“Maybe some time will help you change your mind.” He grabs her wrist and pushes he into the closet. His voice is icy, venomous and she recoils, poisoned.
There is a click of the lock and she falls backward into the wall, sinking to the floor in a heap. Hot tears stream down her cheeks and she beats the carpeted floor, too weakly to even make a sound, with her fist. “Oh, God.” She sobs. “Dear God, please.”
He pours himself a shot of whiskey, listening to her sob. Tipping back the little glass he downs the bitter amber liquid in one gulp. He chuckles and walks back over to the closet. Large rough hands rap on the door. “You ready to be a good girl?”
Silence. He smiles, licks his chops and unlocks the door. She’s still sitting there, defeated. “Up on your feet, c’mon.” She doesn’t move; He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her up to her feet. Head hanging limply he pushes her into the other room. “Please.” She begs, turning to him. “Please.”
Slap. His coarse hand meets her face and she crumples onto the bed.