PET- Ashton Irwin

Part 1

Looking back at it now, Daisy could see how suspicious the job posting had seemed. But it was too late now, and what did she really have to lose anyway? She had just gotten out of a six-year relationship with her high school sweetheart, Thomas, who turned out to be a little more violent than previously promised. Her family had shunned her for leaving him because they just don't do that. She was raised in the South, deep in the bible belt. She'd spent more time in the church than she'd probably ever spent alone in her life, the preaching of some 60-year-old man ingrained in her brain. Stay innocent. Worship God. Worship your husband. Be submissive. And she had been, for six years, that is. Thomas was her first everything. Their daddies had been friends since they were kids; he spent every summer chasing her around the backyard, camping there under the stars. When they got to high school, he asked her to their very first homecoming dance; he kissed her for the first time on her front porch, even asked her daddy for her hand in marriage their senior year.

They were living in a little cottage on his grandpa's land. He'd work long hours away from home; she kept a part-time job as a receptionist for a local law firm, which gave her plenty of time to keep up with the garden, dust the knickknacks, make sure his clothes were perfectly ironed, and a hot plate of hearty comfort food was waiting for him at the dinner table like clockwork every night. Daisy loved her simple little life until Thomas took over his daddy's business. It was stressful; he didn't know what he was doing, and he started having feelings he had been told men don't have. So he picked up drinking. It started slowly: Friday nights at the bar with his buddies after work, then a beer after dinner while they sat on the couch, then it escalated to a glass of whiskey, then it was a routine. Thomas would come home, breath hot; when he'd pull her into a hug, it was rough, and Daisy could taste the liquor on him. He always found something about the food to complain about; the potatoes were lumpy, the meat was dry, it was just suddenly inedible after years of loving it.

Daisy was never one to argue; raised to be a real pushover, she'd hang her head, tears prickling at the sides of her eyes. She would apologize, try to take his plate away before he threw it at her, and offer to make him something else. Something he liked. That never sufficed, though; the beautiful china she had inherited from her grandma would go flying, her body would start shaking, he'd berate her until he got pissed off enough to drive away. Then she'd pick her head up, sweep up the glass, put away the leftovers, and pray in her bed sometimes for even hours at a time that things would get better for them. It wouldn't.

She'll never forget the first time he put his hands on her; it was a Thursday night, dinner was chicken pot pie, and a fresh pitcher of sweet tea sat at the center of the table. She lowered her head to say a simple prayer before they ate. Thomas rolled his eyes and poured himself a glass of the tea. The glass shattered before the liquid could have touched his tongue, the rich dark liquid staining her white tablecloth. He stood up, the chair falling behind him. "Are you trying to poison me, or are you just that dense in the brain, girl?" Daisy felt her face heat up; she looked down at her fingertips silently. She could usually take it, look down, disassociate, pretend this wasn't her life. But Thomas seemed unsatisfied with this reaction; it just wasn't doing it for him anymore. He slammed his fist down on the table, the dishes rattling. "You're to look me in the eyes when I'm speaking to you, girl." Daisy jumped at the loud noise, but stayed still. This was the nail in the coffin for Thomas; he walked around the side of the table, grabbed her forearm, and threw her to the ground.

She looked up at him, stunned; she couldn't make out any words. Hot tears rolled down her face. He winced, looking at the sight of her, not because he felt bad, but because he was disgusted with her behavior. He nudged her side with his foot. "Are you just going to sit there? Pathetic and crying like a big fuckin baby?" His words hit her like knives to her skin; she opened her mouth but was still unable to form anything but a choked sob. He bent over and grabbed her by the arm again, pulling her up just enough to throw her into a bookshelf in the corner. "You better have this mess cleaned up before I'm back or you're done for." He spat at her before stomping out the door. And that wasn't even the last time. As soon as she heard the rumbling of his truck pulling down the road, she called her daddy. He had nothing to say: "Pray on it? Talk to his momma? Maybe learn to cook better?" But he made sure she knew one thing for sure: she was not to leave.