"In fact, I do. I served during the Gulf War. Two tours, actually. I went over there thinking I was protecting freedom, my country, and my family. But, I came back different. I would sit in my bedroom in complete darkness for days and wouldn't even speak to my family. I would contemplate signing up for a third tour, only to let some towel head off me to save my family the torture of watching me whither away to nothing. I lost my family because I wasn't the same person. I understand all too well what it's like to hate yourself."
Sasha sat down next to Harrison and placed a hand on his shoulder. There were no words she could have said at that moment to make him feel better. People always felt the need to say something but sometimes it was better to just be there. Sasha understood that. It felt good knowing someone who could relate to her. Finally, she didn't feel so alone in this world.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, I should get your yard cleaned up for you. I'll have my deputy out here right away to take care of it. If you need anything," he wrote down a number on the back of a slip of paper. "Call me directly, alright?" Sasha nodded as she took the paper from his hand, their fingers briefly touching.
Before Harrison walked out the front door, he stopped and looked at something in her living room. Sasha followed his gaze to the black candle she had found in the end table. She thought there was a look of suspicion in his eyes before turning back to guilt. He then headed out the door.
As promised, the deputy arrived and the heart was bagged into evidence. The deputy was nice enough but seemed a little socially awkward, though Sasha couldn't judge. She knew she was as socially awkward as they come. He gave her a smile and a wave as he jumped back in his truck and headed back to the station.
Sasha was left wondering about the, now, double homicide plaguing the town and why part of the body had been left in her yard. It couldn't have been a coincidence. There had to be a meaning behind it, but what? Her mind raced with the possibilities until she felt herself become too drowsy to think. Knowing she couldn't sleep, she got up on her feet and began to work on any chores she could think of.
Her mind slipped to a place where she did not want to be. Memories of her ex-husband were the last thing she wanted on her mind. But they flooded back all the same. Attending to random chores had always been a good way for her to avoid contact with her ex-husband. She had avoided many violent outbursts and sexually charged beatings by doing something useful around the house. He hated lifting a finger so much he would avoid her while she was working, even if he was furious with her. Her only defense had been to work long enough until he had passed out from drinking. Only then had she been able to relax. Though, it did not always produce the result she had wanted.
One night, in particular, she had taken up organizing the kitchen drawers. She claimed they were getting far too cluttered and needed to be adjusted. Brent had been out drinking at a local bar, one of his usual hangouts. When he came home, he was ready to have his way with his wife. Sasha, not wanting to be degraded again, told him she was busy and to relieve himself.
He came close to and stuck his face next to her ear. She could smell the perfume of another woman on his neck. Clearly, she wouldn't be the first he had been with that night. She saw red. After everything she had put up with, after all the beatings, after all the abuse, after all the anal sex she had been held down and forced to endure, he dared to sleep with another woman? Why? Was dominating and breaking his wife not enough for him? Did he need to humiliate her too?
She had gripped a butcher knife from the drawer and thought about cutting his throat. It would have taken mere seconds and he would have been gone. She could have easily claimed self-defense. God knew she had the bruises to prove it.
"I want it" he whispered into her ear. With that, he started caressing her inner thigh. When she pulled away, Brent grabbed her by the throat. Tightening his grip, he stared into her eyes. "You’re my wife, don't tell me no." She gasped for air and it only helped to excite him.
Spinning her around, Sasha was shoved to the kitchen floor. Brent pulled at her pants and began to have his way with her. Like so many countless nights, Sasha dug her nails into the floor and cried. All she could do was wait for it to be over. But this time felt different. This time, something in her had changed. Thinking on it now, she wondered if it had been similar to how Sheriff Harrison had changed after coming home.
She was tired of the abuse. She was tired of the rape. She was tired of the humiliation. She was tired of lying to her daughter about the bruises. But above all, she was tired of a disgusting man treating her like a slave, no, an object. He fucked her and tossed her aside like a used napkin. Right there on the cold kitchen floor, she knew it would be his last screw. After tonight, he would never touch her again. With a plan forming in her mind, she began to grind back and forth with the illusion of pleasure. She wanted him to think he was breaking her in. It would make it
