The Nobody
Why? Why? WHY???
He had woken up.
Thank God as well, just in time. i thought to myself.
(A/N: Obviously this is from Hayley's P.O.V.)
A messy, 6ft 3" silhouette fills up the kitchen doorway.
The deep, croaky voice drift's out of it's throat.
"Good, you finally did something right."
The anger in my body from that hateful remark was overcome by the overwhelming relief that i wouldn't be pinned against the corridor (A/N: um i'm a nz'r so corridor, hallway, whatever other name for it.) wall being slapped repeatedly across the face.
As he sat down on the table to his requested breakfast, (which consisted of eggs done so the white is cooked but the yolk still runny, sausages cooked well done and oild drained, feijoa and orange juice squeezed with feijoa pulp but no orange pulp, and toast crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, not burnt but darker than golden brown), i knelt on the floor by his feet in the "Inferior Servant" position.
I had to learn my lesson the hard way, never look up while in this position, never speak unless spoken to, and never, NEVER engage eye contact.
Looking at the floor, i noticed dents and scratches from where 'the husband' had hit me previously, or thrown me against the floor.
"Hayley?"
"Yes beloved husband?" I dreaded calling him that. it was like disgusting filth escaping my mouth.
"Did i not make myself clear when i requested my breakfast be made my way or are you just deaf and retarded?" He asked, slowly raising his voice.
'what the fuck IS the right answer?' i asked myself for the millionth time. Better not to answer.
"what do you SEE?" he asked, pouring the cold juice over my head.
"Bad juice" i replied
"Yes and WHY?"
"Because i am a hopeless wife and i am not capable of accomplishing anything right."
"You're damn fucking right you are"
He pushed his chair back, picking me up from my position by the collar, straining the back of my neck.
His face was inches from mine, his rancid overnight breath in my face. A disgusting mixture of bed-breath, alcohol, and this mornings breakfast. It took most of my strength to prevent myself from throwing up.
Losing the capability to think of an insult or comment to yell in my face, he just spat at me and threw me on the floor.
Obviously this hurt like fuckin shit, seeing as my baby is practically coming out of me.
I had to stick strong. i knew why i wasn't allowed the abortion. Because my family had rejected me being out of wedlock, and this was another of his sick games.
This game's not even hard to realise. I suffer having to look after a disabled child. That's what he wants. He wants ME to be embarrassed, ME to suffer the pressure of looking after it, taking care of it's bullying issues at school.
I must win.
This child's a gift.
Thank God as well, just in time. i thought to myself.
(A/N: Obviously this is from Hayley's P.O.V.)
A messy, 6ft 3" silhouette fills up the kitchen doorway.
The deep, croaky voice drift's out of it's throat.
"Good, you finally did something right."
The anger in my body from that hateful remark was overcome by the overwhelming relief that i wouldn't be pinned against the corridor (A/N: um i'm a nz'r so corridor, hallway, whatever other name for it.) wall being slapped repeatedly across the face.
As he sat down on the table to his requested breakfast, (which consisted of eggs done so the white is cooked but the yolk still runny, sausages cooked well done and oild drained, feijoa and orange juice squeezed with feijoa pulp but no orange pulp, and toast crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, not burnt but darker than golden brown), i knelt on the floor by his feet in the "Inferior Servant" position.
I had to learn my lesson the hard way, never look up while in this position, never speak unless spoken to, and never, NEVER engage eye contact.
Looking at the floor, i noticed dents and scratches from where 'the husband' had hit me previously, or thrown me against the floor.
"Hayley?"
"Yes beloved husband?" I dreaded calling him that. it was like disgusting filth escaping my mouth.
"Did i not make myself clear when i requested my breakfast be made my way or are you just deaf and retarded?" He asked, slowly raising his voice.
'what the fuck IS the right answer?' i asked myself for the millionth time. Better not to answer.
"what do you SEE?" he asked, pouring the cold juice over my head.
"Bad juice" i replied
"Yes and WHY?"
"Because i am a hopeless wife and i am not capable of accomplishing anything right."
"You're damn fucking right you are"
He pushed his chair back, picking me up from my position by the collar, straining the back of my neck.
His face was inches from mine, his rancid overnight breath in my face. A disgusting mixture of bed-breath, alcohol, and this mornings breakfast. It took most of my strength to prevent myself from throwing up.
Losing the capability to think of an insult or comment to yell in my face, he just spat at me and threw me on the floor.
Obviously this hurt like fuckin shit, seeing as my baby is practically coming out of me.
I had to stick strong. i knew why i wasn't allowed the abortion. Because my family had rejected me being out of wedlock, and this was another of his sick games.
This game's not even hard to realise. I suffer having to look after a disabled child. That's what he wants. He wants ME to be embarrassed, ME to suffer the pressure of looking after it, taking care of it's bullying issues at school.
I must win.
This child's a gift.