THE FOLLOWING MATERIAL CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT — VIOLENCE, LANGUAGE AND RAPE. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. 18+
I stand alone in this room, my breathing raspy, weathered, racing. My heart is beating furiously. I can feel the blood rushing through my veins., exhilarated and at the same time feeling the overwhelming need to vomit. The feel of smooth wood in my hand, the gleam of steel, cold and uncaring casting a light in my eye as I look at the long slender blade I’m holding. I have to do this, that is what she tells me, over and over. He hurt you, he wronged you, took what you loved and turned it into something you hate. He is alone now the voice says, it sounds so sweet and loving. It will be so easy to sneak up on him she says.
At first just her whispers were what I heard but as the days went on and turned into weeks, the whispers became louder until I could hear her voice as plain as if she was beside me.
First entry found
Catherine Sims Journal
Date May 16th
The day was beautiful and sunny and started out like any other day. His breakfast, over easy eggs with the yolks runny but not watery. Toast slightly brown with just a touch of butter and coffee black with a drop of water added. The table was set how he liked, plate with napkin to the left with sparkling spoon, fork and knife laying on top. Coffee cup to the right, handle pointing to the west. The daily newspaper folded beside his cup, sports section up first. Flowers freshly picked from the garden that I tended every day, a bouquet of daisies is what he loves to see every morning in the spring. The flowers change as each season passes.
I glance at the table setting as I hear him coming down the stairs, everything looks perfect. He comes in and doesn’t glance my way at all, instead he looks at the table as he sits down. I reach for the coffee pot to serve him and let out a sigh of relief. “Cat,” he says slowly, “what have I told you about my eggs?” I can feel my stomach tense and I just knew what would be next. “You like them over easy Sir, not watery just runny,” I reply, trying to sound as if all was well. “Yes Cat, but I can tell from looking at them that they are watery. I can’t have that. Do you understand?” My voice shakes slightly as I answer, “Yes Sir, I will make some more.” He grabs my arm hard as I reach for his plate, and hisses in my face, “NO, that won’t do. I have to leave for work now. You should have done it right the first time.” I see the punch before I actually feel it and in my pain I drop the glass coffee pot, crying out as the scalding hot coffee burns my legs.
The pain is intense and my legs give out, collapsing under me. As I hit the floor he yells, “You fucking bitch! Look what you did to my pants! Now I have to change for work.” He gets up, landing a kick and I pull inward with the impact of his loafer hitting my stomach, the air driven from my lungs. I lay there trying to catch my breath as I hear him upstairs rushing around, slamming doors and cussing. Pulling myself up slowly, first using the chair legs then the table to support my weight. I’m bleeding from my arms, the glass from the coffee pot is the culprit. I sit in the chair waiting, listening, wondering what will happen when he comes down…. what will happen next? How did I let this get so far out of control? Things were so different in the beginning. “Cat!!!???” He is standing in the kitchen looking at me. “Aren’t you going to clean this mess you made?” I nod, “Yes,” I reply as I start to stand, wincing as my ribs tighten. He strides to me casually and places a kiss on my cheek. “See you tonight around 7, supper on the table, my favorite right?” “Yes Sir, Chicken Cordon blue with roasted Brussels sprouts.” He strokes my cheek and smiles, and I flinch inside, “That’s my girl.” The relief is nearly overwhelming as I watch him turn and leave for work, the sound of the door shutting behind him releasing the breath I’d be holding.
Second Entry found
Catherine Sims Journal
Date May 26th
The phone rings at 6:45 pm, just as I’m putting the finishing touches on the dinner he’d requested for tonight. I have to answer before the third ring, and I race for the phone, nearly dropping it in my haste. “Hello?” “Cat, I won’t be home tonight till late,” his voice falls in my ear and my heart with it, “I have a meeting tonight. I will pick up something to eat from here.” I hang up the phone when he says goodbye, seeing right through the lie. I know the truth. There is no meeting tonight or any other night this last month. He has a mistress, a lover. She calls occasionally, says nothing but I can hear her breathing on the phone. Once she even spoke and asked for him. I told her he wasn’t here and she hung up abruptly. I’m not a fool.
He told me when we began , to love him is to listen to him, obey him. No questions. Just do as I was told and I thought that is how marriage was, so I did as he said. The first time he hit me was when I broke his rule and refused him. I can’t even remember the reason I said no, just the feeling of the back of his hand across my face and his rage as he said, “Never tell me no again. I own you and you will do as I say, when I say it.” And I have since.
The next day he apologized – I love you, I was just tired from work and I took it out on you. I promise it will never happen again and I believed him. I came to learn to do what he said or pay a consequence. I made sure the house was clean, his clothes washed and ironed the way he wanted. To make his meals as he requested each and every time. Everyone thinks us the perfect couple, he a southern lawyer in a prestigious firm, I his beautiful, sweet and loving wife. A trophy wife.
My momma always said never judge a book by its cover. She was right. Our home is a two story mansion in an affluent section of downtown Atlanta, complete with the well manicured lawn and sparkling pool in back. It says wealth, this spacious expensively decorated five bedroom, three bathroom house and it was just what Momma said,…..a cover. Behind closed doors it is a nightmare. He’s learned too. Where to hit so that the bruises don’t show, where no one could see them, at first. I became a magician, covering up the signs, working my magic so that my own cover appeared to be what everyone expected. My friends, the ones he allows me to have, only see the person that I want them to see. The happily married trophy wife. If they really knew me…If only they would look harder.
Third entry found
Catherine Sims Journal
Date July 26th
I can barely move to write this. I’ve never experienced worse with him than I’ve experienced now. The beatings had started getting more frequent and meaner as the months went along. I’m writing this as my witness. If he kills me, I want everyone to know what kind of monster he really is. It started with a simple no. He wanted me to go to his work function, some party, so he could show me off. I didn’t want to go. I had no interest in making an appearance, to pretend that we were the perfect couple. He didn’t like that I refused, but this time I didn’t care, I was willing to take a beating. I just didn’t realize how bad it would be. He demanded I go, grabbed me by the hair and dragged me to the closet before throwing me on the floor. “You ARE going Cat and you will wear that red dress that shows off your tits,” he growled at me. I stood again, calmly looking him in the eye and said “No. I am not going.”
He came at me fast and landed the first punch in my stomach, doubling me over and knocking the wind out of my lungs. I hit the floor on my knees, the pain reverberating through my body as I gasped for air. He grabbed my hair again, this time from the back of my head and pulled hard so that his face was inches from mine, yelling, “You dumb bitch, you will do what I tell you, now Put. That. Dress. On.”
Picking myself up, my legs wobbly and my stomach on fire, and with all the determination I could muster, I looked him in the eyes and said calmly, “No, I am not going.” When I saw the look in his eyes I knew I was going to hurt. I might die. He reached out and grabbed my throat. I couldn’t get any air, he was squeezing so tight. He was roaring at me but I couldn’t hear anything, only my heartbeat in my ears. I just wanted to breath and I fought him, scratching at his face and hands desperately. Finally, he let go of my throat and I inhaled deeply through the pain in my stomach, my chest was burning, and it felt like I was breathing through a pinhole.
I felt pain in the side of my head and saw a blinding light. He had punched me again, and the pain was excruciating. I fell to the ground, and curled in on myself in self defense, feeling that I was on the verge of passing out from the pain. He dragged me by my arm, yanking it hard enough that I felt the muscles give and screamed, then roughly picked me up and threw me on the the perfectly made bed. “Look what you made me do you fucking whore!! Now you can’t go anywhere. Was this your plan all along? I’ll show you never to defy me again.
The look in his eyes was that of an animal; a rabid animal with only evil intentions. I tried to run, to get away but he caught me by my leg and pulled me ruthlessly back, and was on top of me using all his strength. I couldn’t move. He tore my robe off, , and I felt the delicate fabric of the underwear he insisted on me wearing cut my skin as he ripped it off. I knew what he was going to do. I quit fighting and went slack as he entered me, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes as he pounded my body. It hurt. “Take it you cunt, this is all you’re good for,” he shouted, spraying my face with spittle. I think my mind just shut down. I don’t remember much after that. He came inside me, got up, went to the bathroom for a shower. I lay there, listening to him sing as he finished dressing, without moving. He stood at the doorway, staring at my naked and bruised body, swiftly walked down the stairs and out the front door.
Final Entry Found
Catherine Sims Journal
Date August 12th
Her voice has completely taken over now and I know what she says to me is what I must do. I hear him coming down the steps for breakfast. As he comes in he notices that the table is empty as his plate, that sits perfectly set at his place. “What is this?” he asks, pointing to the empty plate. “I have a surprise for you darling. You’ll love it. Just sit down and I’ll give it to you.” He stares at me, perplexed, and I see the black rage in his eyes. “You know I don’t like surprises,” he snaps as he sits, slamming his hand on the tabletop hard enough to make the utensils chatter. “I know – but this time it will be eye opening,” I sneer, walking behind him and shoving the knife into the soft folds of his neck. His head falls back and his eyes roll back until all that I can see are the whites, his lids sliding closed over them and then flickering open once again,
The sudden chiming of the antique grandfather clock in the foyer breaks the spell I’d been under, announcing that it was 10 am and time to begin. Time does fly by when your having fun. I sit next to him at the table, the scent of Gladiolas fills the air from the bouquet sitting on the table. “What’s goooing on CCCat?” His words are slurred and I can tell by the look on his face he heard it as well. He continues to speak, making an effort to enunciate the words clearly, “Why can’t I move? Why are my words slow and slur….slurrrr….slurrrrinnngggg.” He’s becoming agitated and I push the blade a little deeper into his neck. “Shhhhh, I will explain but first you must be starving. Let me get you something to eat,” I reply, picking up his plate, and walking to the stovetop. “Something does smell good CCCCCCCat,” he says slowly. I laugh absently, placing his meal on the plate with care, “Why yes, it does. Are you hungry? I know you usually just have eggs for breakfast but I thought you enjoy a change.”
I lay the plate down in front of him and relish the look of horror on his face. “What the fuuuucckkk is thiiissss?” he tries to yell, but the blade buried in his neck turns it into a rusty rasp instead. I can tell he knows already. “My dear Sir……that is sausage and on the side are oysters. I’m sure your mistress will love that. Oysters are very good for the sex drive you know. Oh, I’m sorry, you can’t move your arms. My poor darling, here, I will feed you.” I sliced a bite from the sausage and placed it in his mouth, scraping the fork against his teeth as I withdrew it. He spits it back at me. “What’s wrong. I thought for sure you would like it,”I say, with a frown on my face. “That is noooootttt a sauuusssagge you bittchhhhh!” He tries to scream but it is useless. “I’ve done some research recently. Did you know that there’s a place in your brain that controls pain, feelings etc. I found it an exhilarating read. That’s why your speech is slurred and even though you say the words, not one ounce of anger is coming through. As for why you are unable to move, it’s because the knife I’ve embedded in the back of your neck is resting on just the right spot to paralyze you. Its amazing what you can learn on the internet.”
His jaw falls open in shock, and it delights me to see him utterly speechless. With a smile on my lips, I continue, staring into his eyes as I do. “My darling, you’re right. It isn’t a sausage or oysters on your plate. That is your pathetic little cock and your shriveled balls, all sautéed in a nice little white wine sauce. I think it is my finest home cooked breakfast to date, don’t you? Oh goodness, you’re bleeding all over the kitchen floor. I know how you hate a dirty floor. Darling, your skin is awful white and your barely breathing. Darling?…………Darling?………….
A soft gentle breeze flows through the air, carrying with it the smell of the ocean, salty and tangy, I can feel the taste on my lips, in my mind. The day is beautiful, blue skies and boundless white fluffy clouds are slowly moving as to say, I am in no hurry. I sit in a small cafe closely observing all the beautiful, affluent women of Boca Raton, Florida. They meet here for lunch, talking laughing and happy. They are not what I’m after. I can see her now, the one marked with the signs only I can see. The one sitting there, trying to smile, trying to laugh, desperate to fit in but her heart is screaming. I watch as the others leave, it is her turn to pay the check and she doesn’t mind, it keeps her from heading to the one place she hates to be….home. Sitting down quickly I stop her slow rise from her chair. “Excuse me,” she says, “I’m was just leaving.” No, I murmur, “You are just getting here,” I smile sweetly in contrast to my words, “How long has he been hurting you?” An expression of horror, denial, and relief cross her face. “I know. I was once like you. Not to worry, I’m here to help. Let me introduce myself.” I extend my hand out to shake hers…..”My name is Lady Simplicity.”.