Sharon stared into the mirror. She’d have to call out sick to work in the morning. No amount of eye shadow, foundation and blush would hide the bruise. She could hide the ones on her arms, and neck. But the one on her face was too much.
His team lost the game. They didn’t lose many games. She was grateful for that. It would be better if they never lost.
Every Sunday during the season, she prayed, and rooted for his team, while she hid in the kitchen, too terrified to watch the game with him. If they won, she’d be OK. He’d be horny, and she could handle that. Suck him a while, get naked on the floor, and moan as he banged her. Make him think it felt great. Ask him what he’d like her to do. When they won, everything worked out.
When they lost…
She looked in the mirror, as she whispered to God, “It’s not good when they lose. You know what I mean? He’s not himself when they lose.”
She fixed his favorite snacks while the game was on, brought him more to drink every time the other team scored. At half-time, she blew him, to calm him down. “I’ll be on the bed, after the game, waiting for you.”
When they lost, he lost it. He hit things. He broke things. He hurt her.
She knew she should leave him. She wanted to.
If only she knew how.
I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 137. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.