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.”
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
by: Darcie Mae Fortin
