Obsession

Violence and the Rescue

There are the following triggering themes included in this story: mentions of suicide; sexual descriptions and implied sexual acts; homosexual relationships; infidelity; drama and angst; murder/mystery-themed; profanity; and descriptions of stalking/undiagnosed mental illnesses.

(A/N: TW: suicidal thoughts, violence, physical and sexual abuse, and profanity and demeaning language prominent during this chapter. Please skip down to the end for a tamer recap if needed, but please do not report this story. It is a work of fiction, but I do not condone violence of any kind as portrayed below.)

"You fucking whore!" he raged.

Marcy screamed and ducked as a yellow dinner plate was thrown in her direction. The plate shattered against the refrigerator, and the shards and food went all over the floor. It had been thirty-seven long and agonizing days since Marcy awoke from her cocktail-induced sleep, but she was wishing she was dead. To her dismay, she had mistakenly identified her captor as her dead husband.

He was most definitely NOT Liam. No. It was Mark, the man Liam had fired from the furniture store just before his untimely death. He slightly resembled Liam in looks and stature, so in her hazy, medicated state, he looked like Liam.

Mark had forced her to become a prisoner housewife, and she was struggling to keep up with the strict rules and duties assigned to her. She just couldn't get things quite right, and it would only result in beatings. Her face was littered with bruises and scabs of healed injuries scattered about. Her ribs hurt to breathe. And it was getting harder and harder to hide the limp from her left ankle. She tried to put as little pressure as possible on her left wrist, otherwise it erupted in excruciating pain.

She once tried to appeal to her captor's self-proclaimed love for her to let her go to the hospital so her injuries could be attended to, but that only seemed to aggravate him further. She was locked in the basement for two days straight for that. And the same treatment for showing how much pain she was in a week later.

In addition to the ruthless beatings and the verbal assaults, he forced her to strictly wear a flimsy blue sun dress with no undergarments whatsoever. At first, she thought the dress was some kind of sentimental item of clothing, because he presented it to her almost as if the garment was invaluable and precious, but what he really was going for was easy access. His favorite thing to do was to slip his hands beneath the dress and fondle and molest her, and he did so whenever he wanted.

Though, Marcy was unaware until it was too late that the easy access would morph into punishments.

"That is NOT how Mother made this! Why can't you fucking get it right, you stupid, fucking bitch?!" he continued to rant, his face turning red with anger.

"I'm s-sorry, M-"

"SHUT! UP!"

He was suddenly next to her, gripping her hair and pulling her to a standing position. She whimpered in pain as a matted, curly clump was yanked out of her scalp. Her cheeks stung with tears cascading over her healing injuries. He forced her to bend over the old, round kitchen table. She trembled in fear, not wanting to know what sick, perverse punishment he would come up with, now, as she turned her head in time, and her cheek was now shoved onto the tabletop. All she could do was whimper and cry.

"Looks like you need to be taught a lesson, you fucking worthless slut!" he ranted as he undid his belt buckle with one hand, while his other hand held her down by the back of the head. He was seething with uncontained rage, and all he saw was red.

"Please, Mark," Marcy pleaded, "please, no! I'll do better! I'll get it right!"

"SHUT UP!" he screamed as he folded the belt in half, hiked her dress up, revealing the bare skin of her commando bottom half, and slapped it across Marcy's butt as hard as he could.

Marcy screamed out in agonizing misery by the now-bleeding sting of repeated belt whips that slashed across her butt with a sickening slap. She desperately tried to keep pressure off her hands, but she braced them, palms flat, on the table top. It hurt. Oh, it hurt. Her rub cage burned with so much pain she could barely breathe as her injured rib cage was forced against the table top, but at least she could give her throbbing ankle a break.

"Maybe," SNAP "now," SNAP "you'll," SNAP "fucking," SNAP "learn!" SNAP SNAP SNAP!

He dropped the belt, but he kept his hold on her head. With his free hand, he made a fist and forced it inside of her tensed and unwilling hole, and she screamed harder, despite the agonizing pain her torso was in, with each withdraw and punch back inside, emphasized by him chanting WHORE, until he suddenly stopped and pulled his fist out.

He let go of Marcy's head and watched her knees give out, and she sagged against the table as he panted and bent over to grab and put his now-bloody belt back on. Her whimpers and painful moans only irritated him more on top of the irritation that was already present from the percieved-botched dinner presented to him, and the fact that the laundry was not completed, yet, and the sink was piled with dirty dishes.

"Clean this shit up, you worthless whore," he spat as he walked out of the kitchen.

Unable to hold herself up any longer, Marcy slumped onto the floor in a heap of limbs, with no will to comply. Her entire body was in so much pain that she simply could not move. She just wanted to stay right there on the kitchen floor and die. She just wanted it all to end so the pain would stop. She just knew no one would find her. She didn't even know where she was, herself. It was all too much, and she couldn't go on, anymore.

For the first time since she discovered John's infidelity with James, she wished for John to be back. She missed the way he treated her and made her feel. She even missed James, even though he betrayed her, too. Somewhere in her mind, she knew that, even though what they did was wrong, she was wrong to have disowned her son. She just wanted to see her children, again, and hug them.

But she knew that would never happen. She pushed her first born away, and her second born never leaves his bedroom. And John definitely wasn't coming back to her when he clearly fancies younger men.

And knowing all of this only made her world plumet farther into despair. It all was hopeless.

She was vaguely aware of booming knocks at the front door as her vision and consciousness swam in front of her eyes. And as a muffled sounding, "Police!" erupted from the next room, her vision darkened, and she was all too happy to welcome the nothingness of unconsciousness.

SEE BELOW

A/N: RECAP: Marcy was kidnapped by Mark, a former employee from the furniture store that was fired by Liam just before his death. Mark forced Marcy to be what I refer to as a prisoner housewife, and anytime she didn't do things just the way he wanted them to be done, he would violently abuse her as punishment. The end of this chapter is when police have raided the place in which Marcy was held captive, but she has passed out.