Slap Her Down Again, Pa...

It feels good, doesn’t it, guy? Your knuckles smashing into her face, bloodying her nose or mashing her lip. You love the sense of supremacy and domination your strength, your violence gives you over her. It’s gratifying to see her cower, tears streaming from her eyes, sobs shuddering through her body. It makes your heart sing and your ego blaze. She’s weak and YOU are mighty. All powerful. YOU have the control over YOUR world. No one can touch you as you loom over her, your fist raised, your eyes burning with fury.

And what’s even better? Now you can step in and hold her, tell her, “There, there, everything’s gonna be all right. I love you, babe, and I’m just trying to teach you. I’m just trying to show you your place.” YOU are her hero, goddammit. Her protector. No one can hurt her.

Except YOU, of course.

And don’t stop there. No, no, no. Why not make sure any ember of her self-esteem is drenched in the icewater that might have once been your compassion for another human being? A woman you once said and still say you loved. Forever. Why not make certain her friends and family don’t give her any highfaluting ideas about independence and self-worth. Good God, no, you can’t have her head filled with THOSE despicable notions. You can’t let her be her own person, because that would make you, well…irrelevant. She might actually think she can get along without your “protection.” So isolate her. Tell her to make excuses about that black eye or those bruises. Damn clumsy of her falling and hitting her face on that coffee table anyway. And make sure you buy her little presents, trinkets to show her how much you care and get her thinking, well, maybe you’re not such a bad guy. Because you aren’t, right? You’re just protecting her from the big bad world. From the guys who would let her be herself and all that lofty garbage. But, hey, don’t those bruises have a lovely purple color to them?

And while you’re at it, hell, don’t forget the kids. Get in their faces and scream obscenities at them. Call them names and destroy any chance of them ever getting any of that horrible self-esteem crap. Oh, and set that fine example while you can. Make sure your son knows how to treat his woman. HIS woman. Make sure he carries on the respectable family tradition. You’re the MAN, and so shall he be. And your daughters? Well, they need to know their place. No opinions, no backtalk, no equality. Those things are evil and those bitches should realize they are here for one purpose only—to please their man. Hit them a few times just to make sure. Ruin their lives before they start. Make damn sure all the innocence is purged from their soul. With your fists.

And if they want to get away from you? Why, hurt them some more. beat those silly notions right the hell out of them. Show them the error of their ways. Stalk them. Call them a hundred times a day and work your magic. Please forgive me, honey. I won’t do it again. I’ll change. I’ve gone to church. I’m not the man I used to be. I’ve learned.

But you didn’t learn, did you? You had the only knowledge you needed all the time, though it’s not the one you profess. You had the gift of the lie. The story. You have the ability to wear them down, like an incessant drip of water wearing away a brick.

What or who gave YOU the right to do all this? Was it maybe the dysfunctional family you came from? Or was it your God, who spoke to you in blood and self-righteous fury and told you how powerful you had the right to be?

What perverted your soul so obscenely you determined abusing another was justified? No, not justified: OK, even. Necessary. Demanded.

You feel pretty good about yourself, because you always win, always get them back. And always satisfy your cravings for controlling your skewed little world by abusing them, emotionally, physically, again.

Big man.

Big mean, indeed.

Powerful? No. Your woman’s savior and protector? Hardly.

There’s only one word for you.

Coward.


Chloe's a gal usually in trouble--the supernatural kind...
A cursed locket, a child's rhyme and monkey with an attitude lead to terror...
In trade paperback: The Chloe Files #1: Ashes to Ashes
From Golden Perils Press http://www.lulu.com/goldenperils
Author homepage: http://www.howardhopkins.com