Emily Sawyer

School: Brian McMahon High School
Grade: 9
1st year at YWI

The Woman by the Window (Continued)

…..and puts down his suitcase in the same corner of the cramped apartment. He walks into the mini kitchen and checks for food on the stove. He sees none and starts on a rampage. He flips over pots and pans and chairs and the couch and almost breaks the chandelier over the dining room table. He walks over to his silent and drawn wife and demands that she gets up and makes food. She somberly looks up at her spouse and gives him a longing look of discomfort and displeasure. He realizes that she is no help and quickly picks up the phone to call for takeout. He’s too lazy to go out and get food for himself. She wished he could fend for himself like she can, but he’s incapable of living alone. That’s why she won’t leave. He dials, orders, and quickly hangs up. He walks into the bedroom and sees that it isn’t clean as expected. Again he starts on a rampage of yelling and throwing and punching his scared wife. She screams and yells along with him, but her voice is drowned out by his overpowering screams. Why don’t I leave, why don’t I leave? Help, please help, she thinks as he beats her once again. He gets his belt from his creased khaki pants and starts to beat her with it. He’s expressing his frustration from work, from the dirty, dusty apartment, the frustration from his life. He loves to take it out on his wife because she won’t fight back. He can still remember the day that he had beat her into a chair by the window. That was the most viscous beating of all. She still had scars on her face and arms because of that beating. It had hurt her so bad that she has stayed in the chair by the window, not moving, not expressing a need for her husband. He was okay with that; she would never move when he beat her, and he liked that………

She was thinking. She was remembering. She was crying. She was in pain. She hated that man. She never wanted to see him again. She hoped she didn’t. She sat there until nightfall when she heard a knock on the door. She didn’t get up. She just sat there, staring at the door. As she looked down, she saw another envelope with the words eviction notice written on it. She brushed it off and looked back at the window. Soon her husband would come home for the bar and she would be beat again…….

It was 1 a.m. when she heard keys jiggling at the door. He walked in silently and put his suitcase in the same dirty corner. Unusually, he walked right into the bedroom and came out with a belt from the closet. He walked over and told her to stand up. She had never stood up from the spot for twenty-two years; she wasn’t planning on doing it tonight. He demanded her to get up, and she still refused. He whipped her over and over, forcing her to stand. It had been twenty-two years and now she finally stood. He kept whipping her, forcing her into the bedroom. He grabbed her and threw her onto the bed. She could smell the liquor on him as he jumped on her and started forcing his lips to hers. He kissed her hard, but ever so softly; the touch of his lips made her cringe. He began taking her clothes off, and she didn’t stop him. She realized that she wouldn’t be able to do anything- he was drunk and she was weak. In the next few seconds her clothes were off and he was taking off his. She hadn’t realized that this would happen, but it was right now: she was literally getting raped. She suddenly panicked and gasped for fresh air because she had been breathing his smoky, stained clothes for a few minutes now. She smelled liquor and smoke and dust and she couldn’t take it. But she couldn’t get up. He was forcing her down. Suddenly she felt a sharp jolt and he started to groan. She felt something inside of her that wasn’t there before, but it was gone in seconds. He rolled off of her, out of breath, still groaning, grabbing her tightly and not letting go. She tried to move but he pulled her down, so she sat there quietly, drifting into a deep sleep……

She looked over at the alarm clock and it was about 3 a.m. She could feel that he had rolled over onto her again. He was awake, and he was doing it again. She could feel it again, and this time it felt worse. It was there for minutes; he groaned the whole time and she breathed heavily. He rolled over once again, and they both fell asleep in sync.

It was about 9 a.m. when she awoke again. She realized what had happened only a few hours ago. She couldn’t take anymore. She got up, slipped on her shoes, took some money from her husband’s “secret” stash, and walked out the door. She wasn’t going to return; she was going to start to stand up for herself, and this was the start.