Page 3 of Tormented Soul: Heather

“Okay, baby. It's time to clean up so we can get going,” I say with a smile I don't have to fake for him. I never do when it comes to my son. He's the one good thing Steven has given me. It's why I've stayed with him for so long. But every time he hurts me, I find myself inching toward the line to go through with leaving him.

It's why I've started making preparations. I have money saved. That I've earned with my shop. At least, what I could explain away. I’m sure he thinks I’m incompetent in business, but I don’t care. It works in my favor. I don't want any of his money. It's tainted, anyway. Just like me, so I guess it shouldn't matter. But it does.

Together, Zander and I work on putting his crayons back in their box and the rest of the supplies back into his art cubby, hidden away.

Taking his little hand in mine, I look into his beautiful eyes, and he smiles his chubby-cheeked smile at me.

“All ready, mama,” he says in an overly loud voice that only little kids can get away with.

“Okay, let's get in the car and buckle up then,” I prompt him. He tries to drag me to the car, and I play along, making him giggle as we enter the garage.

I lift his sturdy little body into his front-facing car seat and secure his five-point buckle. One thing Steven and I never fight about is Zander's safety.

Even when I was pregnant, he never did anything to me that might cause our son harm. He never lifted a hand to me the entire nine months I was pregnant, or the year I was breastfeeding him. It was wonderful, and I thought we had moved past him treating me that way. Until it started again. I'll never forget the first blow after I became the mother of his child. Our child.

I close the car to jolt myself out of those morbid thoughts and get into the driver's seat, securing my buckle and hitting the door opener before I start the engine.

The drive to the daycare is short, and I take my son in, then say goodbye.

He sprints off to play with his friends, and I hand his backpack with his blanket, a stuffed animal, and his lunch box to his room teacher.

“Have a good day, Mrs. Black,” she says with a genuine smile.

“Thanks, you too, Nancy,” I return, then head out.

***

Steven's open palm stings as it connects with my face.

He doesn't hold back, and his strength has me careening to the side from the force of his blow. My hand automatically comes to my abused cheek, and my feet carry me back until I hit a wall. All the while, he's moving with me, making any reprieve from him impossible. I don't understand what sent him into a rage this time. I got Zander in bed and came downstairs to clean up from dinner, which is my normal routine. With a firm grip on the hair at the back of my head, he drags me over to the table where Zander was coloring and shoves me down to my hands and knees. That's when I see the missed crayon that rolled up against the wall, out of sight.

You can't even see it if you're standing.

“You know I hate a messy, toy-laden house, Heather,” he snarls in my ear. His hot, rancid whiskey-soaked breath makes my stomach heave. I do my best not to let him see, but it doesn't matter. He’s set on punishing me.

He lifts me by my hair, and I scramble to follow with my hands over his, trying to diminish the feeling of a thousand tiny needles stabbing me. He drags me into his study across from the kitchen and forces me, stomach down, across the top of his dark oak desk. The cool smooth surface seeps through my light, flowy blouse. I don’t fight him, knowing that will only prolong my torture and make it much worse for me.

Tears trickle down my face, over my runny nose, to fall on the desktop.

Steven works to undo his belt with one hand while pulling up my skirt with the other. The cool air of the study hits my ass and pussy as he rips my underwear down to my knees, trapping them together.

The sharp sting of his belt breaks out over my bare butt cheek. A yelp escapes me, and I clench my fists to keep from reaching back to try to block any more blows. I clench my eyes closed as he shoves his sizable dick in me. I’m thankful it’s not my ass.

“When are you going to learn?” He withdraws and cracks his belt on my other ass cheek.

“Why do we have to keep having this discussion?” Thrust.

The clink of his belt falling to the desk is quickly followed by his hand in my hair, pushing down on my skull. Pain splinters out on both sides of my head, and I can no longer hold back my whimpers of pain and anguish.

Withdraw.

I just hope this will be one of his quicker assaults, and he finishes quickly.

Just let him do what he wants. It will end. It will end. I repeat the mantra in my head over and over on a loop, choosing to focus on it rather than what he’s doing to my body. When that doesn’t work, I visualize my shop and all my hopes and dreams for it to escape the pain.

What started as a hobby has turned into a real source of income. The clean shop I’ve filled with expensive knickknacks does rather well. I love how the clean, soft, dove-gray walls and the glass shelves with bright backlighting showcase each item perfectly. The simple, white, tiled floors help bring any customer’s eyes to the items available for sale. It’s not all high-end merchandise, though. I’ve got a bit of something for the everyday person too. They actually are what pays the rent. The big-ticket items are the icing on the cake. They’re what I’ve pulled and stored away in my emergency fund to escape Steven.

Longer than I hoped for, he groans and seats himself fully inside me. I can feel his cock twitching as he fills me with his cum.

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