He's taking me out for a ride thinking some fresh air would do us both some good. I don't see how tying me up in the backseat's gonna help. Air conditioning feels fresh but it's not. Technically, it's not fresh air. It's too technical. He's not listening to me probably because my lips are sealed with strong tape.

I can't argue even if I wanted to. I signed up for this didn't I? He knows what he's doing.

"Honey, why is there a metal bar in the front seat?" silence fills the car and I'm suffocating. He hates me calling him honey. But I don't know his name. What was it? Come on.

The car scene changes and transforms into a much more familiar environment. Cranberry Manor. I'm in the living room leaning against that cabinet. Laughing my head off because I can't remember his name. The audience laughs with me. The laughter goes on for an entire eternity. Why are you holding a gun? Remind me.

He smacks my face with the gun. It hits one cheek, I give him the other and he punches me. I fly to the floor with my nose bleeding away.  He has no idea how much that cost me!

His shoes clatter on the wooden planks as he exits the room.  As he leaves he enters.  Clatter, clatter, kneeling down towards me he says

"Why can't you cook? Why is this shirt not ironed properly? Can you just lend me a pound? Who's your Daddy? Why do put on too much make-up? Why don't you have enough on? Why didn't you choose to study? Where's dinner? Why, are you on your period? Have you not cleaned the house? Why won't you have kids? Are you cheating on me? Are you on drugs? Which one? What did the doctor say? Did you know that i'm a doctor and I can fuck anyone I want?! Don't you know anything?"

Either way I'm screwed so what's the point?

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PS: I'm no feminist.

updated Sep 14, 2008 by incesticide