Is it humane to ignore the screams of a woman bound, as her husband -a man she trusted for the better part of a decade, loved more than she did herself- bloodied his fists with every thrust at her face? He was killing her, physically, emotionally and mentally; he found satisfaction in the breaking of her bones and her soul.
I hid behind the closed door. I couldn’t stand the pain she endured, her cries caused my heart to crack, but I knew it ‘wasn’t my business’, I knew it because that’s what I’d forced myself to believe each time he got too angry. So I closed the door, closed my ears, closed my mouth, closed my eyes, closed my head off and closed my heart.
I could still sense her fears with every whimper and every intake of breath. I still heard his curses at her, his names of love: “whore, bitch, and cunt”. My blood boiled and I forced shaky fingers to turn the key in the lock, sealing me in.
The beat of drums, the screech of guitars and the sweet sound of melodic voices intertwined as it poured out of my headphones, forming a wall between me and the carnage the wife endured.
“P-p-please s-s-stop it,” I heard her pleas through my barricade. I even held my breath as he promised his love and sealed it with a resoundingly painful slap on bare flesh.
Surprisingly I could already hear her ’explanations’ as to the purple-tinged class-ring imprint on the apple of her cheek, the ‘it-was-all-my-fault’s’, the blustering, the quiet voice, the screaming eyes, the nightmarish shouts and the cold sweats. The blatant lying... to herself and those who love her.
I could see the pain of an all too willing housewife. I could see the bruising and all I had to do was to stare into a mirror as I tried to smooth the concealer over my new ‘love mark’!
No comments:
Post a Comment