My Fault

His dinner; my fault

I tell him why I am late with his meal:

I started it late because traffic was bad; he yells at me for not doing the errands sooner.

My voice is filled with intonated anger that sets him off.


 His slap; my fault

His palm across my face hard. Then face to face, he asks icily, "Why am I making him angry?"

I feel scared; I avert my eyes from his gaze.


His words; My fault

He takes my aversion as a sign of my guilt, so he pushes hard against the fridge.

His hand tightly on my jaw; my eyes wide with fear.

"Who is it?" he demands.

"No one..." I start to tell him, but he interrupts with an acerbic tone:  "Liar, Slut, Whore, Bitch."


His reaction; My fault

Those words break my fear and unleash a torrent of anger.

Remembering all the times, I smelled perfumes that were not mine,

I coldly answer back, "I am not the lying, slutty whoring bitch here."

I see his eyes widen with rage, and say, "I am sorry, sorry, sorry."


His torture: My fault

With one forearm holding me in place, he pulls my tube top below my breasts.

Next he twists a breast hard, causing me anguish: he smiles at my distress.

In the face of pain, defiance sets in, and I spit in his face.


His rape; My fault

He slams in fist into my face, then tosses me to the floor, and tears off my clothes.

Dazed, I do not realize what is happening at first, then I scream no, please don't.

I try to fight back, but he grabs me by the hair and slams my head hard against the floor:

Again and again, until the fight goes out of me, and he penetrates me.

After he ejaculates in me, he questions me as to why I do not respect him as I should.

After all he informs me that he respects me.


His decision; My fault

Still partly stunned, I look him in the eye incredulously and say, "You respect me?

"You respect me?" He smiles, until I start to laugh at him and his words.

Laughing, I fail to see what is coming, but I suddenly feel his hands tightly around my throat.

I futilely try to break his grip or get him off of me.

Slowly I feel myself slipping away into darkness, wishing I could prevent my impending demise,

and then as I slipp into oblivion, I have one final thought:

My death; my fault.





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