It was his idea of a good time
posted in Journal Entries |The room was hot, dark and uncomfortable. I had been there for several hours and had quit wiping the sweat from my brow as it formed only seconds after it was gone. Occasionally a blink would cause a bead to coat my eyelashes. My glass of water had been drained twice and now I was alone.
“I’m waiting.” the cold voice brought me forward in my hard wooden chair that groaned under my frame.
“I still can’t think of anything.” I mumbled. I heard him sigh. My eyes shifted rapidly across the pictures that were tossed before me and my heart pounded in my ears. Each time he passed me the musky smell of Old Spice mixed with gin and sweat accompanied the moving air that followed him.
He stopped behind me and I heard his wedding band on his strong hand connect with the backrest of my chair as he rested his weight on it. Again the old chair creeked in protest. I was sure he was enjoying himself. This was just where he wanted me. I was his prey caught in a steel trap struggling the life out of myself in a foolish attempt to reclaim my freedom. While I tried to reason with myself for the crime, reviewing the gruesome pictures before me, he was smiling smugly. It was his idea of a good time.