Previously titled Lyndsay's revenge. It wasnt an accurate title for the story being told, so I changed it.
*
"I never wanted to be this kind of husband, Skye. I wanted to be a kind and loving husband, someone you could love instead of fear..." Clyde announced as he took another swig from the Jack Daniels bottle. Lyndsay didn't respond, instead she continued her task of scrubbing the blood off the kitchen floor. It didn't seem to matter how many times she changed the water in her soapy bucket, within a few minutes of scrubbing it was pink again. Bleach burned her nostrils but she ignored the irritation and continued the clockwise circles while Clyde leaned back against the kitchen counter and watched her. She had forgotten her place, for just a moment and she had questioned him. It resulted in him breaking her nose which is why she was currently scrubbing the floor.
"Georgie always said I was too soft, and he was right. I should have killed you when you stabbed me. I still can't feel anything in my pinky and ring finger on this hand," he announced, holding his left hand out for her to see. There was a large pink scar on the palm of his hand that matched the one on the top. That had been when she stabbed him with the butter knife at the breakfast table. He had made her eat with her hands for weeks before he had trusted her around cutlery again. That was also the same day that he whipped and raped her. And that was only after he had forced his brother to whip her first. She did regret that she had done it in front of the children, especially the younger ones, but not that she had did it. He took another gulp of whiskey, as he studied the scar.
"I was weak...and because of my weakness for you, more members of my family keep dying. I have to wonder, who is next? Because now it's just you and me Darlin."
"I never intended for anyone to die," she replied softly. And it was the truth, there was no way she could have known that his mother was allergic to the sedative, or that Emily would finally snap or even that Georgie would be so hard to take down.
There are so many different ways she had imagined that night could have gone, but that was never one of them. She spent months in therapy as she struggled between feeling justified and horrified at her actions. Nightmares only went away after they had prescribed heavy sleep meds. And it was all because of the man across from her that it had all happened, every awful thing she had ever experienced in life had been at his hands or in the hands of his family. Bide your time, you can survive this. Samson needs you to survive.
"Doesn't bring them back though, does it?"
"Unfortunately, it does not," she confessed. She kept her head bowed, hand frozen on the scrub brush. Her nails were broken and bloody from all the recent labor. Her shoulders ached as she started back up.
"I have learned it is my love for you that makes me weak. Just as your love for Samson makes you weak." Lyndsay knew her love is what kept her there. She had to have faith that he would return someday, and she needed to survive until then. She could never condemn him to this life.
"I will try harder in the future to be less of a burden, " she apologized. He gave her half a smile and approached, she leaned her head against his outstretched hand.
"And someday I hope to believe you. Only time will tell though." To hear him speak of love, his sick twisted version of love, was almost unbearable. Lyndsay closed her eyes and bowed her head in submission.
"The Lord only gives us what we can handle, and while you're quite more than a handful, I feel more up to the task than I was in the beginning. I owe a lot of that to you."
"Me?" He took another drink and walked behind her.
"I was in a lot of pain when you hit me with the truck and left me for dead. Not just because of the several broken bones. I had never been in love before you Skye, my heart broke when I watched those taillights fade into the distance. I laid there praying for the good Lord to bring me home."
"When I finally began to realize that it wasn't going to happen, I knew that I would do whatever it took to bring you home. To show you that you are meant to be mine!" He was drunk, she could hear it. She could smell it too. Jack Daniels had always been his favorite, and when he drank he tended to become more emotional.
"And I am blessed to have you in my life," Lyndsay replied softly. Part of her wondered if he would ever kill her. He often came close, and each time she wondered just how many more chances she would get. Perhaps he DID love her, in his own demented way of course.
"Thinking of how sweet it would feel to have you beneath me again, to have you finally obedient. It drove me to get well, and get stronger. You will never leave me again, will you darlin?." Chills ran down her back as she felt him approach, his presence like an eclipse on a sunny day.
"This is where I belong,". His boots echoed as he walked around, drinking more from his bottle of Jack.
"You broke 3 of my ribs, my left tibia and fractured my hip, which because of your disobedience, never quite healed properly, as I am sure you've noticed my slight limp. The pain is manageable until it starts to get cold out. This helps keep the edge off," he lifted the bottle and sloshed the liquor around for emphasis. Lyndsay struggled to remain impassive as he accused and blamed her, all the while wishing she could scream at him, what about the abuse she suffered? The terrible nightmares she had for years after she left. Or anytime she saw someone that even resembled him she had panic attacks. She was covered in scars that would never fade away completely, the thought of doing anything domestic made her want to scream. He had taken so much, ruined her mind, body and soul and yet he stood there yelling at her? Did he even fathom the amount of damage he was doing? The anguish she felt whenever she looked into the mirror, he had changed who she was down to her very core. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the scrub brush harder, trying to keep control of her anger. What would responding to him do? Only anger him further and with the alcohol flowing in his veins, anger is the last thing she wanted him feeling; broken nose evidence of that. She took a deep calming breath as she released the scrub brush and folded her hands in her lap.
"I am sorry I have been the cause of so much torment in your life, would you like me to help take the edge off?" He seemed taken aback at first at her suggestion, then as the double meaning began to sink in, he smiled at her leeringly.
