This story is about a young couple rebuilding their lives after the wife is viciously attacked.
The rape
is not
described. I will under no circumstances write such a scene. The story begins after the fact.
If rape fantasy is your thing, I suggest you seek help.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Marcus held the car door open for his wife Dawn and she eased herself out. She winced and held a hand to the side of her ribs as she did so.
"Thank you," she said, softly.
Marcus said nothing in reply, merely giving a small smile, unsure in its sincerity. He swallowed sharply. He couldn't look at her like this. He couldn't look at his wife of eight years, with her badly marked face and severe bruising on her neck and shoulders; bruising that mottled her body from where it peeped out over the top of her baggy sweatshirt down to her lower ribs and started again between her thighs. She had a blackened left eye and her lower lip was still swollen and discoloured.
He blinked back a tear and had to look away. He caught a glimpse of curtains twitching in a neighboring window. "Enjoying the show?" he thought bitterly.
Dawn limped slowly from the car to the front door of the terraced house she shared with Marcus. He followed behind, he had wanted to help her, to take some of the weight off her, but could not. Almost imperceptibly she leaned away from him whenever he came too close, not even aware she was doing it. And every time it happened, another dagger entered his heart.
There was a series of snapshots in his mind:
Bidding her goodbye as he went to work.
"I'm going shopping this morning," she had said, "do you want anything?"
A quick think, "No thanks," a peck on the cheek and then, "Bye."
When the police arrived at his place of work and informed him that Dawn had been attacked. Dragged from the supermarket car park, taken to a secluded place in the local woods and attacked. Beaten... and raped... and beaten again.
The journey to the hospital.
The shock when he saw her, what that animal had done to his beautiful Dawn.
Her frenzied screaming and fighting when he had rushed over to take her in his arms, as she lay in the hospital bed. She had fought him like a wild beast, like she didn't even know who he was.
That was four days ago.
In silence, he followed her inside the house.
They sat down in the living room. Dawn automatically went to her high-winged armchair that sat in the corner next to the reading lamp and her small bookshelves. Marcus remained standing. He was at a loss for words, what could he say? He stood and looked through the net curtains that adorned the large plate window. Jumbled suggestions ran though his mind; "I'm sorry," no. "I wish it had never happened," obviously. "I hate to see you like this," Oh please! Helplessly he settled on, "Would... would you like a cuppa?"
Dawn glanced up briefly to look at him. He sensed the movement and turned to face her. Immediately her green eyes became downcast. She watched her hands as they clasped together tightly on her lap and gave an almost imperceptible nod. The movement made her ash-blonde hair shake. Or what was left of it. It was badly cut and very uneven. It had been roughly removed with a tool unsuitable for the job, a hunting knife. The same one that had been held at her throat.
Marcus tried to smile as he replied, "Okay, won't be a minute," and went into the kitchen to prepare. He hadn't asked if she wanted a cup of tea for any other reason that he just couldn't bear to look at her for the moment.
She watched as he quickly left her presence. She knew that he couldn't look at her, not like this and she hated it, but at the same time she couldn't stand the thought that he was looking at her. It felt... dirty. She felt dirty.
Marcus was filling the teapot with hot water when he felt her presence behind him in the kitchen, she had entered silently and skirted the room from the door to the sink. He heard the tap turn on and the sounds of Dawn washing her hands.
Without looking up from what he was doing he asked, "Are you okay?" And cursed himself inside. What a fucking stupid thing to say! Of course she wasn't okay, how could she be after... that.
She replied quietly, "I'm fine, it's just I needed to wash my hands, that's all."
Marcus poured the drinks and handed one to his wife. She took a sip and winced as the cup touched her sore lips. She smiled ruefully and said, "Hot."
He wanted to touch her face, to stroke her lips and her eye as if somehow he could brush away the pain they were causing her, his wife, his lovely wife. His hand came up to gently touch her. As his fingers came onto contact with her cheek, she stiffened and her eyes widened slightly.
Marcus whispered, "I love you, you know."
Dawn grabbed his fingers, pulled it away from her face and held them in a tight grip just in front of herself. Far enough away so that he couldn't reach her but still close enough to show that it wasn't rejection. She looked down at the floor and replied, "I know."
Abruptly, she left his hand go and stepped away. She swallowed, embarrassed, and then said, "Best drink up before it goes cold."
For Marcus, it was like a slap in the face. Never in all their years together had Dawn ever stopped him from touching her. In fact, most of the time they had trouble tearing themselves out of each other's grip. At least, that's how he remembered it.
For want of anything better to say and to fill the now uncomfortable silence, Dawn said, "The doctors have booked me in to see a counsellor."
"I know. They want me to go as well. Why do I have to go? After all it was you who was... was..."
Dawn snapped, "Raped! I was raped! Is it too difficult to for you to say?"
"I'm sorry."
"Well excuse me if I don't fall down with sympathy for you!"
He sat the small kitchen table, rested his elbows on its polished surface and looked down at his hands as his fingers interlocked together, "I'm sorry. I know it must be hard for you, after all it was you that was... raped," he was a picture of misery, "I just... I just want to..."
Marcus almost snarled, "I just don't know what to do! I don't know what to say. I mean, all that happened to you and I can't do anything. I want to make it all better, I want to take the pain away... And I can't do any of that. I feel so useless. It shouldn't have happened. I shouldn't have let it happen."
Dawn despaired. She was in such pain both physically and emotionally that she didn't know how she get through it and now she watched as her husband felt sorry for himself. She wanted to rush across and take him in her arms and soothe him. But thoughts came into her mind unbidden.
Nasty thoughts.
Evil thoughts.
Look at him, sitting there wallowing in self pity. What about me? What does he know about misery? Terror? Pain? What does he know about looking into the eyes of someone as they violate you, never knowing if your next breath will be your last? Anyway, it's all a trick! He just wants you to feel sorry for him and come in range. Then you know what'll happen don't you? That's right, he'll do what
he
did. Men! They're all the same! No! This is Marcus, he's my husband. He loves me, he would never... Would he? Why am I thinking these things? Look at him, he needs me.
Really? Where was he when you needed him?
THAT'S NOT FAIR!
Isn't it?
No! It's not his fault, it's my fault. It must have been, I must have done something, otherwise why would he have picked me?"
Dawn reached out a shaking hand, she wanted to touch his shoulder, not much, but it would have been a gesture, a sign, however small that she didn't hold him in some way responsible for what had happened, or even that she didn't see him the same way as she saw the man who had violated her. But in truth, right now she couldn't. So her hand fell limply back to her side and she could merely watch as Marcus buried his face in his hands.
And then... And then it was like she was someone else. Someone looking down at the two of them in a frozen tableaux in their kitchen. She felt detached and dispassionate.
She looked down at her hands, they were dirty again.
"Odd," she thought distantly, "I thought I just washed my hands."
Dawn once more ran the tap and squeezing some washing liquid on to her hands began to rub them together vigorously.
"What are you doing?"
"My hands are dirty."
"You just washed them a minute ago."
"I know, I didn't get them clean," she stopped washing and examined her hands again, "You know, actually I think I need a bath. I haven't had a proper soak for days. Dawn strode from the kitchen and upstairs to run herself a bath, leaving Marcus sitting at the table. He thought her actions a little odd, she had not even turned the tap off, neither had she rinsed the suds from her hands.
Dawn quickly stripped off her clothes and tested the water with her toe before easing herself into the bathtub. She grimaced slightly as the motion of sitting down made her battered ribcage and thighs grumble with a dull, throbbing ache. She looked up at the mirror as it misted over from the steam that was filling the room and nodded slightly, she had no desire to look at herself, even by accident. She knew she must look a sight and she also wondered how Marcus could look at her either. She wasn't pretty, not any more. And not just because of the marks that covered her normally lily-white skin. No, she felt degraded and used and ugly and pitiful and hateful... and dirty. Incredibly dirty.
She stared at her hands, she could still see the filth that covered them; in fact even as she watched, it grew and spread up her arms, past her elbows, shoulders, everywhere.
She had to get clean. She had to get this grime off the outside of her body and just wished she could do the same to the inside. Grabbing the rough flannel that hung on a little hook by the taps, she rubbed some soap into it and started washing herself. It didn't seem to matter how hard she scrubbed, it wouldn't come off. Harder and harder she worked the flannel back and forth, but still she was just as dirty.
"No good, this isn't working."
Her eye fell on the nailbrush.
Downstairs Marcus sat staring into space. After an indeterminable length of time, he looked up at the clock. His brow furrowed as he realised that he had been sitting there for over an hour. He tilted his head and listened but could hear no sound from upstairs. So he decided to see if Dawn was all right.
Standing outside the bathroom door, he tapped gently and asked, "Are you okay in there, Love?"
No answer.
He put his ear to the door and could just make out the sound of Dawn as she cried to herself. Somewhat disturbed, he rapped on the door again, louder this time.
"Dawn? What's going on? Are you okay?"
Still no answer, so he opened the door and went in. The colour drained from his face at the sight before him.
Dawn was sat in the now cold, water crying and muttering to herself as she roughly worked the nailbrush back and forth across her upper body. Her arms were scratched and raw from where the rough bristles had ruptured her skin from frenzied scrubbing.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?"
Marcus roughly grabbed her wrists to stop her from continuing with her work and pulled the nailbrush from her hands, throwing it to the floor. She reacted immediately and flew at him like a demon trying to scratch his face.
"GIVE IT BACK! GIVE IT BACK!"
