The day was Friday. The last day of the week and a good time to sit down and work on a story idea that would
not leave my head. I poured myself a glass of wine and proceeded to my word processor. I lit two candles on
either side of my desk. The yellow and orange flames danced their colors across my paper. I dug out my
favorite music. No words sung. Simply music. This was it. The perfect conditions for writing. I was now ready
to sit and let the words start forming themselves on the paper. My palms began to sweat I sat down. My heart
began to thump in my chest as I turned the word processor on. I was ready.
The story began. There were two characters. Scott, who was the male. He was big man. Six feet tall, very
muscular, and weighing about two hundred pounds. Scott would be about thirty-five years old. He had a good
job at a construction company. He was well liked by the town. But the town only saw the side of Scott that he
wanted them to see. There was only one person who knew about the dark side of Scott. This person would be
Robin. Robin was Scott’s wife of ten years. Robin was thirty years old. She was a tiny woman, about five feet
four inches tall, and weighing about one hundred fifteen pounds. She had beautiful long flowing curls and
gorgeous green eyes. Robin was also well liked by the town, but she preferred to spend time alone rather than
socializing. Scott and Robin seemed to be the perfect couple. No one knew what went on behind the walls of
their home.
Not bad so far. I stopped to read what I had written already. I took a drink of wine and thought about what
was going to happen to Scott and Robin. I realized the characters were resembling my husband and myself.
Strange. Why is the story beginning this way? I could not answer this question yet. I decided to continue on
with the story.
The sun was shining on this beautiful summer morning. The sky was blue and birds were singing. Robin got up,
made the coffee, and brought Scott a cup just as he liked it, two sugars and extra cream. She put the coffee
on his night stand and gently woke him up. Scott had a meeting to go early this morning. Work was building
fast and his construction crew had to make plans on how they were going to handle it all the work. As Scott
got up and got ready for work, Robin dutifully made his lunch. She even snuck in a favorite treat of his hoping it
would make him happy. Scott yelled from the bathroom that he wanted Robin to go start his truck for him.
Robin, again, dutifully did as Scott demanded of her without saying a word. She put on a housecoat and went
out to start his truck. When she came back in the house Scott was by the door waiting. He began to yell at
her, “What are you doing going outside in your pajamas and not even brushing your hair! What is wrong with
you? Are you trying to embarrass me? God knows you’re too stupid to be embarrassed!” Robin did not know
what to think. She had done this many times before. Why was he so upset this time? She said nothing, looked
down at the ground, and tried to apologize. Again he started yelling, “So, what have you got to say for
yourself?” Robin continued to look at the ground and said, “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” Scott looked at her
with disgust and walked out the door. She knew situations could have been a lot worse this morning. She
thanked God for protecting her this morning.
Oh shit. The phone is ringing. I hat getting interrupted when I’m involved in writing a story. I picked up the
phone and nastily said, “Hello.” Another, oh shit. It would have to be my husband on the other end. He had
called to let me know he would be coming home late tonight because him and the fellas were going out to have
a few drinks before coming home. He informed I had better be in a much better mood when he got home. I
hung up the phone with my hands shaking. I knew how he was when he was drinking and not in a good mood. I
was the only one who knew. I finished my glass of wine and poured another one. I decided to go and try to get
back into my story. If I could keep thinking about the story, I would not have to think about what might
happen when he comes home.
I looked over what I had newly written. This story was resembling the life I was living more and more. Why?
Why was I creating characters and situations that were closely related to my life? I still was not sure what the
answer was. Maybe the answer was that I felt I was living a life that seemed more like a horror story than
reality. I got back to writing.
Robin busied herself around the house. She knew Scott liked the house just so and was determined to have
everything perfect when he came tonight. She went to the grocery store when done and bought the
ingredients to make Scott’s favorite meal. A slow cooked, full of meat, spaghetti sauce. He like to have it
spooned on top of hot cooked pasta and served with a green salad and garlic bread. Now everything would be
perfect. As Robin was busily putting this feast together in the kitchen, the phone rang. It was Scott. He said,
“I tried to call you earlier and you did not answer. Where were you? You know I hate calling and you don’t
answer.” Robin said, “I went to the store. I’m making your favorite supper.” Scott yelled back at her, “I told
you I’m not coming home for supper. I am going out with the guys tonight for a few drinks. I will be home
sometime later. He hung up the phone slamming it down. It made Robins ears ring. She is crushed. Seems like
she is always taking great pains to make sure everything is perfect for him so he will happy and doing it for
nothing. It happens all the time. She shook her head wondering why she doesn’t just give up. Robin knows it
will happen again. She went to work cleaning up the kitchen and putting all the food away. When everything
was back to neat and tidy Robin decided to sit down and watch a movie. A good movie. One that just might
make her laugh. As Robin sat down to watch the movie all she could think about was whether Scott was out
getting drunk or not. She hated it when he came drunk. She hated him when he came home drunk. She hoped
she would be asleep when he got home.
Maybe he would not wake her if she was sleeping. She decided if she was not asleep, she would pretend she
was anyway.
I paused a moment again to read what was on the paper. Not bad. A little to close to my own life. Is this really
what my life is? I was beginning to see the reality I was living on the paper in front of me. It wasn’t looking so
good. Was I the only one? Were there other women out there who lived such scary lives? I did not like what I
was seeing on the paper. I decided to continue on anyway. There had to be a reason I was writing this story.
If I continue writing maybe I will figure out the reason.
It was about midnight when Robin heard Scott pull his truck into the driveway. She was laying on the couch
and covered up with a blanket. Her heart began to pound so loud she was sure he would hear it when he
walked in the door. She was trying to lay very still. She would lay very still and pretend she was sleeping.
Maybe, just maybe he would leave her alone. She could only hope so. But, she knew better. As Scott came
through the door she heard him stumble. Oh no. He had been drinking and drinking a lot. Robin wished in her
head silently that he would have been to drunk to drive home. But she would never ever tell him that. She
knew better. She knew that would be the wrong to do. Robin lay as still as a knew born baby with her heart
pounding hard in her chest. She listened to Scott stumble up the stairs. She felt tears of fear start to roll down
her cheeks. Over and over in her head she prayed he would just lay down and pass out. But she knew in her
heart this would not happen. She heard Scott walk towards to the bedroom and go in. It only took a minute for
him to realize that she was not in the bed. He began to yell, “Robin! Where are you? Get your ass into bed! I
want you tonight!” Robin lay on the couch afraid to move. She even covered her head with the blanket just like
a scared little kid. Her heart was beating faster and faster. She felt her body trembling with fear. The next
thing she heard was Scott leaving the bedroom and heading her way. He was stumbling and yelling at her to
come to bed. She kept hoping over and over that he would not find her. She began to beg God to help her. She
closed her eyes and prayed. It was no use. She heard his foot steps when they entered the room. She knew
what was going to happen. She began to prepare herself for the pain she knew she would have to endure. It
was at times like this Robin wished she was a stronger woman. She wished she was strong enough to stand up
and defend herself. Strong enough to protect herself from the pain that was to come. Strong enough to hurt
him the way he hurts her. Strong enough to let him know he will never hurt her again.
Wow! My heart was racing so fast I had to stop a moment to slow my thoughts down. My word processor was
not going fast enough to keep up with me. At least this was how I was feeling. I was beginning to feel sorry for
Robin. I then wondered why I was feeling sorry for her. She was only a character in a story. But this character
did resemble myself a lot. I had never felt sorry for myself. But I had never really stepped back and took an
honest look at my life. I simply figured I deserved the life I was living. I was repeatedly told that by my
husband anyway. The difference between Robin and I is that Robin is a character. A character I could make
out to be however I chose. Where would the story go from here? I turned my music tape over, pored another
glass of wine, then checked the time. It was ten o’clock in the evening. My husband would be home soon if he
was not drinking. If he comes home much later I know he will have been drinking. The later it is the more he will
have drank. I hope and pray he will not be drunk. I began to feel a rush to finish the story. This was not a
story I wanted him to read. He would surely recognize the similarities between the characters and us. It would
be best to finish the story and hide it. Then some other time I could decide what I wanted to do with it. I made
a mad dash for my word processor. I could have simply quit writing right now and put my story away before he
gets home. The drive for me to finish the story won. I began to type again.
Scott walked over to the couch, tore the blanket off me, and threw it on the floor. Robin lay as still as she
could pretending she was sleeping. She knew he could probably see her fast beating hard pounding in her
chest. Scott grabbed Robin by her beautiful long dark curls. He yanked her up to within an inch of his face. She
could smell the strong stench of alcohol and cigarettes on his breath. She closed her eyes and repeated over
and over in her head, “I will feel nothing. I will feel nothing.” Sometimes this method worked and she could
actually convince herself she felt nothing. The power of the mind and the ability to survive even the most
horrendous conditions is incredible. Scott screamed in her face, “You are a very bad girl! Bad girls need to be
punished! You should have been in our bed waiting for me! You have really pissed me off!” This was not what
Robin wanted to hear. This was the worst. When he called Robin a bad girl she knew what was coming. Again in
her head, “I will feel nothing. I will feel nothing.” Scott tightened his grip on Robin’s hair and began walking
towards their bedroom pulling her along behind him. In Robin’s head going around and around, “I will feel
nothing. I will feel nothing.” Scott paused at the bedroom door. He looked angrily at Robin and was mumbling in
a drunken slur, “Bad girl! Bad girls need to be punished!” Robin had herself totally concentrating on, “No pain.
No pain. I will feel no pain.” Scott stepped in the bedroom dragging Robin in behind him. She stumbled and fell.
He did not let go off her hair. He ripped out a handful when he lost his grip. But very quickly he had a hold of
her hair again. He didn’t let her stand back up. Scott simply drug her by the hair of the head across the floor.
She seemed no heavier than feather to him when he was angry. Still in Robin’s head spinning around, “No pain.
No pain. He will make me feel no pain.” Thank God they finally came to a stop. Scott gave her a quick hard kick
and told her to get up. Robin stood trembling thinking, “No pain. No pain. I will feel no pain.” Robin was
absorbed in her thoughts concentrating hard. She had to concentrate hard so she would not feel the pain. She
knew the pain would be unbearable if she lost her concentration. Scott gave Robin a hard slap across the face
and threw her on the bed. Spinning faster and faster in her head like a child’s spinning top went the words, No
pain. No pain. I am begging you God. Please let me feel no pain.”
Whew! This story is getting to be a bit much for me handle. It is so close to my life that it is making me
shutter. I think I am beginning to understand the push to write and finish this story. I don’t want to be like
Robin. I don’t want to live that kind of life. I don’t want to be anything like her. Robin is weak. She is like a
scared little girl. Is that the type of person I am? Yes, Robin does not only resemble me, she is me. I must
complete this story. A quick look T the clock. It is now eleven thirty. My husband has been drinking tonight. I
hate these nights. I hate him on these nights. I should put the story away and finish it another time. But what
if I lost it? What if I lose the way the story is going? No. I must finish!
Robin landed face down on the bed. Scott still had her by the hair. He leaned over her, bit her on the ear hard
enough to draw blood, and whispered in that drunken angry voice, “You are a bad girl! Bad girls need to be
punished!” Scott held a tight grip on her hair. With his other hand he grabbed her nightdress and flipped it up
over her back. He reached down and tore her underpants off. Robin knew what was coming. She reminded
herself to keep concentrating on the words in her head. “No pain! No pain! I will feel no pain!” She heard Scott
unzip his pants. “No pain! No pain!.” She heard his pants hit the floor. “No pain! No pain!” Scott let go of her
hair. He put his hands on each of her sides and gripped her so hard she thought her ribs break. “No pain! No
pain!” He yanked and pulled Robin to her knees and to the edge of the bed. He again told her, “You are a bad
girl! Bad girls need to be punished! I love you. If you weren’t a bad girl I wouldn’t have to do this.” In her head,
“Concentrate hard now robin! No pain! No pain!” Scott thrust himself forward and entered her with such force
he must as well have stabbed with her knife. Scott proceeded to rape Robin anally. He raped until she could
feel herself bleeding. “No pain! No pain! I can feel no pain!” When Scott finally finished he was sweating and
tired out. He lay Robin on her side on the bed. He lay down beside her and wrapped his arms around her. Robin
simply lay still staring blankly into space thinking, “No pain! No pain. I felt no pain!” Scott said, “Don’t be a bad
girl and daddy won’t have to punish you.” Robin ignored him and said nothing. Once again she had been
successful with feeling no pain tonight. But tomorrow was another story. She knew when she woke up in the
morning she would be hurting badly.
Finished. I felt that absolute rush that I feel every time I finish a story. What a feeling! I started to print the
story out. The word processor is ready to print. All I have to do is push one more button and this story will be
printed. Wait. I don’t have to push any button and the story will be gone forever. I won’t have to worry about
my husband seeing it. No! I have to print it. I have to sit back and read it. I pushed the button. The word
processor did as it was told and began to print out the pages. I went to check the time. It’s one o’clock in the
morning. When my husband comes home he’s going to really be drunk. “Faster!” I found myself yelling at the
word processor. It finally finished. I quickly put my word processor away. My husband did not like when writing
a story took time away from him, the house, or anything else for that matter. He did not like the enjoyment I
got from writing. I grabbed the pages. Where would be a safe place to read this in case my husband comes
home? I know. I will put my pajamas on and go in the bathroom. I’ll sit on the toilet as if I am using it. If he
comes home I’ll put the pages in the trash. “Listen to yourself.” I said to myself, “You are just like Robin laying
there on the couch pretending to be asleep. Is that the type of person I have become?” I hate these thoughts
I am having. I don’t like being anything like Robin. But, I did just as I thought. I put my pajamas on, grabbed
the pages, went into the bathroom, sat on the toilet, and read the story. I hated it. I hated the characters,
the plot, the whole thing. I did not throw it away though. I kept it. Running over and over in my head was the
fact of how close this story resembled my life. Of how close the characters are to me and my husband. I hated
Scott. I hated Robin. I hate my husband and I hate myself for having to live the life I am living. I went to a
special spot I had made to hide things. One of my brothers knew something wasn’t right in my marriage, but he
wasn’t sure what. On one of his visits he left me a small handgun he was carrying in his car. I said nothing to
him when he gave it to me. I just quickly made a hiding spot in a corner of the closet where I knew my husband
would never look. I went to that place. I grabbed the gun. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it, but I
wanted it in my hands. I walked to the television room and sat down on the couch. All of a sudden I could see
headlights pull up in the driveway. He was home. My husband was home. I could feel the fear begin to build
inside me. But something was different. I was afraid, but I was also angry. Very angry. I heard his footsteps
come to do the door. My heart was pounding as I heard him open it. The difference this time being my heart
was pounding with not just fear, but with rage as well. He stumbled as he came through the door. A sure sign
he was drunk. He stumbled up the stairs and into the bedroom. I tightened my grip on the small handgun I had
slid into the pocket of my nightgown. It felt cold. My ands were sweating. But it seemed to slow my heart
down a little. What is happening to me? The story. That’s it. The answer to my question. The push to write the
story was so I could sit back and take a good look at the life I was living. I found I didn’t like it. I was living a
nightmare. A horror story. No one should live like that. I will not let him make me feel any kind of pain again. My
thoughts were interrupted when I heard him scream for me. What was I to do? I heard him walk to the top of
the stairs. What was I to do? He yelled again, “Get your ass up here to bed! You are a bad girl! Do you
remember what happens to bad girls?” All of a sudden I felt a flow of heat rushed through my body. A got a
good hold on the gun. I hollered up the stairs, “Just a minute. I will be right there. You go get into bed. I’ll get
you a glass of water. You know how you like your water at night.” He said nothing, but I could hear him
stumbling into the bedroom. I heard the little squeak the bed makes when someone climbs into it. I got the
glass of water. I walked to the foot of the steps. I was starting to feel that horrid fear. No! I will not let him
make me feel any pain again. He hollered, “Hurry to hell up! You’ve been a bad girl! I don’t want to punish you
any more than you already deserve!” I started up the stairs. I felt that warm feeling rushing through my veins.
I checked my hold on the gun. Up the stairs I went. By the time I got to the top I could almost feel a smile
come over my face. I walked to the bedroom. Before I had stepped through the door he was demanding me to
bend over the bed and get ready for punishment. I walked over in front of him. I kept far enough away so he
could almost but not quite reach me. He said, “I told you to put that God damned glass down and bend over
the bed! Do it now!” I leaned over to put the glass down. I could feel my heart pounding. I could feel the gun in
my sweating hand. What was I to do? All of a sudden I threw the glass of water in his face, pulled the gun from
my pocket, and within seconds had put every bullet that was in the gun into my husband. My only thought
being, “You will never hurt me again.”
Despair
by: Darcie Mae Fortin