as the bruises faded to shades of green and malignant yellows down the side of her face, the imprint of his wedding band stood out in sharp contrast where it had actually torn the skin

it was an island of scab in the sea domestic abuse, a petty reminder of the man he was

her eyes darted back to it, drawn magnetically as if a piece of cheap gold plating itself was wedged in the pus filled rectangle

she applied makeup, thick pancake makeup, painful swirls against the puffed up skin, swollen with matrimonial hell

she cannot hide it all, no magic long sleeves like the ones hiding the claw marks down her arms, the pants in the too hot summer weather

she could barely sit, it seems her eyes would never stop leaking

they were welling up as she thought about that weekend

the neighbors called the cops after the chair flew out the window

the screaming echoing throughout the block as glass rained like diamonds onto the lawn

she watched it all unfold from her safe room in the back of her mind, let her body go limp as the glass fell and blows began to land

the blurry red and blue flashes and voices coming from down a tunnel, so far away, so very far away

he, the big man of the house, the provider, spittle flying from his mouth as he screamed incoherently

the discharge of electrictiy as he began convulsing on the living room floor, not far from where she lay

a puddle of piss darkening the blue denim of his pants

she felt a laugh bubble up, literally, a blood bubble on her swollen lips and she felt the pain of broken ribs

the paramedics were gentle but but all movement was sharp stabs of agony

she wanted to apologize for the mess, for the inconvenience, but they slipped a mask over her mouth and nose and all she could do was sleep

they patched her up, wrapped her like a mummy, gauze and stitches and pills that made everything floaty around her

it was like floating in the ocean, warm and serene, punctuated by flashes of violence, a storm far off shore

the men in blue asked questions, but she didn’t reply, it would only make thing worse

this was not her first rodeo

but this time she was going to break the bull, unlike so many other times

when she was released and got a ride home she saw the particle board relief adoring the face of her home

like a plywood eye patch, reflecting the gauze one taped to her face

he opened the door with a smile, a half empty can in one hand and dozen roses, her least favorite, in the other

she accepted his empty words and got him a fresh can in the same practiced routine

he looked hungry and she dutifully went in to prepare a feast for her king

she cooked his favorite, linguine alfredo as he sat on the couch and complained about his stint in the cell

she sang softly as she made the sauce, creamy and rich, the noodles boiling and the chicken cooking in garlic and butter

it hurt to stand, to move about the tiny kitchen, her limp more pronounced, the heat on her face

she served out his a plate as the garlic bread toasted in the oven and brought it to his throne in front of the television as he feasted she made the slow climb upstairs to make herself presentable

they would have guests soon

she did her best to look presentable, the landscape of her face unrecognizable to her

and as she limped back down to check on him, now slumped over the throne, she painfully sat him back up, head back to prevent him throwing up any of his succulent feast

for every pain pill she swallowed she palmed one, the aches and throbs reinforcing her will

and as she used the cheese grater to fold them in with the parmesan cheese into the sauce and crust of the chicken, she smiled

garlic and pepper to cover the bitterness, and beer to numb his tongue

as his head lolled back in the chair she put the plastic bag over his head and held it there calmly as he shook in spasms beneath her

he must have learned it from her, not to struggle, just let it happen, it was easier that way

and when it was done, and he was motionless she invited the guests, panic tinging her voice to hide the joy

he had made her a welcome home meal, treated himself to a plate as she put on her face and she found him like this when she finally made her way back down

no one asked too many questions

this was an inevitable end

they were just happy she hadn’t partaken herself, she’d suffered enough, and this final attempt at one last go at marital bliss had backfired in his face

they mistook the tears of relief for those of a long suffering wife losing the violent love of her life

her final rodeo and the now broken bull with a sheet over his face