The Slap That Ended 18 Years Novels & Stories

Jane’s jaw tightened the longer I spoke, but she didn’t interrupt. I told her about the drink. About how it ended up on my clothes, and about how the room went quiet in that way that means people are waiting for entertainment. Then I told her about the slap. Jane blinked slowly. “You slapped her.” “I didn’t plan it,” I said. “It just happened.” “That’s usually how slaps work,” she replied, but her voice had shifted slightly, like she was trying to decide whether to be impressed or stressed. I continued. I told her about Dominic.

Emboldened by her words, Conal stepped closer to Alma, his breath reeking of cigarettes as he exhaled cruelly into her face: "You’re too kind! A girl like her will never amount to anything, not with a failed, useless old man for a father, rotting away in poverty. Like father, like daughter—your whole family is nothing but trash!" SLAP! A sharp, resounding crack echoed through the hallway, drowning out the hum of machinery and the murmurs of the crowd. Alma’s hand trembled in the air, her emerald eyes burning with a vengeful fire. With the last remnants of strength in her exhausted body, she had swung her hand directly into the face of the man she had once deeply loved. That slap wasn't just

By the time I graduated with my master’s degree, my partners and I officially launched a company. We didn’t make a fortune, nothing compared to my wealthy family, but the independence and sense of achievement made it all worthwhile. It was around this time that I saw Leila again. She came to find me alone. The moment she saw me, she slapped me across the face. Luckily, I reacted in time and blocked her slap. Otherwise, I would’ve ended up with a swollen face. Without saying a word, I slapped her back. She wasn’t quick enough to dodge and ended up seeing stars, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth.

"You have no evidence. Just a few lines from her, and I'm suddenly the villain? Use your brains. If anyone should apologize, it's her. She slandered me in front of—" A hard slap cut me off. Pain exploded across my face. The iron taste of blood filled my mouth. My ears rang so loudly that the edges of the room blurred. Around me, I saw satisfaction and smug relief, as if justice had just been served. I was done arguing with these people. I spat the blood onto the floor, lifted my head, and looked straight at the three members of the Johanson family. "That slap repays the Johanson family for 18 years of raising me." My voice did not waver. "From this moment on, I cut all ties with you."

I tried to resist, but two men eager for the reward rushed over and pinned my shoulders from both sides. I couldn't move. Scarlett slapped me across the face with all her strength. My head snapped to the side, and I tasted blood in my mouth. A slap followed. "This one is for my fiancé!" Another slap followed. "This one is for your shamelessness!" She delivered three slaps in a row. My ears rang, and my vision blurred. My hair hung in disarray, and humiliation burned through me. In 45 years of life, I had never suffered such disgrace.

4 years ago... Slap! For the first time in 18 years father hit me. I just stood there holding my cheek looking down with guilt and shame in my eyes as my heart was already broken to pieces. "You wretched, disgusting girl! Is this why we raised you that you'd make us see such a day!" He yelled. His eyes were red and his entire body trembling with fury. My Mumma and little sister were crying at a corner. "How could you.....how could you forget your shame and ruin your family's name like that! Did you even sell your Iman!" He yelled slapping me again soo hard that I fell on the floor. But it didn't hurt. I was too numb.... I deserved it.

Or maybe drugged him—’ My palm connected with her face so fast even I didn’t see it coming. ‘Watch your mouth.’ ‘You just slapped me?’ Willow shrieked, springing off the sofa like she’d been electrocuted. She tried to hit back, but I grabbed her wrist mid-swing. My nails dug in just enough to make her wince and twist like a squashed bug. ‘Last time I didn’t hit you back was out of respect for Aunt Louisa. Don’t mistake that for weakness. That slap just now was for the filth coming out of your mouth.’

A glacial, final, clarifying cold. She looked at his hand on her arm. She looked at his face, pleading and false. She felt the ruby earring, still clutched, sharp and painful, in her other hand. She lifted her hand. The one that wasn't holding the earring. And she slapped him. It was not a hysterical, flailing slap. It was a swing of pure, cold, calculated ice. Her palm, made strong from a lifetime of riding and tennis and being a Vale, connected with his face with a sound that was as sharp and final as a gunshot.

PART FIVE IF TRUE LOVE HAPPENS only once in a lifetime, I'm fucked. My fists hit the heavy bag, and pain lances through my ungloved knuckles. Sweat trails down my body and I still can't let go of whatever it is that's eating me alive. The bag might be taking a pounding, but hitting it does little to stop my restlessness. The Slam's season ended three months ago, and my life has been completely in the dumps since. We won the damn championship and I shouldn't feel this way. What the hell is wrong with me?

She stepped forward. Looked straight at Veronica. — Without a word— Slap! The sound echoed through the hall. Veronica staggered back, her hand flying to her cheek. "How dare—" Slap! Another strike. Slap! A third. — Clear. Precise. Unforgiving. — Elena lowered her hand slightly. Her voice calm. "This is for telling the truth." A pause. "I'm paying you back with two slaps." — Veronica's eyes widened. Her cheek already swollen.