And Unlikely Savior(open to one man, PM for invite)

((OOC: The position has been filled, thank you to everyone who showed interest.))


Twilight had descended upon the land... that magical time between sunset and night time, when one can look up at the purple and silver sky and they'd think they were looking at a piece of heaven itself. But it was cold, the frigid January air causing her breath to come out looking like plumes of smoke from the mouth of a dragon instead of the petite woman who walked down the cement path that had been laid through the woods that made up the ever-popular park her small town was so proud to be located near. It was days like this, despite the impending nightfall, that Rose liked to take her walks, with her hands shoved into her pockets for warmth, and her thick jacket pulled tight around her, thick still despite how thread-bare the surface of the fabric was, how stressed and worn the seams were.

In honesty... there was a lot more to just talking a walk when Rose made this daily trip... It was a short cut home, to the run down trailer park where she lived with her "boyfriend". In honesty... Greg was more of a prison guard than a boyfriend. He'd stopped being like a boyfriend a long time ago, and now he was just the one she spent her time supporting and trying not to piss off. Usually that was a futile attempt, and the bruises that covered her arms and legs were testament to that. Thank god for long sleeved shirts and pants...

She'd have left a long time ago, if she had anywhere to go. The only car that she could use(when he was too drunk and passed out to realize she had the keys) was in his name, and the nearest town other than the one where she worked was sixty miles away. The part of the park she was crossing through now was the smallest bit, right on the edge, and she'd have to cross the widest part of the park to get to that other town without a car... not a safe trek for anyone, let alone someone like her.

Some women had it all going for them... looks, brains, personality, and they'd come from a good family who could pay for them to go to college so they could one day have a stable career. Rose, on the other hand... had only looks, brains, and personality... and those three things seem to mean nothing without money. A sound somewhere off in the distance made her look up, but she didn't stop walking. Her heart beat a little faster in her chest, and as the realization that she was out in the middle of the woods alone with night falling began to settle in around her, her footsteps became quicker.

Was someone following her? Maybe...
Should she be afraid? Probably...
What was that noise? No clue.

She broke into a clearing where she new a pond to be, the trail curling around the edge of the pond, only to see the source of all the racket. Funny, she hadn't realized she was going toward the sound and not away.

A gasp left her as her green eyes took in the sight before her. There, about twenty feet out into the water, was a... man. The ice that covered the pond was cracked around him, and between his flailing and crying for help, she only just barely spotted the dog whining and trying to climb out of the water as well. Rose didn't stop to think, she just acted.

Moving to the edge of the pond as quickly as she could, she dropped to her stomach on the water, army-crawling out over the ice. She didn't remember where she'd seen that that was a good idea, but it seemed like the best course of action. "I'm coming! Just calm down and stay still!" The man turned his frightened eyes her way, but he seemed to do his best not to panic further.

Rose moved as quickly as she dared, until she finally reached a point where she was close enough to maybe reach him. "Grab my hand!" she called, and his hand reached out to hers. Her own hands, already stiff with the cold, gripped at his as best they could. As soon as she had a hold on him, she tried to scoot backward, pulling him with her. He grabbed the dog's collar, hefting him up onto the edge of the ice, and the poor animal scrambled to safety while Rose struggled under the man's weight to pull him out of the water.

It took what felt like an eternity but was really only the matter of a minute to free him from his icy prison, and the two collapsed onto the water for a moment before Rose, now wet and shivering, grabbed him by his jacket and began pulling him toward the shore, unwilling to take her chances that the ice wouldn't give way again. Once they reached the cold hard packed ground, Rose lifted onto trembling hands and knees, looking him over. "You-You're going t-to have to w-walk Sir, but I-I'll get you to th-the ranger's station... they c-can call the hospital..." she said, stumbling over her words.

The man nodded weakly, and Rose pulled him to his feet. The two clutched each other as she walked him toward the nearest ranger's station, just over a mile away.

_*_*_

A few hours later, Rose was being treated for the first signs of hypothermia, which had been setting in by the time she reached the ranger's station. The man had been taken to the intensive care ward, but the nurses said he'd be fine... He'd have died if it hadn't been for Rose's quick thinking. They also identified him... and Rose understood why she hadn't recognized him. He wasn't from around the area, he was the son of a rather wealthy man who owned several Resorts around the country, and had come out to their area to look at possible locations for a new resort. The nurses asked if Rose wanted to wait to meet him, but she just shook her head and all she asked for was a ride home.... She knew Greg would be waiting and angry she had taken so long.

“I don’t want you going out there, Jonas. It’s dark, it’s cold, and who knows what kind of riff-raff will be scurrying about.” A middle-aged woman stood in the center of the room in front of her only son, doing her best to persuade him to remain in the cramped little hotel room that they had been forced to temporarily reside in. Her elegance was prominent in her attire: A long, black dress made from the finest Indian silk hugged her professionally sculpted curves. Diamond earrings hung like tiny chandeliers from her earlobes and were shining brighter than then dim light fixtures that failed to illuminate their tiny space. No outfit for her would be complete with out her creamy mink coat that has quickly turned so many heads that local chiropractors see a surge in business.

“Riff-raff? What time period are you living in, mom?” Jonas was once again trying to escape the clutches of his mothers over protective nature, although most of the time his attempts were futile at best, as his mother always got what she wanted. But the heir to a large resort empire was sick and tired of being cooped up in a dinky little motel room with his obsessive mother and his smelly German Shepard, Rosco. He didn’t even understand why his father would want to build a resort in a small town like this. Something about ‘spreading the gift of luxury to all social classes.” Yeah right, he would have to cut prices drastically if he wanted to obtain any business here. Jonas was sure he hadn’t seen one model car in this town that was made after 1995. “I’m just going out to get some fresh air, okay. Plus, I’m taking Roscoe with me and he can maul any jerk that tries to get fresh with me.”

“’Get fresh’, you say? Well, I will assume your vernacular is somewhere between the fifties and the sixties.” They laughed a bit, a rare occurrence between the two of them, before his mother sighed. Jonas wasn’t a kid anymore and she knew it, but if anything were to happen to him while they were separated…

“Be careful, Jonas. I’m serious.”

“I will, mom, don’t worry so much. Hey, when’s dad getting back?”

“He’s in the middle of that meeting with this town’s mayor. I expect him to return in an hour or so.”

“Okay, I’ll probably be back by then. C’mon, Roscoe!” The German Shepard huffed lightly as it rose up on its legs. Roscoe trotted over to Jonas as he gave his mother a hug and kiss before leaving the motel room.

*** *** *** ***

The wooded park was eerily quiet but in a tranquil sort of way. The mixture of the setting sun and light nimbus clouds painted a lavender hue across the sky, and flocking birds made the scene look like a brilliant moving picture. Bare-bones trees stretched their bent, leafless limbs upwards towards the heavens as to say, ‘Could we get some freakin’ warmth over here?’ Jonas’ loafers clicked and Roscoe’s paws padded on the concrete trail that took them on a scenic route through the park. The scenery was quiet different from the hasty commotion and bright lights of the various metropolis’ he had visited throughout his lifetime. He could actually hear himself think, and found that privilege to be quite nice. As much as he loved his high-status and the people and things that were associated with it, he often thought about having a home in a simple part of the world like the one he was stuck in now. No traffic, no paparazzi, no clamoring fans wanting a picture or hug. Sometimes he just wanted to get away from all that.

“You think this place is boring, Roscoe?” Jonas asked his faithful companion. Roscoe answered with a sneeze, to which Jonas could help but laugh. “Why do I even bother, you stupid dog. I don’t know, boy. I’m getting sick of all those superficial assholes that just want a piece of what we’ve got. Hey, where are you going?” Roscoe had gotten a glimpse of a jack rabbit as it hopped along from one snow-covered shrubbery to the next and started to take off for the wild animal. Jonas followed behind as best as he could in loafers, yelling obscenities at the pursuing canine while avoiding getting his face scratched or his clothes torn by the bony branches that reached out like they were trying to slow him down. Jonas chased Roscoe into a clearing and only managed a few feet before his own feet slipped out from under him and he landed on a thick, unforgiving sheet of ice. Roscoe wasn’t immune to the friction-less surface and gave up on going after the rabbit, whose feet were properly equipped to handle these tough winter conditions. Roscoe made his way back to his master, giving him a lick on the face. Jonas frustratingly pushed the shepard’s muzzle away.

“Goddammit Roscoe, what’s the matter with you? Man, my head is killing me…” Jonas put a hand to the back of his head. No blood, but there was a decent knot that stung like hell when he discovered it. He sat up and heard a cracking sound. “Man, was that me…?” The cracking continued and Jonas realized the sort of trouble he was about to be in. He was standing on a frozen pond, and the ice was giving way to the impact of his painful fall. Jonas quickly stood up, still woozy from bumping his head on the ice, and hollered for Roscoe to follow him. The crack grew larger and accelerated towards the shore while more cracks circled around the city man and his dog. Without warning, the fragile ice gave way, and Jonas and Roscoe were submerged into the icy depths. The water was so cold that it stung like a thousand bumble bees. Roscoe was able to react faster to the accident and climbed out of the bone-chilling water, barking furiously at his master like he was beckoning him to save himself. Jonas was in too much of a panic to keep himself from doing anything but flailing his arms around and coughing out cries for help as the numbness began to settle into his legs. He felt himself slipping into the water, tears falling down his face as he realized that he would never see his family again. At the last possible moment, a hand reached out and pulled him from the ice hole. With the samaritians help, Jonas reached up and grabbed his dog’s collar to assist in the struggle to free himself from being frozen solid in the middle of nowhere.

Two bodies lay near the pond’s shore in a shivering heap, breathing heavily as the last sliver of sunlight disappears over the horizon. It’s dark and cold with a biting wind building up, not a great atmosphere to be in when you’ve been submerged into frozen waters. Jonas was coughing and sneezing and shivering all at the same time, and couldn’t really make out what the samaritian was saying to him. He nodded in order to let the person know that he was alive and tried his best to use what little strength he had available to him in order to lift himself off of the ground. Huddled close for warmth, the two staggered off into the night towards the local station.

*** *** *** ***

Shortly after waking up in his hospital bed, Jonas had been informed by the nurse of the incident he was involved in at the town’s park.

“Where’s my dog?” he asked.

“We took him to a veterinarian that’s not too far from here. He was shaken up and soaking wet but luckily he wasn’t exposed to the water as much as you were. You’re very fortunate, sir.

“Yeah, right. Somebody helped me outta there. Can you tell me who it was?” The nurse described the woman, named Rose, and told him that she was a local who lived in the town he was staying at. A doctor later gave him a final check-up and sent him on his way. Jonas made a quick phone call to his parents in order to tell them where he was and what had happened to him. After listening to his mom’s hysterics and dad’s stern scolding, they agreed to pick him up from the hospital. The woman who had risked his own life to save his would have to be repaid.

Rose was fairly silent during the car ride to her home, listening to the excited rambling of the deputy next to her... Scott was his name... he'd gone to school with her big brother before her brother had joined the army and thusly gotten a one way ticket to the "Sandbox" as he'd called it, from which he never returned. Not alive, anyway. Mom and dad were long since dead, and as soon as she could, their snotty aunt had kicked Rose out on the streets and moved away to God-only-knows-where Mississippi with some guy named Carl.

She sighed and just offered a half hearted smile whenever he seemed to pause for a response from her. That suited him just fine. Showed she was listening, and then his motormouth tendencies took over once more. Rose, meanwhile, wasn't listening to him as he babbled about how she was a hero. She sure didn't feel like a hero... The poor guy had been half frozen and she'd had to force him to stumble along with her to the ranger's station, and they'd quickly taken over, heaping blankets on the two half frozen people before ushering them into their jeeps and rushing them to the hospital, lights and sirens blaring. It was faster than waiting on an ambulance to try to make it down the snow covered back roads.

At the hospital, they'd warmed her up, treated what needed treating, and one of the nurses, a neighbor of hers, loaned her some extra clothes, since hers were just about ruined.

Now, sitting in the squad car on her way home, her mind was not filled with thoughts of her so-called heroism, they were filled with how angry Greg was bound to be when she got home so late. She still needed to fix him dinner... didn't have the money to pick anything up on the way home. Oh, but he was going to be angry. And when he was angry, his slaps could turn to punches, depending on how many bottles of Jack Daniel's he'd managed to down.

When the squad car pulled to a stop in front of her house, she forced a smile and managed a small thank you to Scott before climbing out of the front seat. The doctor's at the hospital had questioned her about the bruises, but she had been quick to assure them that they were probably from the struggle on the ice... and the man she'd saved had been too panicked to try to insist otherwise, she knew, so even if they asked him, he wouldn't be able to tell them much.

She knew she could have told them about Greg and they'd protect her... but he was all she had left in the world, and while he wasn't always much, she did love him.... almost as much as she feared whatever retribution he may try to get if she told them about the way he treated her.

Looking up at the trailer, she hugged herself, her soaked jacket back at the hospital. Her neighbor had assured her that it would be dried as best they could get it, and that she'd do her best to be gentle so any rips could be fixed, especially when Rose had seemed worried about the coat not making it through the cleaning process. Turning back to the squad car, she waved as he drove down the street, then, hugging herself tighter, trudged through the snow toward the front door, silently preparing herself for what she was sure was going to be the worst beating she'd received in quite a long time.

A bottle of Jack, it’s contents half-depleted, slammed down with excessive force onto a wobbly wooden table that was showered in the dusty, dim lighting from a tacky floor lamp purchased at a swap meet from years past. Next to the lamp was a ratty old armchair, with a fabric pattern that almost matches the lamp shade. It was found on the side of the road, but it was probably bought from the same swap meet as the floor lamp. In fact, the whole trailer was crammed with a bunch of junk purchased at different garage sales and fleet markets, save for the few items that Rose kept in their bedroom. Somehow, not all of her things made it into the trash can.

Speaking of trash, the biggest piece of crap wasn’t a singing fish plaque or a set of faux buck antlers. It was a man, in fact, a man with a whole lot of anger and a self-destructive drinking problem who used Rose’s frail frame as a canvas on which he paints a picture of domestic violence. Greg is his name, but who needs a name when people know you best by your temperamental outbursts and public drunkenness?

Greg grew up in a home that was very traditional as far as the family unit was concerned. Dad worked, Mom cooked, and kids were well-behaved. Dad was king, and if he had to dish out a little corporal punishment in order to make sure his word was followed, then so be it. Greg’s mom was pretty much under strict control under his father, and his easily corruptible mind had absorbed everything his dad taught him about what being a ‘good husband’ or a ‘good wife’ was all about. And the few times Greg objected to these ideals…well, five across the eyes usually demolished any doubts that tried creep up into his head. It got to the point where the bruises that littered his mom’s body didn’t bother him much anymore, and when he would hear a loud smack from his parents bedroom, he knew that his father was just doing a little ‘re-training’.

“Son of a bitch!” Greg stamped his feet, causing the uneasy end table to wiggle which knocked his J.D. bottle over, spilling alcohol on to his work pants. Cursing Rose’s name, he stood up and stumbled over to the kitchen, ripping a few sheet of paper towels from the dispenser to clean himself off with. He was pissed-off big time. Rose was late in getting home and was seriously messing with Greg’s routine. He’d get up, go to work, come home, get dinner, get pussy, and go to bed. Since Rose decided to be insensitive to his needs, he had tried to fix himself a home-cooked meal that consisted of a six-pack of beer and a bottle of Jack.

“Ooh Rose, you are in serious trouble…” he said through clenched teeth. Checking his belt loop, he reminded himself that his thick, leather belt was close at hand. Last time it was his hand, the time before that; an extension cord. Maybe he’d use all three tonight, depending on weather or not Rose was walking up to the front door when Greg peered out through his blinds. What he saw was a squad car pulling up to their trailer, and in a rare moment, Greg became scared. He wasn’t about to go to jail just because he had to teach Rose some respect – a rugged man like the sheriff should realize that. He lowered the blinds, his heart pounding, looking to the back as f he was ready to make a quick getaway. Paranoid, he looked through the blinds again. Rose was walking up to the front, alone, and the tail lights of the squad car were just disappearing over the hill. Greg walked up to the front door and opened it.

“Hurry up and get your ass inside, now.” He saw the fear in her eyes and loved it. It could be one hundred degrees outside and Rose would still be trembling at the sound of his voice and the sight of his clenched fist. Greg thought he had her under his thumb, but like his Dad always said, ‘Son, sometimes you just gotta remind ‘em.’ Once Rose was inside, Greg slammed the door behind them and slowly removed his belt from around his waist.

“I don’t get why ‘Come Straight Home’ is such a hard concept for you to understand, Rose? You wanna um, explain where you’ve been all this time?” It didn’t matter once her answer was, as Greg would interrupt her by cracking his belt against her side. He was drunk, so there was a chance that he would aim a bit higher…

The door swung open, and Rose's heart began to hammer in her chest. He was drunk.. even out here, in the night air, she could smell the booze on him. He ordered her inside, and she went without a fuss. He didn't bother to ask what had happened to her clothes... the ones she was wearing obviously weren't hers, after all... the pants were too big, held up by a belt, and the shirt hung around her curvy form loosely.

Instead, he slammed the door shut behind them, the loud slam making her jump slightly. His hands were on his belt, and she could feel tears forming before he even started to speak. And then he asked her where she'd been. Perhaps he'd give her the chance to explain...

"I was at the ho-AHHH" her explanation was cut short by a harsh cry as the leather smacked hard against her, missing her side and instead striking a bit higher than that, slapping hard against the side of her breast, wrapping around her back. Her knees buckled as the pain shot through her, and she ended up crouched, huddled into a ball, chest to knees with her arms curled up over her head to protect it.

There was no use in trying to explain anything to him now... when he got into fits like this, she was lucky if he left her the ability to walk. The last time he'd been like this... Well... lets just say she could still feel the sting of the extension cord as it lashed across her delicate skin. He'd made her bleed in several places that night, and then after beating her, dragged her to the bedroom by her hair, where he pinned her to the floor and raped her until she was barely able to stand.

He'd gone to bed shortly afterward, leaving her to clean herself up and try to figure out how to ignore the pain so she could make it to work the next day.

The belt came down again, ripping a scream from her as it struck across her back, the end of it wrapping itself around her and striking once again at the soft, supple flesh of her breast. "I'm sorry!" she cried, sobbing softly, but he wasn't listening.

This was Rose's personal hell... this is what she got for being the reason that everyone always left. She'd always been sure that her parent's death was because of her... Her brother, too. He never would have joined the army had she been able to take care of him... but she failed at that, too. Her aunt didn't want her, she couldn't ever be good enough to make the woman love her. And now Greg had been sent to make sure she knew what a failure she was...

No matter how much love and dedication she gave him, she'd never be good enough to win his love... to be more important than his booze, never more important than he got his dinner on time.

After the initial crack of leather on flesh, the trailer settled into an uneasy silence with only Rose’s sobbing traveling like a storm cloud throughout the meagerly furnished rooms and bare hallways. The television was on, but Greg had turned it down when he heard a car pulling up to the house. Rose’s pathetic whimpering was usually enough to light the fire that got his blood boiling and his temper only increased tenfold after consuming alcohol. Booze was an instigator, among other things, provoking Greg to put the screws to that bitch to let her know exactly who was running the show. His beatings were severe enough when he was sauced, but when the alcohol was flowing he became relentless in his effort to literally torture her. And, just like his father, his intentions were mainly to keep Rose in line so that she would continue to serve him. But he knew that there were a few instances where he would hurt her just for fun. Those were the times when he’d really push the maliciousness of his methods that would corrode Rose’s physical and mental structure.

“That was for bein’ late. How fucking late were you? Let’s seeee…Watch says it’s ten o’clock, so about – FOUR FUCKING HOURS!!!” Powerful, merciless arms swung down and whipped the leather strap against Rose’s calloused and bruised skin, synchronizing each boisterously enunciated word with a stinging strike. Wide, bright red welts began to develop quickly, looking like someone had burned the skin off of her arm with a searing spatula. Greg towered over her curled, shivering body breathing heavily and emitting guttural grunts like a primitive man from eons in the past. His glazed eyes, white-knuckled fist, and puffing chest were all tell-tale signs that the alcohol had successfully transformed him into something less than the already substantial excuse for a man that he already was. Greg kneeled down and gripped Rose’s small chin tightly within his hands, raising her face close to his so that she would become nauseous from the rank stench of booze that rose up from his gut. He was shameless in displaying his inebriation.

“For God sakes, what the hell are you wearing?” He referred to her oversized clothes that she had received while in the care of the county hospital. “Looks like men’s clothes – you screwin’ around on me? No. No other man in his right mind would want a selfish, unreliable little cunt like you. ‘Cept me, of course. But even after giving you everything you need, you still wanna give me shit. Well, looks like I have another problem on my hands…” Greg roughly pushed her face away, almost hitting it against the wall she had curled up against. He stood up, almost losing balance, and snatched up the bottle of Jack that he had abandoned when Rose had been dropped off. With greedy hands he twisted the cap off and gulped down a significant amount of strong whiskey, exhaling deeply while the alcohol burned a path down to his stomach. Calmly his wiped his mouth with his shirt and then, after staring into Rose’s eyes, chunked the bottle towards so hard that it violently exploded into sharp glass pieces when it made contact with the wall. Greg stomped over to her and kneeled down in front of her again, spitting a mouthful of J.D. right into her punctured face.

“I’ve been goin’ easy on ya’, that’s the problem. I’m gonna hafta teach ya’ what you always seem to forget: your place.”

Every lash of the belt brought a harsh cry from Rose's lips, her body jerking and spasming as wave after wave of pain washed through her. Tears continued to flow down her pale cheeks, and she stayed huddled that way, her arms over her head, until his hand found her chin. Lifting her eyes, part of her found a glimmer of hope that he was done, that he was going to tell her to go clean up.

But then he let out a rather large belch, and her eyes began to water anew, her nostrils burning from the stench. Her stomach became queasy, and she had to close her mouth and struggle for self control in order not to vomit. When he let go, she let out the breath she'd been holding, followed by a gasp to replace the air her lungs had just forced out.

As he pulled away, she moved to struggle to her feet, but the movements were slow, pained, and she let out soft sobs with every shift of her body, the red hot blistered skin stretching and pulling across her back. Tears still steadily streaming down her cheeks, she began to crawl toward the wall, to use it to pull herself up, but her efforts were met with a large shattering crash, as the bottle hit the wall and burst into a thousand pieces.

A high pitched scream of pain left her as the razor-sharp objects embedded themselves in her skin. Despite the shards of glass that managed to wedge themselves in her delicate face, Rose counted herself lucky. It could have been worse... they could have found her eyes, or he could have hit the target he was probably aiming for... her head. For once she was actually glad he was drunk.

Her prayers that it was over were not to come true, however, as he moved over and his boots came to rest in front of her. She braced herself for another attack, but instead he knelt and spit a mouthful of whiskey into her face, making her eyes burn and her entire face throb as the stuff found the cuts in her skin. Tears slid down her cheeks to mingle with the amber liquid, the salt in them only making her sounds hurt more.

Still sobbing softly, she opened her eyes and looked up at him through blurry vision. "Please Greg.. you know I would never cheat on you. Please!" For a moment she could only sob, one hand reaching out to clutch his pant leg, pleading with him, her battered face upturned, looking at him. "I was at the hospital, I swear!"

Still trembling, she didn't stop to think about just what he might take her saying that as. It never occurred to her that in his drunken state, with his prominent possessive and jealous streak, that he could take that the wrong way. Her trembling hands still gripping at his pant legs, she cried and looked up at him. "Please... please..." she pleaded, leaning against him, her entire battered body shaking with fatigue and pain and fear alike.

Greg looked down at Rose, disgusted, gritting his teeth when her shaky hand feebly gripped the denim near the cuff of his pant leg.

“Hey! No!” Once again, he swung the leather strap at maximum velocity and the dry, stiff material cracked against the sensitive flesh on Rose’s neck. Greg then quickly tossed his belt aside, not satisfied with the amount of damage the strap was inflicting. The next time Rose uttered something that he didn’t like, he would use his bare hands to get his opinion across.

“Are you a fucking dog now, is that what that was? You gonna...claw at my leg, beg at my FEET!” Greg came down hard with an open-handed strike across Rose’s teary-eyed face, satisfied with the tingle that tickled his palm after the swift contact of skin-on-skin. With his drunken logic working overtime, he felt like a bigger man than before. He ignored her claims of fidelity and instead zeroed in when she admitted to visiting the hospital.

“You…what?” Greg’s voice growled maliciously, using just two words to cue an increase in contempt in Rose. He could care less what her injuries were, but he knew that those snooty doctors would discover her bruises and start asking all sorts of prying questions in order to get the name of the one responsible. Noisy fucking doctors. Greg knew those bruises were just marks of spousal re-education, and that the beatings and merciless intercourse were for her own good. But not many people saw it that way, unfortunately. They thought wives or girlfriends should have jobs, wear whatever they please, and be allowed to have an ‘opinion’ in the household. Blah blah blah blah blah. ‘Honor and respect’; this was the vow that was upheld by Greg’s father and he made sure that his mother never forgot.

Greg tightened his grip around the collar of the shirt Rose was wearing and lifted her up off of the ground in one violent jerk. She was a petite thing, so her legs dangled freely over the foot or so of space between her and the stained carpet. Greg brought her face close so that his penetrating stare could grip her with chilling fear and paralyze her mentally. “Listen up, cunt! If you did go to the hospital, then this is what’s gonna happen…” He held up a fist, not to ready a strike, but to record the number of punishments he had in store for her. “…First, I’m gonna beat you stupid; next, I’m gonna pound ya’ until you bleed; and then, when I’m through lookin’ at your simple face, your ass is gonna spend the night in the goddamn shed! So, is it true, Rose? Did ya’ go to the hospital today?” His tone was blatantly sardonic, with a smug smile to match. He just couldn’t wait to heat her answer.

The smack to her face sent Rose falling to the side, into the shards of glass littering the floor. They embedded themselves into the delicate skin of her arm and went through the shirt she was wearing, staining her borrowed clothes with blood. She'd owe the neighbor a whole new outfit... if she survived the night. When his voice dropped after she told him about the hospital, she began to have her doubts that survival was possible.

The rage in his eyes frightened her worse than any other time, and she was sure he was going to kill her. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I didn't have a choice... I swear I didn't... The rangers took me... Hy-hypothermia... God Greg, I swear I didn't tell them!" she sobbed, looking at him pleadingly as he held her up off the floor.

She knew that would answer his question, sealing her fate. She was going to die, he was going to kill her and there would be no one to miss her or mourn her death, so no one would ever come looking for her to know she was gone. How could a good deed like saving someone's life translate into her loosing her own?

Instinctively, her arms curled up over her face and head as best they could, readying herself for his next attack on her, sobs leaving her even as she pleaded with him through her cries, swearing she didn't tell anyone what he did to her, that she didn't have a choice. He'd never believe her, she knew... but somewhere inside of her, her survival instinct told her she had to at least try to convince him.

“Turn right, at the park.” A dull yellow taxi trudged through about six inches of tightly packed snow, its driver allowing the car to coast into a right-angled turn. The wheels momentarily slipped on the slick pavement and the car jerked over before being position in a straight path on the road. “Hey, could you maybe take it easy on the road?”

The driver, a bundled-up man of large girth and beard looked up at the rear-view as Jonas shook his head and muttered ‘Jesus…’ under his breath. The portly cabbie huffed and put his eyes back on the road, ignoring Jonas’ tone as he did so many other rude customers.

As Jonas rattled around in the shaky taxi, his hands comfortably placed over a small bouquet of flowers he snatched from a hotel vase, he pondered if going over to a stranger’s house in the middle of the night was such a good idea. Of course he wanted to thank that woman that had saved his life, but for some reason he felt that it would be more appropriate to show his gratitude while it was still light out. Maybe it had something to do with the creepy atmosphere that seemed to alter the town while it was dark. He would definitely think twice before answering the door this late at night.

The cab began to creep its way forward as it motored onto an isolated dirt road, its chassis groaning and shimmying as it traveled over the bumpy terrain. Jonas looked out and saw nothing but snow-covered plains with a few trees scattered about. Up ahead he saw a settled caravan of mobile homes, low-end housing structures that he had never encountered in person. The park was fenced in, and a few light poles towered over the small plot and shone orange-tinted light over the trailers. An few acres of land made a natural parking lot that was occupied by all kind of shoddy-looking vehicles that looked like aged cows grazing in the snow. “What a dump…” Jonas thought. As the cab pulled up to a trailer, Jonas hoped that his small gift would brighten up her dilapidated surroundings.

*** *** *** ***

Greg wished he had another empty bottle of Jack to heave. He was way past fed up with Rose and her poor excuses. He knew she was lying by the way she held her hands up in defense; the bitch couldn’t stand the guilt of trying to deny him the truth, so she accepted her punishment. Greg raised his hand high into the air, ready to slap some obedience into his betraying girlfriend. But by a miracle or some supernatural force that pitied Rose, Greg’s reign of blows was abruptly cut short by the squeaking of a tired car’s worn brake pads. His expression went from maniacal to wide-eyed paranoia when he heard a car door slam followed by the soft crunch of shoes stepping into packed snow. He let Rose drop to the ground like a toy and slowly made his way to a small window that he could peer out of. There was a man coming up to their trailer wearing a dark sweater, leather coat, and brown slacks. The stranger had his hands behind his back…maybe trying to conceal something.

“Get your ass in the room, Rose. And don’t you dare make a noise in there…” Greg stumbled into the kitchen slipped his arm in between the fridge and the wall, ripping out a 12-gague shotgun that he had taped up and was use to frighten strangers. Greg flinched, and then cursed, as the man knocked on his front door. There was no time to clean up or to cover up the alcoholic stench that fermented in his breath, though one glimpse of his weapon usually killed any inquisitive behavior that a stranger would express if he were to see the whiskey-soaked carpet and shattered glass. As Greg approached the door, he started thinking nervously about what would happen if his vicious nature was exposed.

Rose braced herself as his hand lifted high above him, preparing for him to deliver yet another series of slaps and punches to her. Despite what she was prepared for, however, he paused. A soft whimper left her as she opened her eyes, peeking up at him, unsure if he was still going to hit her or if he'd had a miraculous change of heart.

It would turn out that neither was the case, however, as she heard a car door slam and footsteps crunch over the snow toward the trailer's front door. Her heartbeat sped up, if such a thing were possible, and panic gripped her. Who could be visiting at this hour? Perhaps the neighbor was off work and wanted her clothes returned already?

Greg dropped her and she whimpered, falling to the floor limply and curling up. He went to the window, and she watched paranoia set in as he looked outside. When he told her to get into the bedroom, she waisted no time in listening, scrambling as quick as she could toward the bedroom door. Once she was behind it, however, she didn't close it completely, instead leaving it cracked so she could look out into the living room.

Who could it be? Would they know something was wrong? She ran to the window and looked outside, only to find herself staring out the window at a most surprising, and probably dooming sight. It was the man she'd saved in the park... oh gods... She really was going to die. Moving back to the bedroom door quietly, she peered out of the crack she'd left herself with baited breath, waiting so see what would happen.

Greg’s took in deep breaths as he watched his unsteady hand reach for the door knob. He was trying to calm himself before showing his sweaty face to the stranger outside, and maybe with lack of a porch light the man wouldn’t be able to see the heavy glaze coating on his eyes. His head swiveled back to look at the mess of broken glass and soiled carpeting and uttered another curse word as he put a hand on the knob. In his mind, Rose was to blame for pissing him off to the point where he had to smash a glass bottle because her disobedience had frustrated him. Oh God, as soon this guy was out of sight…

“Yeah?” Greg grunted as he held the door halfway open. The shotgun was hidden in his other hand, concealed behind the door where the stranger wouldn’t see it. He also purposely positioned his bulky frame in front of the clutter in hopes that it wouldn’t draw the man’s attention.

“Excuse me, sir…” Jonas had a quick thought of stepping forward when he spoke, especially since it was hard to see the man’s face without any direct lighting. He was a big, intimidating guy however, plus he reeked of booze. No sense for a jack rabbit to impose himself on a grizzly’s turf. “I’m looking for a woman named Rose. She…saved my life.” With a small smile, Jonas happily presented Greg with the modest bouquet of flowers that were intended for Rose. “See, I brought these to thank her with. You mind if I…” Jonas couldn’t see the man’s face, but he sure as hell could see his rising chest and hear his brusque growling, which effectively wiped the smile off of his face.

Greg was doing his best not to draw his weapon and blast that goofy smile right off of his face. No, it didn’t need to kill him. Maybe if he just…broke his legs or…rearranged his facial features. His drunken mind circulated a million different ways to put a hurting on this asshole, but they all led to the consequence of jail time. He would go down for the assault, and that bitch would most certainly squeal to the cops about his totally orthodox treatment of her. He wouldn’t taste freedom for years if that scenario were to be realized. Now that he had things rationalized, he did his best to quickly rid himself of this pest. “Yeah…I’ll take those to her. Uh, thanks…” he said through gnashed teeth.

He seemed like the easily jealous type to Jonas, and so it would definitely be in his best interest to hand over the flowers and move along. Hopefully she would get them, and that was enough to sedate his conscience. Besides, his father would be done with the deal in the next day or two, so he and his family could say ‘good riddance’ to this backwater town and head for the concrete jungle that was the city. The man at the door stumbled as he stood there and his feet shuffled to a wide stance, confirming his suspicions that he was drunk. With his legs open, Jonas could see the interior of their shack, feeling bad for the poor living conditions they were in. He noticed a tall, antique-looking wall mirror that was tilted to at an angle and gave Jonas a glimpse of what was down the hallway. In the mirror, he saw a door that was cracked open and…who was that? There was someone, a woman, kneeling on the floor and peeking through the crack in the doorway. Her hair was tangled and draped over her face, and she looked like an abandoned puppy in an animal shelter. There was something else; scattered pieces of glass popped up on the surface of the emaciated carpet. But the door slammed shut abruptly before he could get a closer look, and that man never said another word.

Greg slammed the door and returned his shotgun to its hiding spot behind the fridge. It looked like the stranger was getting a peek inside, so he wasted no time in giving him a rude good-bye. The stems were being crushed by Greg’s hand while he stomped down the hallway towards the bedroom. After he shut the door, he held up the flowers the stranger had brought for Rose.

“You saved the man’s life – good fucking job. But looks like you’ve got a new friend, now. I don’t like it…” He callously gripped the other end of the bouquet and pulled, tearing the flowers in half. He did it again, and again, and again while his face morphed back into his diabolical appearance. He scattered the pieces onto the floor between them, getting a kick out of watching Rose react to having a rare gift torn to shreds before her eyes. “Looks like you forgot about the only man who should matter to you…” He moved his hands down to his pants, preparing to unsheathe his girth that he used as a tool, much like a leather strap, to teach Rose a lesson about faithfulness.

Rose had scrambled back from the doorway before Greg could realize she'd been spying on what was happening at the door. She'd only briefly gotten a look at the face of the man she'd saved before Greg slammed the door closed once more. By the time Greg burst into their bedroom, Rose was huddled in the corner, her knees to her chest and a pair of tearful eyes looking up at him, watching as he destroyed her gift. It broke her heart to see the flowers, however modest they were, destroyed.... but she expected no less from Greg.

He didn't even care that she'd saved the man... didn't care that it could confirm that she'd had to go to the hospital and why... No... all he cared about was that another man had given her a gift. And somehow that gift meant that she'd forgotten about him... Forgot about the man she'd been with and loved since she turned 18. Even before her birthday, she'd dated Greg, and she'd been devoted to him all through high school despite the three year age difference between them. It never bothered her that he was older.

No... In fact, it meant a lot to her that he was older than she was. In her eyes, the age meant that he could take care of her. And for a few months, he had. They'd seemed to have the perfect life together until one day she slipped and said something that honestly had come out wrong but he had taken as her back talking him. He'd hit her... hard. Several times that night did he hit her, and when she tried to run from him, he'd pinned her down and raped her. Thus his reign of terror over her had begun.

And now Rose sat there, looking up at him as his hands went to his pants, unzipping them, preparing to release the next object he'd use to punish her. Tears filled her eyes once more. "No, please... Greg, please..." she begged softly, hoping he'd at least take the time to warm her up before he forced himself on her. Foreplay was a rare treat she got these days, and usually only when he was in an exceptionally good mood.

"I left the hospital before he was even awake so we didn't have to meet... I swear, I didn't expect him to come here..." she whimpered, inching back away from him, looking up at him through fearful eyes as he advanced on her once more.

Greg’s glossy eyes peered hungrily towards his cowering girlfriend, whose value to him was less like a human being and more like a fuck doll. His belt buckle rattled as his jeans fell to the floor, and he stepped out of them which left a pair of flannel boxers to drape down from his waist to a few inches above his knees. Like a wiener dog poking through the rubber flap of a dog door, Greg’s cock protruded through the pre-cut hole in his shorts. One of his hands brought the one-eyed monster to life with long strokes while the other fished a pack of smokes from the front pocket of his matching flannel shirt. To Rose, this was a sign of things to come, as she knew that Greg enjoyed a cool blast of menthol smoke in his lungs while she sucked him off. Having a square and a BJ wasn’t something that was suggested to him from his father or some drunken friends, in fact, this double oral fixation was something he had engaged in long before he met Rose.

There was no trouble for Greg when it came to lighting a cigarette and choking his chicken at the same time – that was easy. The hard part was getting the wearisome bitch to wrap those puffy lips around his dick like a good woman should. He almost rolled his eyes at the thought of how annoying the next few moments would be. He’d say ‘Suck it’, she’d resist, he’d hit her, she’d probably refuse again before she got another left jab, and then eventually they would get to the point with her crying and crawling before him on her knees. He couldn’t contain an irritated groan, wondering why she wouldn’t just cut the bullshit and get on with it.

“You can just shut the fuck up, Rose,” he interrupted. “I’m done with your bullshit right now, so what I need you to do is to carry your mouth, pussy, and ass over onto that bed – right now.” His voice was like gravel: hard, unforgiving, and impossibly unsympathetic. He opened his mouth and let a grey cloud of smoke bellow out and up towards the ceiling like a chimney, blowing out any excess through his nose.

*shakes head*

Rose cried, backing as far into the corner as she could, shaking her head slowly as her fearful eyes watched him in silence. "N-no.. I wont do it, Greg. Not tonight. Not now," she whispered. The words were, in and of themselves, far stronger than the sound that carried them. Her voice was soft, trembling, almost a whimper. Oh gods how she wished she was stronger than she really was.

This night was going to be hell, and once again she found herself wondering if she'd survive it. Greg was violent when he was angry with her... but he was far more brutal when he decided that he needed to cum, and just jacking himself off wasn't going to cut it.

Her entire body trembled as she looked up at him through wide, fearful eyes. He was going to hit her... she knew he was. It was only a matter of time before he hit her, probably several times before he half-dragged her to the bed and forced her to choke on him until he either decided to blow his load on her face, or he decided that he'd rape other parts of her.

Tears slid down her cheeks, the salty liquid making the cuts in her face sting and burn, but she was growing used to the pain from those, even though she knew there were still shards of glass in her skin. They'd probably stay there until he passed out and she had time to take a pair of tweezers and remove them. She could only hope none were so small she had to go to the doctor to have them removed... How would she explain them, and how would she live through another beating from him if he found out?

Jonas remained at the base of the short, rickety set of stairs with his head hung low and his right fist balled up tight. That heart-breaking glimpse of a trembling woman coupled with tell-tale signs of a one-sided fight was enough for him to jump to the conclusion that there was something awful taking place behind the trailer’s closed door. That man…that bastard was probably thrashing the young woman who had risked her life to save him six hours ago, and now he felt compelled to return the favor. How would he help her? How would he pull her from her own metaphorical ice hole? Jonas ruled out kicking the door down and serving up a plate of vigilante-style retribution on an account of not knowing who or what would be waiting on the other side to defend this undersized trailer home.

“The flowers didn’t work, pal. You commin’ or what?” The impatient driver leaned out of his window, muttering curses that turned to thin vapors in the chilly air. Jonas got the feeling that most men around here were all a DNA strand away from being classified as a Neanderthal. He signaled to the cabbie to hit the road, and it didn’t take long for the cabbie to flare up his brights and perform a careless reverse 180 to get back on the road. Jonas was alone in the dark, and free to investigate the domestic situation. He stood back a few feet from the trailer, scanning the few small windows to watch for any silhouettes to come floating by. There was a transparent shape of a man’s head and shoulders that appeared through cheap curtains at the back window of the house. Jonas fixated his eyes on that window, watching the shadow flick his lighter to life and put the flame to the end of a cigarette. He took careful steps towards the window, ducking down to avoid being seen so that he could listen in and try to hear what was happening.

*** *** *** ***

Greg laughed. Not just a slight chuckle, but a full, boisterous laugh that sounded like he was auditioning for the job of a mall Santa Claus. He settled down to a few separate snickers which allowed him to take another drag of his cigarette. The cherry was at the halfway mark now.

“Since when do you call the fucking shots around here? That ice water must’ve frozen your brain, Rose. I’mma hafta thaw you out…” Greg struck again as his sentence trailed off, battering her fragile jaw with a closed fist then snatching her up by her collar and pinning her against the thin bedroom wall. He moved his sweaty face close to her and blew toxic cigarette smoke into her eyes. “Fucking bitch! You come in late, no dinner on the damn table, and then some asshole comes with a bunch of stupid flowers for MY WOMAN, and you think you’ve got the right to say ‘no’ to me? If your parents were still alive, and they saw how truly worthless you really are…” Another foul cackle escaped him. “…they’d drop dead on the spot.”

Greg threw Rose onto the mattress like a ragdoll, watching her squirm as he positioned himself at the foot of the bed. He bent over and snatched her up by her hair, forcing her onto her shaky knees so that she could peer straight into his burning gaze. “You brought this on yourself, Rose.” He was done talking. Greg pushed down on her shoulders until her face met his anxious cock which had been long since ready to blow its load somewhere in or on Rose’s body. If she resisted again, she’d get a lot more than a few bruises on her tattered face.