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She slowely rises and wipes the blood off of her lip. She could feel it swelling, right away. She looks at him. He is raging tonight. Has he been drinking? Did he have a bad day at work? It doesn't seem to matter anymore. All she did, was say, that she was tired, and could she please not do the dishes tonight. The attack came fast. She wasn't expecting it. He seemed to be waiting. Waiting for her to say just the right words, so he could re-act. She walked over to do the dishes, tears silently falling down her face. She can't let him know she is crying. She can't! A little later, he walks over and tells her he is sorry, and that he didn't know what had got into him. He promises never to do it again. The tears continue to fall, quietly, and drip in the dishwater. She stares ahead, looking at her reflection in the window. She feels old, but she is very young. He waits in the other room for her. He has other plans for her tonight. Then, he thinks, after he is done, she can finish up with the laundry. She finished the dishes awhile ago, but keeps her hands in the water. Tears still running down her cheeks. Her hands, still going through the motions of dishwashing. She is buying time. Maybe he will fall asleep. Maybe he will forget her. Maybe he will leave. Maybe this will all end. Maybe......... (c) Jules ~ 2003 |
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