Page 20 of The Bones We Break
“Please..” I beg, my whole body shaking. Ricky soothes a hand over the throbbing brand, the soft skin of his palm bringing a small comfort to me and I bask in the tenderness of his act before my inner walls are completely torn from the inside out. Immediately, his cock stretches me to the point of splitting me open, a fast burning fire covers my skin in sweat, and I can feel my insides bleeding. My fists grip the soft plush material, my knuckle bones turn the skin across my hands a pale white, the thin fingernails breaking under the strain.
“Fuck! You’re so fucking tight!” Ricky groans out as he continues his thrusts, getting deeper each time. I’m being shoved further into the bed each time he forces his way back inside me. The sounds of skin slapping against each other, a heartbreaking symphony to my ears. Closing my eyes, I allow the darkness to fully envelop my vision as I will my mind to take me somewhere better, somewhere safe. I imagine another version of my life where I’m not being hurt or betrayed, but a place where I’m truly loved and cared for. My imaginary world takes over all of my senses. Imagining a warm feeling wash over me, like an embrace from a loved one, instead of the brutal pain that’s currently rushing through my limbs. My safe haven flashes before my eyes, then starts to crumble away like dust, violently I’m thrown back into the present. All feelings and sounds come rushing back to me at lightning speed.
Ricky’s thrusts don’t let up, becoming more forceful and bruising. I feel him pull out of me slightly.Please tell me this is over. His voice cuts through my fuzzy hearing.
“You’re soaking my cock with blood, fuck.” He moans. The final piece of me is ripped away. The vision of my blood on his cock sends him into a frenzy, his hips snapping into my ass, our skin clashing against each other. I cry out in agony, I can’t stop it. I can’t stop the whimpers and screams that leave my mouth as he yanks out of me before spilling himself all over my ass and lower back. The hot, sticky liquid running down the crease of my backside.
I don’t move an inch, I can’t. I’m a void of nothingness, an empty black mass. Fear and terror freezes my body in place as I hear Ricky stuff himself back into his trousers, the buckle of his belt rattling in the silent room.
“Clean yourself up.” He talks down to me, like a child who’s made a mess. “I’ve got work shit to take care of.” And with that,he leaves. Listening, I hear his retreating footsteps on the carpet before the suite door opens and closes behind him, putting a small end to his torture.
My sore body flops onto the bed, my shaking legs giving in from underneath me as I turn to my side to grab what remains of my wedding dress and use it to clean myself up a bit. Again, doing as Ricky says. Returning to my fetal position, I tuck my legs into myself then lay the bed sheet over me in the middle of the bed. In that moment the silence is deafening, not a single sound can be heard except the loud thoughts that infiltrate my mind.
The darkness slipped over me, like something I’ve never felt before. This heaviness that has no remorse for its victims takes me in its grasp and I welcome it with open arms. Becoming one with it. Knowing that this dark place will either keep me safe, or be the one to end me.
I’ve spent the past four years of my marriage trapped in this gilded cage. A prisoner in my own home with a cruel and vicious monster, and that monster is my husband. I thought I was in love once, that I’d found the other half of my soul, a man that would cherish and protect me but I was so very wrong. I was tricked and trapped from the very first moment, and that moment has led me to this. A decision that I will probably regret making for the rest of my life. I’ve heard people often ask why women stay in abusive relationships and I too often thought the same thing, that was before it happened to me. You see, it’s not as easy as just sitting down with my husband and explaining that I want a divorce, oh no. It’s the hold this man has over me, the metaphorical chains that have bound my ankles and wrists, to the floor. This man has taken everything from me, to the point where I have to rely on him for all my basic needs, and he knows it. This is so much more than physical. The bruises only run skin deep, but this mental torment will last a lifetime. I have lost everything that was once mine, my belongings, my character, my friends, my job, my zest for life has slipped through my fingers like grains of sand and I’ve been left digging in the dirt to pick the pieces up.
I let my sore body float in the warm bath water. The heat soothing my bruised skin. The purple bruises begin to bloom on my legs and hips and the wound on my forehead from when I was thrown into the marble kitchen island has now dried, the blood flaking on my skin. The throbbing, now a dull ache. I’ll have to keep an eye on that one as Ricky won’t allow me to go to the hospital for injuries in case anyone suspects anything. He fears I may cause a scene that will have people questioning him. I’d like to think it would be that easy, but I know the power that Ricky holds over people. The moment I voiced my situation, I’d be dragged straight back here with his hand in my hair, kicking and screaming. So I know my place, and my place is to keep quiet. I’ve thought about escaping many times, it crosses my mind on a daily basis. How would I do it? Where would I go if I got away? Do I have the willpower to do that, I’m not so sure.
The darkness that slips in every so often has become a comforting friend to me, it keeps me safe when things get too loud, or I need a place to escape to when Ricky puts his hands on me. Even now, its gentle caress across my mind is soothing and warm, telling me that it’s safe to let go now, that it’s okay for me to step over that edge and accept my fate. That it won’t hurt anymore.
I’m tired, I’msovery tired. Letting my head rest on the white porcelain of the bathtub, the water lapping at my skin soothes my anxiety. The sweet vanilla aroma invades my senses as I rub the razor blade between my index finger and thumb, the shape and weight a familiar feeling to me, the small but deadly item brings me an ounce of control over my own body. Lifting my hand, I bring the sharp blade to the inside of my arm, the skin already marred with previous war wounds, and press the metal against the thin skin and pull from the middle of my forearm to my wrist, the flesh splitting open under the sharp blade. Hotcrimson liquid pools to the surface before trailing down my arm in thick rivulets and I instantly feel relief, all my worries seeping out of my skin like a deadly poison. The blood mixes with the water causing an almost oil slick image, or the aftermath of a shark attack. A small laugh escapes my lips in my hazy state at the thought of a shark in a bathtub. I don’t remember the last time I laughed. It’s nice. Steadily, I place the blade on the edge of the tub, my fingertips leave pink droplets on the white porcelain. I drop my arms back into the water, a slight stinging sensation tingles over my arm from the fragranced water invading the open wound. I feel weightless, like I’m on a soft cloud and nothing can touch me up here. No pain, no heartache. Just silence. My eyelids grow heavy like lead weights are bringing them down over my eyes but I don’t bother to fight it.
A tormenting memory plays like an old film in my mind and I’m the only one in the audience watching it.
The smell of smoke wakes me from my already broken sleep, the heavy fumes making their way through every inch of the house. Abruptly, I sit up right, my left hand grasping at the sheets of the bed to find it empty.
Where’s Ricky?!
Throwing the sheet off my legs, I scramble out of bed, not bothering with shoes or a robe and fling the bedroom door open, my heavy footsteps slamming against the hardwood floors, sending shockwaves up my bare feet to my knees. Frantically, I open the spare bedroom doors to find the rooms are all empty. My brain is scrambling to figure out what’s going on and where the smoke is coming from. I carry on running towards the landing, my feet skidding on the floor as I grab a hold of the banister rail. I manage to keep my stance and make my way down the stairs, each step feeling more further away than the last.
“Ricky! Where are you?!” I shout and wait for a response. What if he’s hurt? Would that be such a bad thing? No, fuck. I shouldn’t be thinking that. He’s my husband. My feet land on the plush grey carpet at the bottom of the stairs and I race into the living room, finding the curtains closed and no sign of life, everything is still in its place. Okay, so nothing is on fire in the house it seems. My lungs burn from the panic, and I take a breather, my hands settling on my knees as I fill my lungs with the much needed oxygen. After a moment I stand and make my way into the kitchen to see that there’s glass on the floor, sharp broken shards dotted all over the white tiles and an open bottle of whiskey sits on the island in the middle of the kitchen, the contents almost empty. Please, no. Sober Ricky can be terrible to deal with, but intoxicated Ricky becomes a whole other person. Someone downright wicked and evil. Not someone I can defend myself against.
My eyes scan over the kitchen, being careful of where I step, not wanting to stand on an invisible piece of glass. In my peruse of the kitchen I notice the garage door open to the right of the kitchen, a cold breeze makes its way up the steps and brushes over my bare legs. Steadily, on shaky legs I tip toe over to the door and poke my head around the side.
“Ricky? Are you down there?” I whisper-shout, and get no response, but I do notice brown cardboard boxes strewn all over the floor and up the stairs, as if someone has ransacked them all in a hurry to look for something. A slither of writing catches my eyes, the handwriting I recognise as mine, written in black marker pen. Crouching down, I pick up the ripped cardboard. My own words staring back at me. ‘Ana’s books’ my stomach bottoms out, panic throwing me off balance causing me to land heavily on my ass on the top step. I wince at the sharp pain before pulling myself together again. Hewouldn’t, would he? The smoke, the boxes, the whiskey, it all paints a heartbreaking picture. A picture that I don’t want to look at.
I push myself up off the floor and begin to slowly creep over to the back door, then place my trembling hand on the cold handle, my fingers gripping around the metal. The heavy feeling of dread lands in the pit of my stomach as I push the handle down, hearing the mechanism unlocking, I step outside into the garden.
The cold night air hits my bare skin like a thousand needles and I instantly shiver and wrap my arms around myself to keep warm, noticing a warm glow around the tree we have planted. The rich smell of smoke is much stronger out here and I have to cover my mouth with my hand to stop the heavy smoke from choking me. My legs wobble as I step onto the damp grass and walk around the tree to come face to face with my worst nightmare. All my books, my special editions, the lives I have lived through all those pages are being burnt, right in front of my eyes. I can’t even move, my feet firmly planted into the grass, fusing me in place. The heat from the fire is sizzling my skin, but I wish it would burn me alive. The last of my belongings are gone. Forever. In the light of the fire I notice Ricky swaying on his feet, a crystal glass in his hand, the amber liquid spilling over the edges and a book in the other. I take a step forward until he notices me in his periphery.
“How could you?” I sob. Tears streamed down my face. “These books were all I had left and you’ve taken them!” My voice is growing louder, white hot anger firing through me. I’ve never raised my voice at Ricky before but now I can’t stop. My blood is boiling as hot as the fire with the fury I’m feeling. I already know the punishment I will receive from this outburst but I cannot stand by and let this happen.
Ricky’s voice slurs as he shouts over the roaring fire. “I’m supposed to be the only man you love, Annabelle. Not these fucking men in these fucking books! These.. Pages are brainwashing you. They’re taking over your mind, and I won’t have it.”
I’m taken aback by his words, the theory he seems to believe. I try to plead my case, my hands rising in front of me to calm him down.
“Ricky, what are you talking about? These stories. Those men are all fictional. They aren’t real! I’m married to you aren’t I? Is that not enough?” I attempt to step closer, to maybe grab the remaining books that are waiting to be slaughtered in the fire but I’m stopped in my poor attempt. Without delay, he flings the book that was in his hand straight into the glowing fire, the ashes rising into the night sky as it hits the centre.
“Please! Stop!” I beg and plead but he doesn’t listen. He just keeps grabbing them from the pile, turning them to molten ash. My knees buckle underneath me, and I land onto the wet grass with a thud, my hands shooting out to brace me from the fall. I hunch over and sob. My body is racking with shakes as Ricky’s expensive shoes come into view beneath me, the moonlight reflecting off the polished leather. He lifts my chin with another book he’s grabbed from the depleting pile and our eyes clash together, his growing darker than a black hole. My jaw aches painfully as I grind my teeth to keep me from acting out. Ricky tilts his head ever so slightly to the side, almost gauging my reaction, like he wants to see another rise out of me so he can smite me down again.
“Isn’t it funny, Annabelle.” He slurs. “That you’d willingly get on your hands and knees, to cry and beg for these.. Stories, but I doubt you would ever do the same for me. It’s almost like you love these books more than you love me, and I can’t havethat. I won’t be in competition against pieces of paper.”
My eyes widen at his words, I almost can’t believe what I’m hearing. My husband is jealous of my books. That my attention isn’t solely focused on him. I try to fight my argument but my words are cut short before they’ve even had the chance to leave my mouth. The heavy book in his hands connects with my jaw and my head snaps back, hitting the ground with force. My teeth feel like they are rattling around in my mouth like a baby’s toy rattle and my vision blurs, my face throbbing from the heavy blow. The sky is hazy and blurry as I bring my fingers to my lip, feeling a warm wetness under my fingertips, then I bring my hand back into view, the glow of the fire illuminating the blood that’s now coating my digits. Sticking my tongue out, I slide it across my bottom lip and mop up the copper liquid.
Ricky chugs the rest of his whiskey then throws the glass into the fire pit, it shatters instantly, then he lifts his trousers at the knees before crouching in front of me. I rear back just an inch, my chin lifting from my chest to meet his demonic gaze. The fear and power that radiates from his being is palpable, his voice low as he speaks.
“I will be the only man in your life, do you understand me?” I inhale a shaky breath, the ash mixing with the air, and I nod my head sharply. He pauses a moment before rising to his feet then spins away from me to carry on burning my books.
