Battered

Illustration by Anon D’mowlse

A bottle of spirit in one hand, my hair in his other. He dragged me from my roots into our bedroom.
I pleaded. I begged. I cried.
He removed his belt; I shuddered at the sound of its shearing friction. Deliberately, he wrapped the leather around his right hand, the steel buckle left dangling.
My name is Mari. Today is my one year anniversary.

 

 

 

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