Tethered.

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"I can't escape it. No matter how much I drink, how many pills I either take through my mouth or crush into a powder and snort up my nose . . . I just can't escape it."

Demi sat on a velvet sofa, her hands trembling. The pout of her pink satin lips deepened, lining quickly with saddened creases. The words she spoke fell from her lips rapidly, though to her they felt slow; slurred. She could feel each consonant, each vowel, as they slid past her tongue, across her teeth and out into the world.

Into the ears of the man across from her holding a notepad and clicking a pen.

"Are you going to press charges?" The man asked, and at this, Demi dismissively faked a laugh.

"He's my husband," she reminded the counselor. "I don't even know if what happened was really a crime."

"Mrs. Jonas," the counselor leaned forward, tilting down his glasses. "Husband or not, what you've just described to me was most certainly a crime. And you can press charges against him."

Demi blinked at the man before her, unsure of what to do or say. As she turned her head, her eyes met the small white window at her right-- the only window in the room-- shining a dim light upon the velvet sofa. She watched the rainfall outside as it trickled down the fragile surface of the glass, casting s-shaped shadows that trailed sorrowfully down her skin.

"Mrs. Jonas?"

But Demi didn't move.

Her eyes watched that rainfall, and she couldn't help but wonder how cleansing it would feel upon her skin. She wondered if she stood in that rain all night, from beginning to end, whether it would be enough to cleanse her of the filth she felt beginning to build a home inside her heart.

"I . . . I don't blame myself," Demi finally whispered, blinking slowly. "Joe and I have always been so in love with each other; so involved in how we feel about one another. I've always known him to . . . to have this incredible heart like I've never seen before. I've always found him so amazing."

"Do you still feel that way?"

Finally, Demi returned her gaze to him.

"Yes," she whispered. "Every fiber of my being is in love with that absolutely wonderful man."

The counselor shifted forward, letting out a slow sigh.

"And he's never done this to you before?"

"Never."

"Well, then," the counselor began. "What has changed?"

Demi squinted.

"What do you mean?"

The counselor clasped his hands together.

"In all of your years of a positive, healthy, sexually active marriage, what have you been able to piece together that can help you properly understand why Joe raped you last night?"

At that word, Demi's breath caught. It was the first time she'd heard it out loud.

And she didn't want it to be true.

A husband couldn't rape his wife, right? Not in a relationship like she and Joe had had for the last six years. Their sex was a common occurrence; a consensual occurrence-- that had always stemmed from their love; their commitment of passion to each other.

But Demi wanted to be mistaken.

She wanted to believe that maybe she did want to, last night. That maybe Joe hadn't held her down against the sheets against her will, but was just a little rougher than usual. That maybe when she'd lied there limply, waiting for it to be over, she had just run out of energy earlier than she had in the past.

She wanted to believe that her perfect husband hadn't done something like this.

She wanted to believe that he somehow hadn't heard her saying 'not tonight' and that he could leave the situation still being the man she'd always known him to be.

But Demi learned rather quickly that, just like last night, she couldn't always get what she wanted. She couldn't argue the facts; she could only change the lens through which she looked at them.

"I love him," she heard herself saying. "And he loves me." Then, a tear cascaded down her cheek. "And sometimes, people that love each other make mistakes . . . right, doc?"

With only half of her heart, she smiled.

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*****A two part short story because I missed you guys.*****