Chapter One
WARNING: Story includes strong language that some readers may find offensive. This is a work of fiction and any similarities or resemblance to real people or events are not intentional.
1.
London, England
Daisy
"GET BACK HERE YOU BITCH!"
The young woman did not do what the roaring voice instructed, in fact, she intended to never go back there again. Why would she? There was nothing there for her, and she was beginning to realise there never had been. Well, nothing but a husband who was far too handy with his fists.
Go to hell Graham.
The blonde was not religious, or at least she hadn't been before they married three years earlier, but enjoyed the idea of the man who had tormented her many times,
too
many times burning eternally in a fiery pit. For that was the hell she imagined - a childish view of a red hot cave with a Devil calling the shots. Truthfully, Daisy had never given the afterlife much thought, for she found it hard enough to get through this one, well lately she did, anyway. But now, running down the concrete pavement, her only possessions being the clothes on her back and trainers on her feet, she was free, finally.
It felt good, better than chocolate, and certainly better than sex, well sex with Graham, at least.
Fuck you Mabel!
She was really feeling herself now, and hurtling past the end terrace on their road, a road they had lived on for the entirety of their union, she mentally threw a middle finger up at the older woman who had, along with her husband, made her feel like shit. Mabel, or Mrs Morris, as the stuck-in-the-past senior preferred to be called, had looked away, no, she had chosen to look away, turn a blind eye.
Actually fuck you, and you, and you!
Reaching the end of the street, which was the typical suburban tree-lined archetype, she looked back at the houses of her neighbours. All of them had, in her mind, betrayed her. They had to of seen the bruises, the finger marks that regularly covered her soft face, especially recently, when she had not even bothered trying to conceal them with her 'golden glow' full coverage foundation. Daisy had
wanted
people to see, to know, to really know what her seemingly perfect husband was capable of.
Until today, her day of freedom, she had never blamed anyone for missing the violence that was taking place in their three-bedroomed dwelling, because she too had been taken in by him, well at first anyway, until he put that ring on her finger.
The young woman stood there, under the rare October blue sky, well rare for England at least, and just waited. Daisy looked like a maniac to anyone else, she must have, for the long hair that usually sat neatly, parted at the centre, like an upstanding member of society, now looked like a birds nest - and it wasn't even spring. Dishevelled would be putting it kindly. Suddenly, more self-aware, she rubbed at her face - the face that had a bloody nose and mascara track marks which ran to her sweetheart jaw line.
The one day I don't wear waterproof!
This was typical, just typical! And now, with no makeup wipes, she would have to embrace the strange look, a look that could not even be mistaken as a fashion statement.
You can fucking stare you old bag!
It was that cow, Mabel Morris again - she was at her window, the twitching of the old-fashioned net curtains giving her nosiness away.
No doubt she'll be round ours with a Victoria sponge later.
Daisy was sure her now declared nemesis would be visiting, no, consoling her husband within the hour.
She wanted to scream towards the window, hurl a petty insult at the woman. Something like "your cake is dry” Ought to do it, but what was the point, really? For she hoped to never even see her again, let alone do her best not to choke on yet another inedible bake.
I hope
he
chokes on it.
But she did not really wish this, not by a long shot, because the truth was that Daisy wanted him to suffer, like he had made her. Sure, she wanted the oh-so-suave abuser to end up in the fiery depths, but certainly did not want him to be fast-tracked there, not before everyone knew who, and what he really was.
She wanted him to be ruined, like she had been. Because, really, if the secrets behind their powder blue door became public, he had everything to lose. Graham, the guy who, in contrast to his quintessentially British name, looked like a greek god, would be finished, and he deserved to be. Daisy had often thought how ironic it was that a lawyer, of all people, clocked off from the 9-5 and sat on a commuter train thinking of new ways to inflict pain on his wife. For the man was not only physically abusive, though at 6 ft 1 he certainly had the frame to be, but also mentally, and verbally cruel.
Ha ha ha, you are pathetic.
Still stood, frozen to the unglamorous spot next to a drain-cover and chewed gum that had been discarded, she had to laugh. For something funny, well now it was funny - at the time it was not so much, popped into her head. It was one of her husband's daily insults towards his wife, as she were curling her eyelashes. He had told her it was pointless, detrimental even, because, really, did she want to draw more attention to eyes which were the shade of human excrement? That's right, Graham had compared them to shit,
literal shit.
It all just seemed so ridiculous now, almost as petty as mocking the culinary skills of that bitch Morris, but at the time, it stung. It stung so much that she had ran from their bedroom to the newly-decorated bathroom, and cried, slumped on the tiled floor.
No more tears, not for him.
He had taken enough from her, and she was unwilling to give him anymore - Daisy was done, done with him, and done with this place. Hell, as a plane flew overhead, as they did so often, she had a brief thought that maybe she was even done with England, the only place she had ever known.
She had waited here long enough, and nothing had happened. Knowing Graham, as she unfortunately did, it never would. For, secretly, inside, she had hoped he would run after her, chasing his wife down the street. Not so he could profess his undying love, no she did not want that -
not at all
, rather so he could attack her here, in front of the oh-so-nosey residents. She wanted to catch him out, but deep down, knew he was too clever for that -evil, sure, but clever. The most diabolical combination there was.
Time to leave.
The young woman resigned herself to the reality of the situation, there would be no opportunity to expose her abuser, but that didn't mean she could get no satisfaction, for she could, and
would.
Striding toward the still twitching nets in the most distinguishable house on the street, in a bad way that is - for it looked as though it was stuck in the 1970's, when the old hag who lived there was in her prime, if she ever had one - Daisy only stopped when she was standing right in front of the bay window. She did not hesitate, why would she? For she had dreamed of this moment for so long, as long as they had been neighbours, and placed her middle finger, this time swearing for real, rather than in her mind, straight up. The young woman stood, defiant, for what felt to her like a really long time, and smiled.
Take that you absolute cow.
If she had looked maniacal before, then the explicit gesture did nothing to lessen her crazy appearance, but she didn't care - she was done caring.
Finally, when Daisy was sure the old bag had either got the message, or had a heart attack from the shock, she lowered her hand, and simply left. But she did not stop back at the chewing gum drain-cover, no this time she kept walking, her size 5 feet taking her away from that street, that life. She did not know where she was going, and that scared her, it scared her more than being beaten by her husband. For, she had never been adventurous, and often overthought things, but now she had no choice - forced out of her comfort zone.
For the first time in a quarter of a century there was no plan, and Daisy was all alone.
