sweet tea. -tkam

window.

-third pov-

TW: MENTIONS OF ABUSE, SA, ISOLATION

Daisy gazed longingly from the large window above the kitchen sink, her soft blue eyes watched the old magnolia tree sway over the dirt-brick road of her small town. Horses carried their buggies at a leisurely pace, gentlemen in their straw hats and overalls being softly jostled around by the rigid movements of the horse.
    Men tipped their hats to one another and women sat on their porches, fanning their delicate faces and gossiping over sweet tea and cookies. The town was intertwined, its own little world.
    occasionally the train that passed through the small town would rattle by, bringing items the town couldn't make themselves. But Daisy Mae was seemingly not a part of this system, nor was her husband, Elton.

*sigh*

Her tired sigh carried over the harsh clanging and clattering of china plates.

continuing her redundant motions of dishwashing at the sink, daisy slaved over her housework for what seemed like an eternity,  understandably so growing tired of the incessant sounds.

"So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is ... fear itself — nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat..."
  
the famous words aired once again as she tuned the radio, a reminder of the sentiment FDR had provided them two years prior.
    Daisy sighed to herself, she wanted to believe those brave words, but she had a feeling that franklin Roosevelt didn't truly know her fears.

"Nothin' to fear but fear itself..." she murmured.

She wiped her wet hands on the cotton apron she wore, setting the last plate aside; The doorframe creaking as she leaned her body against it.

"My stars..."

She laid her head to look at the cream-colored ceiling. Squeezing her eyes shut, she made her attempt at hiding from her reality once again, before it was impossible to do so any longer.

~suppertime~

She gingerly set the freshly cleaned china plate infront of the man, beginning to fill it with food while her hands nervously shook. The room was unpleasently silent, and dim. Only the soft clattering of the dinnerware, and the ticking grandfather clock pierced the silence.

"Ahem.."

Daisy fidgeted with her hands behind her back as she attempted conversation.

"How was your day...dear? S-satisfactory...I hope..?"

She waited anxiously as he took a long and desperate drink from his bourbon, seemingly avoiding talking to the woman.

"Fine. same as always." her husband replied at last, wiping his mouth with the cuff of his suit

She stood nervously at his side while he ate, keeping her posture the same; straight, with her chest out, and her arms tucked away behind her back.

As he finished his meal, he stood up from the table, nodding to himself.

"So uh, what else did you do today, besides your housework?" he asked

"Nothin', love. Jus'...cleanin'....cookin'.." daisy said, piling the dishes ontop of one another in her arms

"Yea? Mm. interesting. See I, I just thought maybe your time had been spent elsewhere."

She paused, looking up at elton for a quick moment in confusion.

"What makes you say that...sweetheart..I...I jus' did what I always do.."

Daisy grew nervous, something about eltons tone was dangerous.

"Right then, so you, you had time to cook?" he stepped closer

"...yes..."

she backed away, but it wasnt long before elton had grabbed her by the collar of her dress, jerking her back into place. The plates came crashing to the floor in an instant as he grabbed her.

"Then I expect you have a goddamn excuse. All the damn time in the day to fix that meal and you still fucked it up." he hissed

"Im-"

Elton slapped her.

"Don't say you're sorry, I don't give a damn what the hell you're sorry for, you already burnt the goddamn roast, fucked up the damn gravy, I don't give a damn how sorry you are, sorry don't fix that meal."

She winced, his hot breath of bourbon stung her nose, and his harsh tone hurt her heart.

He threw her back against the wall, daisy, stumbling against the wall, began to let hot tears escape her eyes.

Elton kicked the shards of china.

"Now clean this goddamn mess up." He ordered

"If you can do that fuckin much right."

   Elton left the dining room, and daisy, on her knees, crawled towards the broken china. She weakly scooped the pieces up, gathering them into her dress.
   Though she tried, she couldn't stop her crying as she searched through bleary eyes for the scattered shards.

"Can...can't fuckin'...do much right..." she whispered, her hands shaking harder.

"C-can't...do nothin' right.."

Once daisy had made her rounds about the small craftsman house to clean, it was creeping into the late hours of the night.
   Setting the last neatly folded bath towel into its cabinet, daisy began wracking her brain for more chores. The truth was that she was desperate to delay going to bed, for one simple reason. She shuddered at the thought of eltons cold, rough hands over her frail body.
He was her husband, and had been for 6 years, but every time they got intimate, it felt like rape.

"we're married, it can't be rape, can it?" She thought.

It had to be her fault. Her. she was asking for it, it was her job, it was her being dramatic, all statements she was fed by the world. But as we know today, rape comes in many forms, even if they're your spouse.

She entered the dark bedroom, looking fearfully at her feet.

"Come on, bitch." He demanded.

"Yes... love" her voice was quiet and shameful.

He loved to see her like his, weak. He approached daisy , his shadow engulfing her as she found herself backing away from the man.
     She clenched her fists around some of the fabric of her dress, squeezing her eyes shut, holding her breath. She felt his cold hands on her waist, she shuddered as they snake their way down her hips.

He lifted her dress, revealing her bruised thighs, admiring his work.

"And what do we say about these if anyone asks?" he ran his hand over her fresh bruises, daisy winced.

"I fell.." she whispered

"You fell. Good girl." he put her dress down.

"But nobody's going to see that, are they?" he pulled her closer.

"No, no sir."

"Mm...yes." he pushed her head down onto his chest.

His arms, his embrace, it all felt like a trap. His warmth felt cold, his arms like vines, trapping her eternally in their toxic grasp. She couldn't breathe inside his arms.
    She felt his hands slide along the zipper of her dress, opening the back of her dress, the thin fabric that protected her from his touch fell to her ankles.

"You're going to behave, aren't you?" he said.

She nodded, and came over, nestling herself in between his legs, on her knees.

His eyes scanned her small body, covered in cuts and bruises.

"Good, you know I don't want to hurt you." his voice was laced with a sick tone.

But she knew that wasn't true