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The Table
National Domestic violence hot line; 1-800-798-7233
"She pulled the phlegm from her diaphragm with such enthusiasm it reopened the tear on her lip. She stared at him through swollen eyes. Cocked, lunged , heaved it across his motionless face.
' Sadistic'.' No mercy'. The papers would print the story on the front page the following day. 'out of the blue' they would say. She wondered if the police officers would read it, if they would talk among themselves about the 'inconclusive reports', the neighbors calls, the system that hadn't given her a chance. She wondered if they would sleep well that night, if they would tell their wives why they were tossing and turning. If they would understand that she had to make a conscious choice between her freedom and her safety.
Mercy, she thought. She chewed on the word as she cradled her bruised ribs and reached for the leg of the coffee table that had been broken to pieces over her back just an hour or so before. The table that has been fixed many times. The table that she broke her front tooth on, the table that supplied her a landing to a dozen shoves.
The tables had turned.
He stirred in agony; 'Mercy' he pleaded with his eyes.
It would appeal to a better person, maybe. But she wasn't a person anymore, and she wasn't better. She was the trauma she had lived through, conditioned by a series of unfortunate circumstances, and raw fear.
And he was never going to stop.
She favored her able shoulder, and swung with enough ferocity it would turn the stomach of every local crime scene investigator in the morning.
She would be found staring aimlessly in the bathtub.
She would never speak to the events leading up to the bludgeoning. She would decline interviews, and counseling. And she would never live to regret turning the table"
@dearmae @STOPtheviolence
@turningthetables
"She pulled the phlegm from her diaphragm with such enthusiasm it reopened the tear on her lip. She stared at him through swollen eyes. Cocked, lunged , heaved it across his motionless face.
' Sadistic'.' No mercy'. The papers would print the story on the front page the following day. 'out of the blue' they would say. She wondered if the police officers would read it, if they would talk among themselves about the 'inconclusive reports', the neighbors calls, the system that hadn't given her a chance. She wondered if they would sleep well that night, if they would tell their wives why they were tossing and turning. If they would understand that she had to make a conscious choice between her freedom and her safety.
Mercy, she thought. She chewed on the word as she cradled her bruised ribs and reached for the leg of the coffee table that had been broken to pieces over her back just an hour or so before. The table that has been fixed many times. The table that she broke her front tooth on, the table that supplied her a landing to a dozen shoves.
The tables had turned.
He stirred in agony; 'Mercy' he pleaded with his eyes.
It would appeal to a better person, maybe. But she wasn't a person anymore, and she wasn't better. She was the trauma she had lived through, conditioned by a series of unfortunate circumstances, and raw fear.
And he was never going to stop.
She favored her able shoulder, and swung with enough ferocity it would turn the stomach of every local crime scene investigator in the morning.
She would be found staring aimlessly in the bathtub.
She would never speak to the events leading up to the bludgeoning. She would decline interviews, and counseling. And she would never live to regret turning the table"
@dearmae @STOPtheviolence
@turningthetables
