Enough is enough(Darrell Case) She lay on the floor, her eyes bruised, her lower lip bleeding. Her stomach was in a painful knot where he punched her. She pretended to be unconscious. He stomped to the refrigerator, getting another beer. This was the last time he would beat her.

She met him six months ago at a friend’s party. He seemed funny, always cracking jokes.
“Don’t get too close to him.” Her friend Rose said.
“Why he seems harmless.” She said.
“He’s dangerous. Been in jail,” Rose whispered.
“Ouuu, a dangerous man.” She said.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Rose said.
“Don’t worry, I can handle him.”
Now she wished she had listened to Rose.
So, they dated. The first few times he was ok. On their fourth date, he got stumbling down drunk. She tried to remember what she had said to set him off. She couldn’t. So put makeup on her face and let him sleep it off. He didn’t remember when he sobered up. So, she forgot it until the next time. And the next time and the next time.

Now she lay on the floor until she heard him snoring. Painfully, she picked herself up. Going to the closet, she searched for it. In the back she found it, her fingers closing around the end. It felt good in her hands. She swung it, breaking the bedside lamp. Some pieces of the lamp hit his head. He opened his bloodshot eyes. She stood over him, the Louisville slugger raised over her head.

“What you doing? Put down that bat or I’ll beat you up again.” He said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. She brought down the slugger, breaking his left arm. He howled in pain. He reached for the bat with his right hand. “You broke my arm.”
She danced away, out of his reach. He fell out of bed. She hit him in the back, a terrible blow cracking a rib.
“Get out of that door right now.” She felt good. She was in charge. She pointed to the front door with the slugger.
“You can’t do this to me.” He said, cradling his left arm. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
“Oh yes, I can. I‘ll treat your head like a baseball unless you hit that door.” She said. “And you better keep going, mister, or the next time you lay a hand on a woman and I hear about it, I’ll come hunting for you with a gun.”
He stumbled to the door. At the last second, he swung around with a knife in his hand. She was ready for him. The tip of the bat hit his hand like she was driving a baseball out of the park. She broke his thumb and forefinger. The knife flew across the room, skidding underneath the couch.
“OWWWWWW, you hurt me.” He screamed. She swung again. He ducked. He reached for her. She danced out of his range. She swung again, hitting his shoulder, leaving a bruise. He almost tore the storm door off. His arm raised to protect his head; he ran through the yard.
“You’re crazy.” He called over his shoulder.
“If you come back, I’ll kill you.” She said.

Locking the door, she watched through the window. He jumped in his car and pealed out, wobbling down the street.
She looked at herself in the hall mirror. Her hair was a mess, her face bloody, but it was the look on her face that set her off. Her lips twitched. It started in her stomach, moved to her chest, then to her face. Soon she was howling with laughter. She went to bed alone, still chuckling.

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