The 5 Stages of Grief

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Chapter 5, Bethany

“There you are. I’ve been looking all over the house for you.” He smelled of liquor again.

“Where’s Dennis?” She asked, knowing full well he wasn’t home as she’d heard his truck pull out of the driveway just moments ago. That was why she’d come down here to hide in the first place, hoping her father-in-law might think she’d gone to the supermarket or something. It was dark down here with only the light of the pool table on, and he rarely came down by himself. Sunday was typically the only day so the two of them could watch the game together over a few rounds of billiards and yet here he was.

“I’m just leaving for the supermarket. Is there anything you’d like me to pick up while I’m gone?” She hoped he couldn’t sense the fear in her voice, hoped it hadn’t quaked too much on the outside as it sounded shattered and without hope from within.

He seemed more puzzled, befuddled, than anything else. As if he were trying to figure out the hidden meaning to “Going to the supermarket,” as if it were coded or something and not just her trying to run away from him.

He waved his hand as if to dismiss the problem, a sloppy smile smeared across his face. “No, I’m good, and I’m about to be a lot better once I get me a little of that sweet ass.” She stood at the far end of the table from him. It would have been so easy if she moved, kept the table between them, but she didn’t, couldn’t. She was too weak, too scared – frozen.

She could smell the heavy drink on him as he approached, exhaled in a rush when he tripped over some hallucinated item on the floor. She didn’t know why or even where the thought came from, but she reached into one of the billiard pockets and took hold of a pool ball. The next she knew he was right beside her, his hot squalid breath steaming into her ear.

“What do you plan to do with that my dear?” he asked. The wind leaving her with a grunt from the punch he landed to her mid-section, immediately followed by the hard shove against her back sprawling her over the table. “You weren’t thinking of hitting me with that were you – daughter-in-law? That’s no way to repay me for all the things I’ve done for you –you ungrateful bitch?” With one arm pinning her to the table, he used the other to pull down her sweat pants and panties in one motion. She felt her tears streaming across her cheek and dripping to the table, though remained silent. She would not allow the filthy bastard to hear her cry.

As always, the first thrust was the worst as the only lubrication was a splatter of spit he’d rubbed on with his hand. It usually didn’t take him long, but this was not going to be usually as he was far too inebriated to stay hard. He started to pound into her faster and with more intensity.

“What you been doing to yourself – where’s that tight pussy? S’posed to keep me hard you stupid bitch!” He thrust harder then harder then pulled out. “Fucking bitch! I’ll show you. You stay right there like a good little whore, or else.” He returned a few seconds later with her hand lotion from the bathroom a few steps away. She’d thought about running but was too much of a coward to move, to disobey.

It was remarkably cold when the first squirt of lotion hit her, though soothing as well. The second gob landed higher and the third splashed directly onto her other entrance. Nothing had ever been in there. She heard him laughing.

“I told you I would teach you. Think about hitting me, eh?” The pain was unbelievable. White lights flashed in her eyes as he probed deeper and deeper then began to thrust, inflating her like a tire. “Oh honey, that is so much better. Tight, like you used to be, I bet.” He was picking up his pace, grunting, both hands holding her hips now as he slammed into her from behind.

When it was over and he’d left, she just lay there, crumpled to the floor under the shadow of the pool-table. Too broken, body and spirit, to move, to do anything but lay there as the blending of spent-sperm and lubricant made its way in rivulets of loathing from her burning body, down her soiled skin.

She didn’t know how long she lay there. An hour? Two? She’d no idea, didn’t care. After a while, after the shaking had stopped and the numbness set in, she took hold of her shivering muscles and with a push, tentatively raised herself, pulling up her track pants and panties without bothering to clean herself and climbed the stairs towards his bedroom.

She knew she would find him there, sleeping, content. That’s where he always retired after a good drunk, after fucking her. He looks so different lying there. Almost childlike, not at all like the evil horror he is. She watched him a few more minutes, standing over him, staring down at his sleeping form then thrust the kitchen-knife she’d gathered from the kitchen along the way into the vile bastard’s heart.


It was hours before Dennis finally returned home. Bethany had cleaned herself up for the most part, changed her clothes because of the blood stains, though not the remains of the invasion thrust upon her earlier.

As for Frank, Mr. Hobson, she’d pulled his door shut, left everything as it was.

She waited in the T.V. room or den as her husband liked to call it, sitting in his favorite chair. It seemed strange as she felt at peace, as if for the first time she was somewhat in control of her life, herself. She even knew what her husband’s reaction would be when he came in to find her sitting in his chair. It made her smile.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” his none too friendly voice bellowed from the doorway. “Get your ass out of my chair before I get it out for you.”

She smiled up at him. “Can I get you something honey,” she asked, “a cold beer perhaps, maybe a drink?” He looked at her a moment, tilting his head slightly, untrusting. She knew him so well, at least she used to before his father had moved in.

“Beer,” he said, plopping into his vacated chair and grabbing the remote.

She returned a moment later with his beer and a chilled mug from the freezer. She stood beside him as she popped open the can and poured, taking her time to do it right, with just the perfect head as he’d taught her.

“Where’s my dad?” he asked, his eyes glued to the T.V.

“He’s upstairs in his room,” she said, smiling, handing him his frosty mug. “Here, just the way you like it.”

He took the glass by the offered handle, giving her an odd look. “What’s up? You’re acting weird.”

“Nothing, I just want to know where we are, where we stand, and need to talk to you for a bit to find out.” She walked over to the television and turned it off.

“Hey! What the fuck—”

“Only for a minute honey, it will still be here when we’ve done talking.” She winked at him, then turned her back to him and pulled down her fresh track pants and panties.

“What the hell are you doing Bethany?”

“Only a bit longer dear, I just wanted to show you the present your father gave to me today. I want to know how you feel about it.” She stepped free of her discarded clothing and looked over her shoulder to catch his eye, then blew him a kiss before bending over from the waist and spreading her ass cheeks with her hands.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She could feel his spittle hit her bared ass as he struggled to find words, get a handle on her risqué behavior.

“Do you like it dear? Your father bent me over the pool-table earlier and fucked me up the ass. My question to you is – as my husband, what are you going to do about it?” She heard the revulsion thick in his voice. Whether for her, himself or that abominable excuse of a father she was not sure.

“As I’ve said before – you probably deserved it. Now get that disgusting sight out of my face. I never want to see it again.”

“That’s what I thought you would say, Dear. I just wanted to make sure – to see if there was anything left between us at all.” She was standing again, facing the wall unit away from him, though remained bottomless. She stretched up on her tiptoes, reaching for the old service revolver she’d placed there earlier. It hadn’t been hard to find as Frank polished and oiled it constantly, keeping it in tip-top condition. She’d never fired a gun before – but how hard could it be, right? Just point and pull the trigger.

The noise was mind blowing. Her ears still rang more than twenty minutes later. It had been much harder than she thought it would be. Not the shooting him part, that was easy, but the getting it right part. It had taken her three shoots to finally hit him where she’d been aiming to make him dead and her deaf, she giggled.

The first two, though they hit him, just seemed to stun him, like he couldn’t believe she’d done it that she’d actually shot him. But the third one, hitting him right in the face, that one had done it. He didn’t look stunned anymore.

She needed her ears to stop ringing before she could use her phone, so she sat down on the carpet in front of him and reached for his cold beer to wet her mouth a bit. It tasted delectable so she kept on drinking and was just about finished and ready for another.

After filling the mug again and few more sips, she decided it was time and dialed the number. “Dr. Reichmann? It’s Bethany. I’ve fixed my problem.”

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