Nark
"Biitttccchhh..." he snarls in her face, saliva
pummeling down on her skin as he stares down into her
eyes.
They are in a small area of the compound. There
are several large containers, made of rusting steel, where the
company stores old sacks and bits and pieces that no one has a use
for but nobody can decide whether they need to be thrown away or
not.
His hand closes on her neck. Those long fingers
that have often found purchase there during their intimate moments
(if what they do could be considered intimate) squeeze inwards,
cutting off air and stressing the tendons inside so that they close
and restrict the air from flowing.
The hard steel of the wall pushes into her
uniform and into her spine. She can feel the many grooves of its
rusted surface pressing in on odd angles here and there and causing
her stiffness and hurt where they do. The rust is peeling off and
will no doubt be staining her top. It feels odd to be choking (and
so used to it by now) while worrying about her clothing.
His hand comes away and slaps across her cheek.
She jerks forward as her knees give way and her body slips to the
floor so that she is kneeling under his huge hunched frame. She
gasps for air with wide eyes and stares at the sack strewn floor
below her. She knew that this was coming. It was only a question of
when.
"Tell me why you did this to me and I might be
lenient with you."
He unbuckles his slim belt at the silver belt
buckle and slowly slides it out, loop by loop, until it is hanging
low down by his side, gripping in a hand that's artistically flared
fingers have caressed her more often than hurt. The long length of
leather glitters in the faint light given off from the dust covered
light bulb above. He is going to hurt her this time; she just knows
it.
"You've been fucking other girls," she jerks
out, her chest wrenching upwards as a tear slips down her
cheek.
He tilts his head slightly. There is silence
between them.
"I see and that was why you told that fool that
little lie of yours?"
She nods her head.
"I don't ever want to see you again." He stands
there looking at her. In him there was anger, but that has cooled.
This fool has accused him of something she cannot prove. He could
just let it go, but that would not teach the toy who her master
really is. "You will go to the supervisor and tell her the truth.
You will tell her that it was you who is stealing and that you will
take your punishment immediately."
"NO! I'll be fired."
He waits and watches.
"Of course, you will. The fool has a strong
rage in her. She will have your head and everything with
it."
"Eric, you can't do this to me. If I go to her
it is all over. I can't see you anymore."
"So? You are nothing to me anyway as you
are."
"What? How could you say that?"
"Well, why would I want a woman that is as weak
as you? Didn't you see how much more attention I paid you than the
others? Did you think that you could capture my eye with just a
little play? I don't need a woman that won't go all the
way."
"But I can be that woman, Eric. Just
listen."
He turns from her and starts towards the
door.
"Please, Eric. I can really do this. I can be
the type of woman that you need. Just let me try; just let me prove
myself."
If she could see the look on his face, she
would think twice about that statement. What Eric truly wants is
something that no woman could really possibly give.
"You say such pretty things, but do you have
anything in that head of yours to back it up?"
He turns and walks over to her, grasping her
jaw and pulling her tear strained face upwards into the
light.
"Do you have what it takes to be my
woman?"
She closes her eyes and whispers, begs, that
she does.
"Then take off all of your clothing and give it
to me."
She stands slowly, determination in her stance
betrayed only by the firm press of her left knee to the
right.
"I will do this. I will make you
mine."
"Many have said; few have done."
She reaches up and pulls her reddish,
Marguerite Henry, Bonnie Shields