weapon once more and pulled the trigger. The round was unleashed into his terror-contorted face. A hole left where his head had used to be. Her chest heaved as she lowered her weapon to her side.

"And my name's Charlene, bitch."

Hey, yall! This is a new story I'm attempting; let me know what yall think :)

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