Till Death Do You Part

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Each blow landed with a sting. Curled in fetal position, Ada counted. It would be over soon. He never got past forty. Last time it was twenty four lashes before John flung his belt away and passed out on the sofa. He woke up the following morning in tears and apologized. He blamed it on the devil. He blamed his friends who had taken him out for a drink. He blamed the drink.

“Please forgive me, my dearest.” He bawled like a five year old, his head buried between her thighs.

She stroked his hair and stared into space. She said nothing. She had learned to accept his apologies with silence.

At that moment, he was past thirty. Ada maintained her position. Maybe, he would get past forty today. He didn’t. He got tired at thirty six and staggered out of the door, a whiff of alcohol trailing his exit.

She stood naked in front of the bathroom’s mirror and cleaned up her cuts with spirit soaked cotton balls. Each dab brought fresh pain. She winced but welcomed it. It was the only thing she now felt after five years of being married to John.

Ada covered up his dinner, tied her scarf then reached for the flashlight on the table. Gently shutting the door, she went out in search of her husband.

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She found him where she usually did—at the bar down Lucas Street. He was arguing with the bartender. She learned John was refusing to pay for his drink. She paid his debt and struggled to get him home.

“Leave me alone this evil woman. You and your fellow witches won’t kill me.” He was soon snoring away sprawled out on the floor.

He woke up the next day full of remorse. Crying, John begged her forgiveness and promised to turn a new leaf. She was silent. She placed his breakfast before him and went back to the kitchen.

She was unable to bear his blows that night. She counted over forty before passing out.

She woke up on a hospital bed to the sound of John’s muffled sobs. A doctor was comforting him. She was going to be fine, the doctor reassured.

He took her home that night and forced himself into her. Ada lay under him, silent. She steeled herself as she fought against the nausea. When he was done, she turned away and stared into the darkness. She counted as he snored. She got past forty.

Forty was too much.

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She served John’s lunch in his favorite china. It was Mama’s wedding gift to her. Beneath each bowl in her cursive handwriting, her mother had written with indelible ink—till death do you part.
Mama made her promise that she would always be submissive to John. That was before her wedding. Mama confided in her that it was the secret of her marriage to Papa. Three years later, she told Mama that John wasn’t anything like her father. Mama smiled and insisted that she was to be patient. She told her every marriage needed time to work. What Ada didn’t tell her mother was that there was a wound that John made on her back and time was yet to heal it.

He ate his meal with much gusto. He even smiled at her. She smiled back.

“Would you like some juice to go with it?” She was already pouring him a glass. John beamed his thanks.

She waited until he finished eating before she told him of her plans. She wanted to visit her parents and spend some time with them.

“When do you plan on going?” He was slouched on the dining chair, staring at the bottle of syrup with a scowl on his face.

“Tomorrow”

He dealt her several blows that night as she knelt down to pray. He accused her of being disrespectful for planning to visit her parents and not informing him quite earlier. She felt no pain this time. When he reached forty, she stood up and walked away.

He stared at her, mouth agape before going on to bed.

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She went back to her parents’ house the following morning. Two days later, she got a call from his workplace. He had slumped at work and was rushed to the hospital. On arrival the doctor confirmed John dead.

It had worked. She went inside the house in search of her mother. She would thank her for the poison she gave her to put in his food. Forty stabs from a knife would have been messy.

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The End

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PS: This is the freewrite for days 136, 137 and 138--Belt, Witches and Syrup. While writing around Belt, I saw the possibility of incorporating the three prompts into one story, so I took the bait. :-).
As always, participating in this freewrite was fun. :-).