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My dearest Tom:
I know you're getting frustrated with me. Our relationship is at a standstill. Today you yelled at me, and I can't blame you. Hormones are an awful thing, and I know yours are screaming. We have been married for almost a year. But we still have not consummated our marriage. And it's my fault.
Please, believe me. I have my reasons. And if you truly love me, you'll hear me out. This isn't easy for me. I don't really want to tell you. But you deserve to know my reasons. Or should I say reason?
I have to give you fair warning: This is not going to be easy for you to read. You may not even want to. But everything I am about to tell you happened to me, and I relive it every night in my dreams. Consider yourself warned.
It happened September of my junior year at college. It was just before my twentieth birthday. I was skipping class, sick in bed with strep throat. Fortunately, I was in a single room, so I didn't have to worry about anybody bothering me or getting anybody else sick. I had just woken up when I heard a loud knock on my door.
For a long moment, I considered not answering the door. All my friends knew I was sick, and besides that everyone was supposed to be in class. But someone might have needed me. I got out of bed and opened the door.
I was greeted with a vicious punch.
When I came to, I was screaming. I didn't know why. I remembered where I was. I was tied to the foot of my bed, bound and gagged. A tremendous weight was draped on top of me, holding my legs down and making it difficult for me to breathe. Then I found out why I was screaming. Whatever was holding me down was hurting me. Down there.
The pain was excruciating. I almost passed out again. But a hand slapped across my cheek brought me back. "Don't you dare pass out on me, bitch!" a deep voice growled. "It's no fun if you do."
I screamed myself hoarse. Tears were pouring out of my eyes. I tried to get him off me, but I could hardly move. He wouldn't stop! I thought for sure I would die from the pain. But suddenly it was over.
Then I looked into his eyes and realized that it had only begun.
(Are you still reading this, Tom? I wonder...)
I tried to yell for help, but with the gag in my mouth I couldn't make enough noise. His features twisted with rage. "Do you think anyone will hear you?" A freight train rammed into my side. I doubled over. He kicked me again. "Do you really think anyone will come?"
I couldn't breathe, oh God, I couldn't breathe! The gag and the pain would not let me breathe. Then, wonder of wonders, he took the gag out! "Well?" He looked at me. "Do you have anything to tell me before you die, you little slut?"
I glared at him with all the hatred I could muster. I considered screaming again, I knew someone would hear me. But I was too hoarse. My voice wouldn't make it out of the room. "If you're going to kill me," I whispered, "then hurry up and do it, you bastard!"
He laughed. The son of a bitch laughed at me! "Oh no," he replied. He stuffed the gag back into my mouth and stood up. "You're going to die very slowly, my little whore." He grabbed the bat that I kept for softball practice and swung at me. I heard a sickening crunch as my leg broke.
The pain welled up all over again. But I could no longer scream, any more than I could stop him. He kicked me over and over, in my stomach, chest, legs... he wouldn't stop. Of course, he finally did, his own chest heaving with exertion. And, try as I might, my body would not let me escape into the darkness that hovered at the edge of my blurry vision.
I think he saw that I could not even move, much less attack him. Maybe he felt sorry for me. I don't know. But he untied me. After a moment, I was able to look up and was finally able to make out his features.
Short black hair. A crooked nose. High cheekbones. A firm mouth. And dark eyes filled with hatred. I couldn't help but wonder what I had done to deserve such hatred. More than anything, I wanted to know why he did this. I wanted it even more than I wanted the pain to go away.
I could hardly hear his next words to me over the pain. "It's been fun," he said and smiled. Suddenly, I knew what a mouse feels like, just before the snake strikes. "But now you have to go." He moved faster than I thought humanly possible. He was out the door and gone. But he left me a final present; a knife buried in my chest.
Finally, my body obeyed my wishes and I sank into a blessed, painless darkness.
Fortunately, a friend found my door ajar and called security. They rushed me to the hospital and somehow managed to save my life. I was in a coma for three weeks. But I woke up. I almost didn't.
They never found him. They looked, they really did. But after two years, they gave up. To this day, he has not been found, arrested, convicted, executed for what he did to me. I don't even know his name.
It's been five years. I still remember it like it was yesterday. That's why, Tom. I can't do it, not yet. I may never be able to. I hope you understand. If not, I won't blame you. But I had to let you know.
Maybe someday, Tom. But not yet.
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