Winter’s cold
We’ve been actively trying to avoid each other’s curious stares and almost attempts to speak with each other. We fail terribly. I like her. A little bit too much.
John’s been home a lot lately. Seems like it isn’t working out well at his job. Could it be his personality? More frustrated and annoyed than ever, he’s determined to treat us even more as house slaves. After the massive beating, he doesn’t even bother talking to me anymore. He just smiles victoriously every time I pass him, checking out the bruises and poking the parts where I hurt most. Shoes are no longer allowed for me. I need to walk around on bare feet. Yesterday, he dropped a beer bottle on purpose, right after he finished it. I had to clean it up, but the dust bin lay in the closet across the room and by the time I got there, my feet were bleeding and stinging like crazy. Lauren picked the splinters out of my flesh later that night. It didn’t hurt as much as I expected. Especially when she looked at me with her precious eyes and kissed me softly on the lips a second later.
Sapphic Books 