Chapter 4-The Demise
I heard the front door creak open and then slam closed. “My abendessen had better be ready,” I heard the rough voice of my husband as he walked inside.
“Yes sir. It is,” I sagte pulling out his chair for him. Then sprinting to sit at the other end of the tabelle before he could sit and yell at me more. We ate in silence then after dinner, much to my dismay he headed off to the bar with his 'drinking buddies'. I took this opportunity to clean the dishes and pray he didn't get too drunk.
A few hours later I was upstairs reading. The house was spotless and I couldn't think of anything that would possibly make Charles angry. I heard the door slam and the pounding of his boots as he stomped up the stairs. He made his way towards our room and I held my breath hoping he wouldn't be violent tonight. The door to the bedroom creaked open and a very drunk, Charles appeared smelling very strongly of liquor. He approached me and grinned. “Hello Esme,”
“Hello Charles,” I gulped. This couldn't end well. He moved a step closer to me grabbed my book, and threw it onto the floor. “What did I say about being at the door when I get home?” he growled in my ear.
I swallowed. My pulse was racing. “That. I am always supposed to be at the door whenever Du arrive,”
“Yes, and.... were Du there? I think not,” an evil grin spread across the face and I knew there would be a punishment.
“I-i'm sorry Charles, I Lost track of the time and I didn't know w-” he slapped my face and yelled. “YOU DO NOT BACK TALK!”
“I'm sorry sir,” I sagte putting my hand onto my sore cheek. He grabbed my wrists and threw me onto the floor. He's too drunk I kept telling myself. He can't think straight. He wouldn't be doing this if he was ever sober. I wouldn't let the tears come yet. If it got worse maybe.... tears only made it worse. Only made him Mehr angry. He kicked me in the stomach I curled up in a ball on the floor and tried not to let him get to me. I started crawling. I made it onto the bett before the blow to me head came the brought the gift of unconsciousness.
I heard the front door creak open and then slam closed. “My abendessen had better be ready,” I heard the rough voice of my husband as he walked inside.
“Yes sir. It is,” I sagte pulling out his chair for him. Then sprinting to sit at the other end of the tabelle before he could sit and yell at me more. We ate in silence then after dinner, much to my dismay he headed off to the bar with his 'drinking buddies'. I took this opportunity to clean the dishes and pray he didn't get too drunk.
A few hours later I was upstairs reading. The house was spotless and I couldn't think of anything that would possibly make Charles angry. I heard the door slam and the pounding of his boots as he stomped up the stairs. He made his way towards our room and I held my breath hoping he wouldn't be violent tonight. The door to the bedroom creaked open and a very drunk, Charles appeared smelling very strongly of liquor. He approached me and grinned. “Hello Esme,”
“Hello Charles,” I gulped. This couldn't end well. He moved a step closer to me grabbed my book, and threw it onto the floor. “What did I say about being at the door when I get home?” he growled in my ear.
I swallowed. My pulse was racing. “That. I am always supposed to be at the door whenever Du arrive,”
“Yes, and.... were Du there? I think not,” an evil grin spread across the face and I knew there would be a punishment.
“I-i'm sorry Charles, I Lost track of the time and I didn't know w-” he slapped my face and yelled. “YOU DO NOT BACK TALK!”
“I'm sorry sir,” I sagte putting my hand onto my sore cheek. He grabbed my wrists and threw me onto the floor. He's too drunk I kept telling myself. He can't think straight. He wouldn't be doing this if he was ever sober. I wouldn't let the tears come yet. If it got worse maybe.... tears only made it worse. Only made him Mehr angry. He kicked me in the stomach I curled up in a ball on the floor and tried not to let him get to me. I started crawling. I made it onto the bett before the blow to me head came the brought the gift of unconsciousness.
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Lemons ... get it?
