Broken Submission

The Past Haunts

Hi, so I don't often insert myself in my writing, but I want to give a trigger warning. Themes of violence and abuse.

I really hope you guys are enjoying the story though! This is fundamentally a story of redemption, and these difficult themes are to address real issues and struggles. I am always happy to receive feedback on Amelia and Derek's story!

She plugged her phone into the solar changer that had been a Christmas gift years ago. The thing was a life saver. She crawled onto her bed. Exhaustion nagged at her, but she knew that the adrenalin would keep her up for a while yet. She needed to consider her options.

She'd thrust the flowers into a trash bag and hidden the bag under the sink. She would rather the bag have gone in a dumpster, or better yet been burned, but she didn't want to risk leaving her apartment. He could be waiting for her. Why hadn't he been waiting in the apartment? Why just taunt her with flowers, the same ones that had made up her bouquet when she walked down the aisle?

Her heartbeat jumped as the memories she'd suppressed for so long jumped to the forefront of her mind.

He was drunk again. She had made sure everything was perfect; the house was immaculate, dinner was warm on the stove. There was a small stack of bills on the table, her month's salary. Instead of direct depositing it into his account, he demanded that she present it to him in cash. It reinforced the fact that she had nothing, that everything—her money, her belongings, her time, her body—was his.

"Amelia, Amelia." He leaned against the doorframe, suit disheveled. He was an attractive man, dark hair clipped short and a friendly demeanor. That is, until they got home. It was there that he released his demons.

She dug her nails into her palm, remaining silent. It was her only defense. Attempting to talk him down only enraged him.

"I went out for drinks with my coworker, and you know what happened? The bartender liked me, mhmm. Slipped me her phone number." He pushed himself off the door, advancing on her. Blood started to drip into her nail beds. "But I tore it up, you know why?"

He reached her and stroked her cheek. His hand trailed to her throat, and her breath quickened to pants. "Because I respect my marriage vows." His hand tightened, not choking yet, but increasing her claustrophobia. "Yet, I come home, and I see not an ounce of affection from you. No welcome home kiss, no word asking me how my day was. It makes me feel unappreciated. You make me feel unappreciated."

Fear surged through her. "I'm sorry, I—" She choked as his hand tightened like a vise.

"I guess I'm just going to have to take the affection owed me."

Amelia yanked herself out of the flashback. Her knees were tucked to her chest, and she became aware that she was rocking back and forth on the bed, every muscle clenched and cramping.

"Oh god, oh please," she whispered to the dark room. She had to leave. She couldn't do it again. She had to run.

She shuddered, and a surge of nausea sent her running to the bathroom to purge her stomach. Only bile dripped from her mouth as she heaved. At last, it passed, and she slumped to the floor. She was lightheaded, too wrung out to move. She pressed her cheek to the cool tiles, back to the tub, as exhaustion dragged her under.

Derek frowned at his phone. The screen showed no missed calls. He'd tried to get a hold of Amelia, but she wasn't answering. He didn't like it, but maybe she needed some space after what happened. He needed her to call him though. He didn't want her thinking that he would retract his offer. Sure, maybe she'd need some more training than he anticipated, but she'd get the hang of it.

The microwave dinged, and he left his phone to retrieve the frozen dinner he'd thrown in there. He preferred to cook his meals, but on nights like this, he didn't have the energy. Even so, he didn't buy those frozen dinners where everything oozed together and tasted like cardboard. This was a gourmet plate, with Asian beef, stir fry vegetables, and lo mein noodles.

He pulled a set of chopsticks out of the drawer and settled on the couch. He checked his phone once before turning it deliberately on its face. Instead, he pulled out the book he was reading. It was a recommendation from a sub he'd played with recently. Frankly, it was a little over his head, but that was okay. Those kinds of books he would just reread until it all sunk in. He had an advantage with this one because he was familiar with the adaptions of the storyline that were made for children.

He turned the page of Edgar Rice Burroughs' Tarzan of the Apes and pinched some beef between his chopsticks. The stress of the night finally melted away as he fell into the harsh world where nature put man's violent urges on full display. One quote in particular lingered in his mind, the beautiful words speaking such terrible truths.

His strange life had left him neither morose nor bloodthirsty. That he joyed in killing, and that he killed with a joyous laugh upon his handsome lips betokened no innate cruelty. He killed for food most often, but, being a man, he sometimes killed for pleasure, a thing which no other animal does; for it has remained for man alone among all creatures to kill senselessly and wantonly for the mere pleasure of inflicting suffering and death.