I'm free.

That's all my mind can comprehend in this moment. I haven't known freedom in a very long time and now it is mine. I can do what I want. I can walk down the sidewalk without looking over my shoulder. I'm free.

The dead man at my feet seems to float in the pool of blood that fans from his body. His eyes open wide in their final surprise. He didn't think I could do it. He never thought that I was strong enough to best him.

And he was right for a time. I couldn't sleep. Hell, I could barely eat. Two years. In the prison of my home. My mind.

From the moment I said no he vowed that no other man would have me. He made good on his promise. For two years. He didn't take another man's life. Mostly he intimidated them. If that didn't work he would beat the hell out of them. And they never came back. Not to love me and certainly not to defend me.

Call the cops? Yes. Many times. I even had a piece of paper ordering him to stay at a distance. It was not worth the ink the judge signed it with. All the cops would do is warn him off and tell me that they couldn't do anything unless he actually did something to me.

Isn't stalking doing something? I guess not. Unless he physically harmed, or worse yet, killed me, nothing could be done. He walked free and I was locked in my own private hell.

Eventually I realized that no one was coming to save me. No knight on a steed. No police. I had only myself.

I bought a gun. And I learned how to use it. He thought it was funny, some kind of joke. He thought I'd never have the nerve.

But a woman can only be pushed so far. And when cornered, she has no choice. So tonight in the alley, when he pointed his pistol in my face, telling me that if he can't have me then no man would, I pulled my own weapon. He laughed. He actually laughed.

He isn't laughing anymore. I'm free.