Maybe she was lucky

Disclaimer: This story contains graphical violence and touches on a very sensitive matter. Please read at your own discretion.

She ran into the small apartment. She was late. She threw her shoes at the corner, tied her hair in a tight bun, and ran into the kitchen. She left the heavy bags from the grocery store she was carrying and started unpacking. She washed the vegetables and cut them into small, even pieces. Last, she chopped the meat and put everything in the oven.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead and went quickly inside the bathroom. After that, she cleaned the toilet and put the clothes in the washing machine. She then started ironing the shirts, first the white ones and then the blue. She looked at the clock that was hanging on the wall in the living room. She lost a heartbeat as she realized how much time had already slipped away. Quickly she put aside the ironing board and started the vacuum cleaner. While wiping the floor, she thought the diner should be ready.

And then her heart stopped as the sound of keys turning inside a lock reached her ears. She stopped the vacuum cleaner and straightened her skirt. After a brief second, she heard footsteps. Thud, thud, thud. Closer and closer they came. Her eyes couldn’t leave the floor as if something important was there. Her heart was thundering through her chest, and she was almost ready to cry through her despair. She hadn’t finished! She was late! The sound of a chair creaking through the floor broke the silence, and right after that, a loud thud as someone sat on it. A single word echoed in the small kitchen.

“Food!”

As if a wave of electricity came through her, she ran to the oven, put out the food, and served it on plates. She put out the cutlery, two glasses, and a beer. At the middle of the table, she put down the salad she had already prepared. Maybe she was lucky today. She really hoped she would be lucky because she was late. She hoped he was in a good mood. Perhaps, her inability to finish the chores in time wouldn’t bother him today. Still looking at the floor, she reached for her chair.

“Come here!”

Her blood froze! Her heart sank into her chest; her heartbeat was fast and loud, so loud that she was sure he could hear it. Tears flooded her eyes, and two single words came out of her lips so quietly that she could barely hear herself.

“I’m sorry.”

“I said, come here!”

She walked to him as slowly as she could. Stopped right in front of him. She couldn’t look him in the eyes. How could she do this? How could she be so late? A thunderous slap echoed through the kitchen walls, and she was suddenly lying on the floor. Her red cheek hurt like hell, and her hair untied from her bun. Little drops of blood ran from her nose, dirtying her blouse. Tears were running down her cheeks, and her breathing was trembling.

“You are lucky I’m in a good mood today.”

She wiped her nose and slowly stood up. She sat in her chair and started eating. She finished her dinner in silence, still crying in mute. Still hurting, terrified. The man went to the living room and opened the TV. She cleaned up the kitchen and prepared the lunch for the next day’s work. He was already in bed when she finally finished. She walked into the bedroom as quietly as possible, hoping he was asleep. She lay on her side of the bed and curled up.

Her husband moved. He reached for her. She stayed still, eyes closed, praying, as he put down her underpants and went straight inside her. She screamed in pain. No warm feelings, not a single nice word to her. He moved and moved. As he was grunting over her, she tried to control her screams. She tried to remember that this was her place. She should please her husband; this was her job. He finished, put back his pants, and turned to the other side. She stayed there still, no more tears to cry, not having the strength to stand up and wash herself of him. Hating herself, hating him.

She walked into the small apartment. Today her boss let her leave at the proper time and she wasn’t late. She put out her shoes, left them in the corner, and tied her hair in a tight bun. Today she wasn’t late. She was going to be lucky. She walked into the kitchen, left the heavy bags she was carrying and started preparing the dinner. She washed the vegetables and cut them into small, even pieces. Then she reached for the meat. Today she would make a delicious dinner, and her husband would be happy. Today she was going to be lucky.

Today was her last day…

At this point, we feel obligated to state that such behavior towards any human being is condoned under no circumstances. This story was created in the context of information, social awakening, and the freedom that art allows for creation.