LJI Season 9 Episode 7 No True Scotsman
TW: sexual assault, domestic violence.
Eithne, ran down the path through the woods and into the cave. With an ounce of luck and a pint of privilege he wouldn't find her here. Never mind what she'd done, never mind who's child she was carrying, her husband was a mean bastard and she wasn't about to get caught in his whiskey fueled grasp.
"I can smell ya woman, you're not gonna be hidin from me now, or ever for that matter, I'm yer damn husband and yer gonna right take it from me," Jamie bellowed as he huffed down the trail.
She held her breath, barely daring to blink lest he'd hear her. This wasn't the first time and it wasn't likely to be the last that he'd chased her out of the house. They'd grown up in the same small town, and married too young according to their parents.
She'd complained to hers once, shortly after they'd wed, her father had been the least sympathetic, "he'll do, Eithne, you choose him, you made yer bed, now you lay in it." Those were the only things he'd said to her about her marriage, and after that one time she'd learned not to complain, even her mother who'd always taken her side knew better than to offer her anything but a tentative smile.
She could hear him now, pacing frantically outside the cave, and wondered for a moment if it wouldn't be better to give up her position, surrender, if he caught her it would definitely be worse.It was too late though, as he fumbled against the stones and moss scattering her last glimpse of the fading daylight in every direction as he peered into the enclosure.
He said nothing as he grabbed her thick auburn ringlets and dragged her from her cache of entangled roots and leaves, as he thrust her into the ground, violently slamming her head against the moss and leaves that lined the heavily treed woods behind their house. He said nothing as he ripped her skirt, her underclothes, and her fair, too easily bruised skin, drawing the faintest trace of blood in his grit covered finger nails. He said nothing as he forced himself onto her, panting frantically as she grasped at the roots of one of the old oak trees, gripping firmly at it's gnarls as if they could some how tether her to the woods.
They were her woods, she'd told him once, full of youth and the vigorous need to be untamed, he'd agreed, they were hers and she tended to them with all the care she'd have given a child. This child, this belly full of baby was to be their first and more than anything she wanted to take it away into the woods. She fantasized often of her babe in the woods, the two of them freed from his binges, his anger and the apologies that would follow. She hated the gifts and the strangeness and the all too niceness, the days of apologies that meant nothing and helpfulness unwanted, and the weeks that followed filled with the meticulous countdown till the next eurruption, till the next useless thing she'd do to set him off.
Refusing her marital duties was pointless, he'd catch her, especially in this state, but she was so big now, so tired, and it had been well past supper when he'd returned home from the pub.
He'd rolled off her now, tears streamed down his face, "you know it's only cause I love you, you know it's only cause I don't want anyone else, you know that. No man should have to beg for his wife's attention Eithne, no man," he slurred shuddering, as he tried unsuccessflly to fix his pants.
She said nothing, as she tried to straighten her dress. She said nothing as the ache of her belly knotted and heaved, tightened and twisted. She said nothing, as he stared at her, begging a response.
She said nothing, but clear as day he heard her voice in his head, "no real man, would treat a woman this way."
This is my entry for this weeks LJ idol, topic: No True Scotsman.
Concrit welcome as always :)
Eithne, ran down the path through the woods and into the cave. With an ounce of luck and a pint of privilege he wouldn't find her here. Never mind what she'd done, never mind who's child she was carrying, her husband was a mean bastard and she wasn't about to get caught in his whiskey fueled grasp.
"I can smell ya woman, you're not gonna be hidin from me now, or ever for that matter, I'm yer damn husband and yer gonna right take it from me," Jamie bellowed as he huffed down the trail.
She held her breath, barely daring to blink lest he'd hear her. This wasn't the first time and it wasn't likely to be the last that he'd chased her out of the house. They'd grown up in the same small town, and married too young according to their parents.
She'd complained to hers once, shortly after they'd wed, her father had been the least sympathetic, "he'll do, Eithne, you choose him, you made yer bed, now you lay in it." Those were the only things he'd said to her about her marriage, and after that one time she'd learned not to complain, even her mother who'd always taken her side knew better than to offer her anything but a tentative smile.
She could hear him now, pacing frantically outside the cave, and wondered for a moment if it wouldn't be better to give up her position, surrender, if he caught her it would definitely be worse.It was too late though, as he fumbled against the stones and moss scattering her last glimpse of the fading daylight in every direction as he peered into the enclosure.
He said nothing as he grabbed her thick auburn ringlets and dragged her from her cache of entangled roots and leaves, as he thrust her into the ground, violently slamming her head against the moss and leaves that lined the heavily treed woods behind their house. He said nothing as he ripped her skirt, her underclothes, and her fair, too easily bruised skin, drawing the faintest trace of blood in his grit covered finger nails. He said nothing as he forced himself onto her, panting frantically as she grasped at the roots of one of the old oak trees, gripping firmly at it's gnarls as if they could some how tether her to the woods.
They were her woods, she'd told him once, full of youth and the vigorous need to be untamed, he'd agreed, they were hers and she tended to them with all the care she'd have given a child. This child, this belly full of baby was to be their first and more than anything she wanted to take it away into the woods. She fantasized often of her babe in the woods, the two of them freed from his binges, his anger and the apologies that would follow. She hated the gifts and the strangeness and the all too niceness, the days of apologies that meant nothing and helpfulness unwanted, and the weeks that followed filled with the meticulous countdown till the next eurruption, till the next useless thing she'd do to set him off.
Refusing her marital duties was pointless, he'd catch her, especially in this state, but she was so big now, so tired, and it had been well past supper when he'd returned home from the pub.
He'd rolled off her now, tears streamed down his face, "you know it's only cause I love you, you know it's only cause I don't want anyone else, you know that. No man should have to beg for his wife's attention Eithne, no man," he slurred shuddering, as he tried unsuccessflly to fix his pants.
She said nothing, as she tried to straighten her dress. She said nothing as the ache of her belly knotted and heaved, tightened and twisted. She said nothing, as he stared at her, begging a response.
She said nothing, but clear as day he heard her voice in his head, "no real man, would treat a woman this way."
This is my entry for this weeks LJ idol, topic: No True Scotsman.
Concrit welcome as always :)