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I cry out when I feel something cold and pointy press between my shoulder blades. It’s so sharp that it punctures my skin. At first, it just stings. Slowly my fear-filled brain realizes there’s a knife cutting my shirt. It feels like each second that passes is an eternity in hell. He’s cutting into my skin as the blade moves down. I’m afraid to move, scared that the knife will go deeper. I could see Mitch killing me easily. I’ve come to expect it over the last few months.
“Mitch, please,” I whisper, fear running so deep inside of me that it has a physical taste.
“That’s it, Callie, baby. Beg me. It makes me hard,” he growls. “I’ve been warning you not to tempt the monster. You didn’t listen,” he says just as my shirt falls free. He’s leaning down to talk close to my ear and the smell of alcohol assaults me.
“I’ll be good,” I promise, sounding and feeling pathetic.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll let you in on a secret.”
“Mitch, let’s talk about this, honey. It’s been a hard day. You’re—”
“I’ve been waiting for you to unleash the monster. I’ve had him under control for way too long.”
“Oh, God,” I moan, letting my head drop down on the table, hope beginning to leave me. It really feels like this is the end. Maybe that’s best. I’m so tired of fighting, of trying….
“The bad news for you is if you don’t do exactly as I say, you’re not going to survive this. So, you really need to curb that pretty little mouth of yours. Of course, I suppose I could find something to put in your mouth.”
I can’t disguise the shudder of revulsion that moves through me. I’ve done my best to make sure he doesn’t use my body, but I haven’t been entirely successful. Each time has scarred me in ways that my mind can’t even fully explain. I’ve even stopped seeing Dr. S. because I know there’s nothing he can do to help. He might even make it worse. I don’t want anyone to know what I’m going through. I don’t want anyone to know how truly pathetic I am. And I am. How could I not be? How many times have I heard Katie or other friends talking in passing on how they’d never let their boyfriends or husbands talk to them like some men we see when we’re out—or brag that their man only has one time to hit them, and he’d regret it.
The shame that I’m not that strong suffocates me daily.
Mitch laughs and I swear his laughter sounds even more maniacal than it normally does.
“Mitch, you’re upset over your father. Let’s talk about this. I want to be here for you,” I respond, gulping in air because it feels like I’m losing touch with reality. I truly can’t afford that right now.
“You’re so stupid,” he laughs, and I feel his weight lift off me. For a second, I’m relieved because I think he’s going to let me up and I can try and lessen the damage he does. Before I can move, however, he slams his leather belt buckle and all against my back, along the line of cuts he already made when he sliced my shirt open. I cry out from the pain but don’t get a second to recover before he does it again—and again. Tears fall. That combined with the pain has my vision going blurry. I kick, squirm, and flail about, trying to get free. His hand tangles into my hair and slams my face down on the wood, making me go hazy. I can’t focus. White light fades into my vision. I fight not to black out because the hit is so intense. “You think I don’t have it in me to kill you, Callie? I’ve already told you I’m the reason Chasity is dead. Didn’t you believe me? She was fucking easy to off. Hell, she got off on me choking her as I was fucking her. I could have done it a million times that way, but I knew I’d have to worry about the body. So, when she outlived her usefulness, all I had to do is lace her drugs that I owed her with shit I knew she couldn’t survive.”
I hear him but I don’t respond. I’m still fighting off the waves of nausea. I move my head, wincing because of the pain. Before I can try to focus, Mitch’s belt comes back down on my back. It feels like my flesh is on fire with that hit. He grabs my wrist roughly and twists it. I cry out feeling something break. He doesn’t stop. He uses his hold to flip my body over to face him. He lets the belt fall to the floor, but I’m in too much pain to be thankful. His hand comes down to press against my stomach, pinning me down—not that he needs to. I’m in too much pain to really move.
