Craving Something Sweet

Grace had left a hand-print in the blood. She stared at it, and then down at her soaked dress; the bottom of it was pink now. He wouldn't have liked that. She smiled. In fact, he would have been furious. She laughed. She had made a real mess of things; her dress, the hardwood living room floor, and most especially Jim. She was sitting just a few inches away from him; from his stiffening body, the body with the crushed skull. The dark crimson pool around his head seeped towards her slowly. She reached her hand out and dipped her fingers into it. Cold and sticky. It sent chills down her spine; in a good way.

The morning had been uneventful, just like every other day of her life. She'd made him breakfast and taken it to him at six-thirty sharp. She had helped him get dressed, packed his lunch and sent him off to work. Then she'd vacuumed, and ironed his shirts; changed the linens on his bed, put a roast in the crock pot and then she took her morning break and had one decaf coffee.

At 12:30 she would have a small salad and a slice of turkey left over from the night before. Then she would mop, and dust and do her laundry which was always done separately from his. She could expect him to walk through the door between five and five fifteen; his dinner would be on the table in front of him at five thirty. It was the same everyday. Except the third Friday of every month when she was allowed the afternoon off, to prepare for a session. Those were very carefully planned out by Jim. It was their intimate time. When she was allowed to show affection, and he expressed his appreciation for her efforts, if they were satisfactory. If they were not, punishment was doled out and instruction was given as to what improvement she needed to make so she could get it right next time.

Today was Thursday so he would bring her a gift when he came home. Usually it was a scented lotion; but sometimes it would be an article of clothing he expected her to wear for the session. Once he'd brought chocolates, and she'd been ecstatic when she opened the gold wrapped box. She soon learned they were not for her. She was to feed them to him after the session; he needed to recoup his energy, and she wasn't allowed sweets. She had been foolish; sweets were forbidden, they would make her fat.

She sat next to him at the dinner table, waiting for him to finish his meal. She would be allowed to eat after she had opened the present he'd brought, as long as she expressed the proper appreciation. He let her remove his plate when he was done, and he asked her to sit down again as he set the box in front of her.

She unwrapped the gift slowly, being careful not to rip the paper. He hated that. Then she slid the ribbon off gently, making sure to keep it intact with the huge red bow still tied. She gently lifted the lid from the dark red box, and rustled the crimson tissue paper folded across the gift inside.

She unfolded it, and peered inside. She sat motionless staring at it, unable to speak.

"Don't you love it?"

"Yes, it's beautiful."

"Say it, say 'Thank you Jim my love', like I taught you. Don't you dare forget your manners girl."

Fear over came her as she reached in and touched the ivory lace dress. It looked almost identical to the wedding dress she'd begged for years ago, but didn't get. It was the dress she'd be buried in. She'd seen it in her dreams. Not once, but several times in the last few years.

He'd make her wear the dress as she performed for him, and then he'd kill her. She swallowed hard.

"Don't you recognize it? It's the wedding dress you wanted eight years ago."
"Where... I mean, how did you find it Jim. It must have been so difficult for you to find one now."

He laughed.

"Oh Gracie! You are a silly girl. This is the dress. I bought it eight years ago, I've been saving it for just the right time. You have finally proven yourself worthy of it. You may wear it tomorrow evening." He smiled wickedly. "Now, shouldn't you go try it on? Give me a preview of what I'll be getting tomorrow night?"

Grace shivered.

He came over and helped her out of her chair, then gave her a shove towards the bedroom.

"I'll wait for you out here, now go on, go try it on. And you better hope it fits."

It didn't. She couldn't quite get it zipped in the back, and when she'd asked for help, he'd laughed at her. She started to cry, and he held out his arms to her. She did what she always did, she ran to him. But she accidentally knocked him down; right in front of the fireplace. She saw the vintage iron she had on display on the hearth; her hand automatically went to it. It had belonged to her great grandmother.

She didn't hesitate; she snatched it up and hit him in the side of the head; once, then twice. He didn't move and blood poured from the wound. She fell back onto the floor beside him.

Eight years of hell was over, and she was craving something sweet.

©2013 Garden Summerland