He is finally exhausted. He removes the handcuffs that held me to the King-sized bed for the past two hours. My wrists are aching and my shoulder feels disjointed. The pain in between my legs is unimaginable but I must not be tired. I must execute the thought that has engulfed my mind for the past two hours.
The thought that enabled me endure the two hours in hell.
I had borne the pain for four years but tonight I can take it no more.
I take the timid shaky steps that would mark the beginning of the end of my husband’s life.
Each step imprinted on me flash backs of all I had suffered.
He married me when I turned 15, he raped me immediately and has done so every night for the past four years.
He has destroyed the innocent products of these rapes, every single one, my beautiful babies! They never saw the light of the day.
My petite body bears the various markings of his ownership, the burns, scars, scales and nasty writings on my most private parts.
Tonight! Tonight he inserted his thick weapon of destruction into my anus! I had never felt so violated.
The tears are flowing freely and furiously down my sweaty face. The anger of four years propels me forward as I pick up the sharp kitchen knife.
I move slowly back to the room like I am in a trance, I gaze for a little while at his huge hairy chest. He is snoring, he looks so peaceful but I must take my chance at freedom.
I aim for his bulging stomach, I strike, the blood splashes against the white fluffy duvet. I strike at his chest, his neck, his legs.
I keep on striking, I do not stop, I am deaf to his screams, he has been deaf to mine.
I finally stop. I am exhausted. He is lying in the pool of his blood. I am free.