The floor was cold and hard beneath her swollen knees. The pain in her hands throbbed with every minute circular motion they made while gripping the plastic handle of the scrub brush Ron had given her. Millie never dreamed she would be using her husband’s gift to clean up her own crimson blood. The pool had already begun to dry, darkening like the moonless night around the edges of the glistening pool and array of splatters clinging to the wallpaper. How could he have done this? And to her? Ron was a gentle, loving husband, never showing the slightest inclination of violence towards her. What had she done to cause the eruption of rage surging inside him?

Dinner was running late, sure. Had she said anything wrong, gravely offending him in some way? She replayed the interaction again. Nothing but apologies and “yes dears” on her part. Nothing to arouse such utter anger and violence. She could still envision his massive hand closing around her forearm, tightening over her flesh, the pop in her shoulder as he slung her into the wall, the crack her skull made against the wallpaper. The full force he used to send her colliding into the linoleum floor, knees slamming onto the hard kitchen floor, absorbing the worst of the impact, her hands desperately trying to catch her as she scrambled on the ground. Ron looming over her, cursing her.

Millie scrubbed at the drying blood, erasing the memory of its presence. The shouts of “bitch” slowly fading from her mind as the stains shrank from the floor. This was the first time he had ever shown any sort of aggression towards her; it did not make any sense at all why he would start now.

She rinsed the blood from the brush and vanquished the remaining blood from the kitchen floor. Millie began humming as she scrubbed the splatters covering the wall, scrubbing the memory of their occurrence from existence. The scrub brush extinguished the last crimson stain from the wallpaper, removing all evidence of the assault. Millie sighed. Her body ached from all the scrubbing. She stood and tried to stretch, flinching as her knees protested. Hmm. Odd. Must have cramped them from being on the floor so long, she thought.

Millie emptied her plastic cleaning bucket, watching the red-stained water swirl and disappear down the kitchen sink. She rinsed her brush under the faucet. It was a good thing Ron had given it to her, it came in quite handy. She tended to spill things and make messes often. It was very thoughtful of him. But that was her Ron, always gentle and giving. Such a sweet gentleman; he never even cussed around his wife. Millie felt fortunate to have him. She smiled, heart bubbling with affection as she put away the brush.

She switched off the kitchen light and noticed a purple blob from the corner of her eye. She looked over and saw a massive bruise spreading over her forearm. Millie could not remember running into anything or banging her arm over something. She stared at the puffy blotch and shrugged. She was so darn clumsy, there was no telling how she had managed to bruise herself.

###

The following Monday, Millie cracked two white eggs into a frying pan. They bubbled and crackled in the hot, browning butter. She watched the clear goo warm and turn white, then gently flipped the eggs. The aroma of fresh bacon filled the kitchen, making her stomach growl. She heard Ron’s heavy footsteps leave their bedroom and head for the kitchen. Millie, feeling sneaky, broke off a crispy piece of bacon and plopped it in her mouth just as Ron flopped down at the table.

“Good morning, dear.” She smiled.

“Hmpft.” Ron snorted.

Millie took the spatula and scooped out the eggs, laying them neatly on a blue trimmed plate. She heaped a pile of bacon and two homemade biscuits beside the eggs and sat it in front of Ron.

“Coffee.” He growled.

“Oh yes, of course, dear.” She poured his coffee, adding cream and placed it beside his breakfast. She began fixing her own plate as Ron plunged his fork into the eggs. She placed a biscuit and the last two pieces of bacon on her dish when she heard wooden chair legs squeal and scoot across the linoleum.

“Damn it, woman! How hard is it to cook two fucking eggs? You know I want them over-easy. You stupid bitch!”

Millie froze. Ron had never spoken to her like this. He thundered towards her before she could react to his tirade. She doubled over; Ron’s fist retracted from her belly. Millie’s eyes widened, staring at her husband in disbelief. He had hit her! He had never been violent with her before.

“Ron.” She whispered.

Ron snorted a laugh in her bewildered face before his palm cracked across it. “Shut up! You stupid bitch!”

Millie felt her lip crack and tasted metallic liquid before she slammed into the kitchen floor. Blood dripped onto the linoleum. Hot tears poured over her swelling checks.

“Clean up this mess!” Ron demanded, grabbed his keys, and slammed the back door behind him.

Millie heard the engine roar to life and the crunch of gravel as the car pulled out of the driveway. She was relieved he would be at work, giving her time to think. Could she live like this? Of course not! She had to get out, get away from his madness. This was the first time, but she knew once abuse started, it would never end. Maybe she could stay with her mom for a while or get a restraining order and make him leave. All she knew was she would never stay with someone who hit her.

She crawled to her knees and pushed herself to her feet. She gathered a plastic bucket and a scrub brush from under the sink. Ironic that she would be scrubbing her own blood with the brush her husband had given her. She had never imagined Ron was capable of hurting anyone, especially her. She began scrubbing away the splatters from the floor, along with the memories they carried.