He whines, a sound of protest and pushes her hands away. She ignores him and scrubs harder. They tussle. He swipes his nails across her arm, leaving four red slashes on her skin. She slaps him. His nails rake her face. And now he is screaming, deafeningly, unceasing. ‘Stop it,’ she is trying to say. Her vocabulary seems reduced to this. ‘Stop it!’ The noise. God, the noise. It grates at her, the scrape of sharp fingernails vicious across a blackboard. God, why won’t he stop screaming? His hand lashes out into the side of her aching, battered face. She blacks out for a moment from the pain, but only for a moment. She grabs his hair and, almost distantly, watches herself dunk his head under the water. He struggles, but she is stronger. Yes. Stronger. She is not as weak as he thinks she is. Michael. Michael. Darling, darling Michael who wooed and praised and laughed at her all along…silly, foolish, weak woman. No. She was strong. He didn’t know it, but she was strong now, and he would. I’d had a long day at work listening to bickering between co-workers and just wanted to go home, get out of this skirt and blouse and soak in a hot tub. I live in a rather isolated area, no neighbors for 2-3 miles on either side of me and I love the peace and quiet. I was about a mile from home when I noticed a truck off to the side of the road. I didn’t see a flat tire or the hood up so I drove on. I pulled into my driveway and noticed a man standing on my porch knocking on the door. The defenses automatically went up. Us ladies are always taught to never trust strangers. Then I remembered the truck sitting off to the side of the road and thought this must be the owner. Sure enough as soon I pulled in he gave me this look like ‘I need your help’. Something in his eyes told me he was not going to harm me. I was a little self conscious because I was soaking wet but he didn’t seem to notice. He introduced himself and explained that he was on his way to see family in the next town.
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