She awakes in his arms. She looks into his eyes. She doesn't feel love, she feels pain.
As she is being carried from the porch and brought into the house, she is gently laid on the couch. Gently? Gently, she asks herself? Should she thank him as he is wiping her face with a wet cloth? Should she ask WHY? Wait, she cant ask, she cant speak. Her mouth is busted and swollen. Her teeth are loose, and aching. She is actually afraid to try and speak.
The last thing she remembers is going outside to get into her car. She is only going to deposit money in the bank on a cloudy Saturday morning. He storms out of the door and grabs her by the hair of the head, and hits, and punches, and knocks her on the ground, and kicks, and stomps. Then, he allows her to get up. As she gets up, she is grabbed by the hair of the head, and dragged to the porch. With one last blow to the head, she doesn't remember how many other blows were received, before awaking in his arms.
Was this the first time a beaten had taken place? No, not at all. Was it the first time she had literally been knocked out? Yes!
As the day progressed, she couldn't move. Every part of her body was bruised or broken. She lay in bed all day. She had no choice, she couldnt move. The pain, oh God, the pain. It hurt. It hurt so bad. She was getting used to the pain. Just normally not this many bruises at one time. A black eye a day. A slap across the face. Usually, small things. She could handle that, she was tough. This day didnt seem to fall into the "I can handle the pain" day.
He checked on her several times throughout the day. With selfish attitudes. She had caused it after all. It was all her fault. She still doesnt know WHY? It's been many many years, and she still has NO clue why that particular beaten took place that day.
Never knowing exactly why this happened, what caused his rage, she never had the courage to ask.
Would he kill her? Would she kill him? Well, with the prayers she prayed at night, she only prayed to die. "God, Please, Please just let me........"