His anger burned within him. It swelled up from the very depths of his soul and emerged with a vengeance in need of retaliation and satisfaction. She was his target. He looked at her. He loved her. He loved her deeply. He owned her. He owned her completely. He despised her. He hated her. He admired her. He needed her and yet he could not stand her. Vengeance was on his mind. She makes him suffer and so she deserves to suffer with him.
He climbed into he bed and forced himself upon her. She screamed out but was stifled by his hand choking her throat. She tried to breath, but his grip closed tighter. Finally he released her and she grasp for breath. He pushed her off the bed and looked at the sobbing mass. He spit on her, but she did not react. He ripped off the remnants of her already torn nightgown and noticed blood on the fabric. Blood streamed down her leg. He looked at himself and saw blood on his leg and on his manhood and realized he had taken her during her period.
“You useless bitch.” he shouted. He always shouted. He did not know how to talk to her.
He threw on his robe and grabbed her by her arm. He dragged out of the room and pushed her down the stairs. She lay whimpering on the landing, alive and apparently unbroken. He rushed down and pulled her out of the house and into the garage. It was dark. No one would see. He picked up a jerry can of gasoline and started to pour it over her.
She screamed loudly, “No! Don’t!” which only solicited a violent backhand across her face. She continued to plea for mercy but only with tears and whimpers. He stood back and held a lighter before her.
He laughed and grinned menacingly, “I am the man. I am in charge. I am right and you are wrong. Get it?”
She continue to whimper, holding back the tears and fighting. She didn’t know why but she must have deserved this. He said so, so it must be true. He walked out and returned to the house, turning off the lights, leaving her sitting naked on the cold concrete, in the darkness, drenched in gasoline. She tried to understand what it was that she had done wrong, but couldn’t figure it out. She knew she had done something wrong. Why else would he beat her so? She would figure it out and then they would be happy. She managed to stand up and walk to the house. The door was locked so she returned to the garage and cuddled in a corner amongst some boxes in an effort to keep warm. “Why God? Why?”