Written by: KW Jordan.
Story & characters: All rights to Quittin’ Time belong to Krystal W. Jordan.
Adult content: Sex between two women, both consensual and not. Foul language.
Violence: Domestic violence, including spousal abuse and rape.
Thank you to my beta-reader, Pam.
Feed the bard at email@example.com
“God grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change (accept that you can’t change him or her): Courage to change the things I can (change your circumstances): And the Wisdom to know the difference (the difference between surviving, and living; surviving is what you were doing when you were with him or her, living is what you’ll do after you leave)…”
Dedicated to the women who didn’t have the strength to leave.
I stand, staring at her, my breath coming faster, listening to the venom in her tone. My heart’s beating a rapid tempo and I feel as if it’s going to burst from panic.
Why have I put up with this for so long? Why do I continue to suffer this abuse? Five and a half years, yet in spite of everything I haven't learned my lesson.
“The only thing you’ll ever be good for is suckin’ my clit, bitch.” Angie snarls as she stalks me.
I can smell the alcohol on her breath. I try to back up, but I’m trapped between her and our bedroom wall. When she’s drunk, there’s no chance of using her supposed love for me against her. Smirking, she grabs me by the neck, forcing me to my knees. Unzipping her jeans with her free hand, she shoves them down to her ankles. She spreads her legs and I struggle, though it’s useless.
Angie slaps me. I didn't think I had any more tears but they stream down my cheeks as she guides my face to her center. I hesitate, feeling her painful grip tighten on my neck. A whimper escapes my lips and she growls.
“Don’t even think about bitin’ me, cunt. Just fuckin’ suck me off and I won’t hurt you any more tonight.”
I glance up into Angie’s blue eyes darkened by desire, anger, and an unknown emotion that could be mistaken as guilt, if I didn’t know any better. I grasp her thighs to steady myself, lowering my head in submission as best as I can with her large hand wrapped firmly around my neck. “O-okay, I--I’m sorry.”
Angie’s grip tightens again in warning before it relaxes slightly and I sob before wrapping my lips around her clit and do what I know will get her off the quickest.
After a few minutes of alternating licks, sucks, and nips to her clit, her body tenses. There's a long, loud drawn out groan of release. Her hand falls from my neck as she drops down onto the bed behind her.
I scurry backwards, tucking my body into a ball as I cower in the corner and stare at Angie as she regains her senses. I'm trembling violently as Angie sits up on the bed and glances at me.
Rolling her eyes, Angie reaches over to the nightstand on her side of the bed for her cigarettes. She taps one out of the pack and lights it up with her lighter. She tosses the pack and the lighter over her shoulder onto the bed and speaks without glancing at me. “Go fix dinner. Better not be that microwave shit either.”
I stand up and rush out of the room, not waiting for further commands to prepare Angie’s favorite meal. Why have I stuck around for as long as I have? Putting the food on to cook, I wonder if I have the balls to leave her. Just then, Angie enters the room and wraps her arms around me from behind.
Nuzzling my neck Angie murmurs, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry, Cass. I hope you believe me.”
Closing my eyes, I fight back tears as the press of Angie’s lips against my neck reminds me of why I stay. Angie hasn’t always been this way. We’ve been together for nine years. I was fifteen and she was seventeen when we started dating. We’d been together for three years when I was attacked and raped on my way back to our apartment. Three months later I found out that I was pregnant, Angie asked me to marry her.
She started drinking after I gave birth to our son. A couple of weeks later the verbal abuse started; it didn’t become physical until Jack was big enough to stay overnight with my sister or Angie’s parents. She hasn't sunk low enough to beat me or rape me when our son is home. I wonder at that, but figured I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
Angie’s hold around my waist tightens, bringing me back to the present.
She pleads with me, “Please say that you believe me, baby.”
Forcing a smile upon my lips I turn to look at her. I kiss Angie’s temple and whisper, “Of course, my soul.”
Angie turns her face to catch my lips in a soft kiss before she releases me and walks out of the room. I close my eyes, If only I could believe her.
I watch Angie hug Jack before he runs to my sister, Sandra. Picking him up, Sandra smiles at us before she leaves. She'll be celebrating his graduation from the first grade.
Jack’s exuberance usually makes me smile, but not today. Unfortunately, today is also the anniversary of his conception. The day itself doesn’t upset me nearly as much as it did in the past, but the look that’s been in Angie’s eyes since she woke up this morning, does. She just stayed off by herself last year, but that isn’t what’s going to happen as soon as Sandra’s car is out of sight. Angie’s been drinking since breakfast.
As I hear the car pull out of the driveway, I glance up to see Angie coming toward me. A whimper escapes me, but I’m too emotionally drained to fight her so I just stay on the couch where I lay. Maybe if I don’t struggle, it won’t be too bad.
Oh God, I was so wrong. The thought enters my mind as Angie forces two fingers into my asshole, the same time she enters my pussy with three fingers of her other hand.
She didn’t even try to get me wet before taking me; she didn’t bother to use a lubricant to fuck me in the ass. The pain is intense, searing inside and outside both orifices.
Her mouth travels all over my back, her teeth sinking into my skin in so many places that I’ve lost count. The stinging pain from the bite marks increases in some areas as Angie’s sweat drips onto my back. The movement of her hips drives her wet heat against my ass; the motion becomes haphazard as she picks up speed. Her grunts and growls get deeper the closer she draws to orgasm.
She adds another finger to each hole and I feel my skin tearing in places. Spots dance in my vision, and neither my mind nor my body can tolerate the pain any longer. I willingly sink into the darkness; hoping that when I awaken it will be over.
Angie slaps my face; the sudden pain pulls me from unconsciousness. My lip is split. It's strange how that pain, slight in comparison to the rest of my aching body, catches my attention. I shake my head at that, wondering if I’m going crazy.
Backing away from the bed, Angie mumbles, “Go get cleaned up. I’ll take care of the sheets.” She leaves the room
I slowly stand, my body protesting the abuse it’s been through. Stumbling to the bathroom, I turn the light on, close the door behind me, and lock it. Looking in the mirror, I force a swallow at the bile rising in my throat.
The bruise from Angie’s slap is forming, stark against my pale skin. I won’t be able to hide this one from my curious son. It’s already turning dark purple, spanning from just above my temple down to my jaw; a hand print obvious by the discolored shape. I close my eyes on my tears.
I hate myself for letting her do this to me. I hate her for giving me only one other option, other than staying here. I can’t stay. Eventually Jack will understand what’s going on.
Glancing down at my lower body, I hold back feeling sick at the blood staining the insides of my thighs. I stumble over to the shower and open the sliding glass door. Turning the water on as hot as I can stand, I step inside the stall, sliding the door shut behind me. As the hot water rushes over me, I lean forward, bracing my hands on the shower wall. Tears leak out from my tightly clenched eyes, my head drops onto my hands.
Standing there sobbing, I lose track of time. When my tears run out, I stand proud for the first time in what seemed like decades. Feeling a new sense of resolve, I force back any thoughts of regret.
As I bathe, I make the second step toward freedom. The first step was deciding to leave. I organize the plans I need to get Jack and myself away from the woman I once called my soul mate.
I lie quiet on the bed, listening to Jack’s voice. He relays the day’s events to Angie while she helps him take a bath. I'm the one who usually gives him his bath and helps him get ready for bed, but I'm not ready for him to see me yet. I drift off to sleep to the sound of his innocent voice.
When I awake a few hours later, I feel Angie lie down on the bed behind me and wrap her arms around me. I force myself to stay relaxed, though my first instinct is to jump up from the bed. That would only lead to an argument or further abuse from her, delaying my plans.
Her lips press against the base of my neck and I hear her whisper. “So, so sorry. I love you.”
Stifling a snort, I bite my lip keeping in any retorts that were dying to get out. I force myself to lie still. It doesn’t take long for her breathing to even out, but my body seems to be refusing to move despite my desire to pull away from Angie. With a frustrated sigh, I give in this once, falling asleep pressed back against her.
Over the next couple of weeks, I have our lawyer draw up the divorce papers. I also open up a separate bank account in my maiden name, withdrawing half of what was in our joint account and placing it in mine. For once, I’m thankful for her insistence that I take care of the financial statements. There’s a high chance that she won’t find out what I’ve done for at least a few days after I’m gone.
An old high school buddy of mine, Dale, living in another state has an apartment waiting for me in his building, as soon as Jack and I arrive we can move in. I’ve already wired Dale the money for the down payment and the first month’s rent.
I manage to keep Jack at home during this time so that I won’t have to worry that Angie will do anything. Also, it gives me time to heal some from the last incident.
It’s our last night here; I’ve just finished reading Jack a story. I stand up and bend down to press a kiss to his forehead before leaving the room. I hold in a gasp of surprise when I see Angie standing in the doorway. I force myself to walk around her to the hallway then into the living room without waiting for her to close Jack’s door.
Angie calls my name from where she’s waiting outside our bedroom doorway. I drop my head and sigh. I’m extremely tempted to ignore her.
“Please, baby? I wanna make love,” Angie whispers.
My heart rate picks up at her words and my breathing ratchets up. For once, it’s not fear that’s ruling these reactions. When Angie says she wants to make love, she honestly means it; it isn’t some sick twist on a loving act. Too bad for her that she didn’t want to do this last week instead of what she did do.
Hearing her come toward me, I decide to have this one last night with the woman that I love instead of the demon she’s become. I turn around to meet her halfway down the hall, draping my arms over her shoulders, tilting my face up to gaze into her eyes.
Smiling, Angie wraps an arm around my waist and tenderly places her hand on my cheek. We gaze into each other’s eyes for a few moments before she leans down and takes my lips in a soft passionate kiss.
I moan into the kiss. She walks backward to our bedroom, managing to get the door open without us having to separate. Picking me up, she kicks the door shut with her bare foot. She goes the few feet to the bed, gently placing me on it, her body following blindly to lie on top of me.
Pulling back from the kiss, she looks into my eyes before she rises and removes her clothes. When her body’s completely exposed, Angie stands quietly by the bed to let me take in the form I know as well as my own. The dim light from the bedside lamp casts her already dark tanned skin in a darker shade. Her muscles ripple beneath the slight padding over them, creating a beautiful image.
She clears her throat, but her voice still sounds husky, “Sit up for a sec, Cass.”
I obey and she begins to remove my shirt, swatting away my hands when I move to help.
“I wanna do this,” she mumbles, totally distracted by my bra-clad breasts when she pulls the shirt over my head and off.
I watch with a bit of amusement as she roughly shakes her head to clear her mind and continues to undress me. When I’m completely naked, she leans down and kisses me. The kiss starts out soft and mild, but the passion we’ve always felt toward each other flares hot, scorching us with its intensity.
Angie’s strong hands slide up my arms to my shoulders, gently but firmly she guides me onto my back, her body following mine. I relax onto the bed, accepting her weight on top of me happily.
Her hands lovingly explore my body. I can feel my mind floating in a haze as I return the caresses. She trails one hand down my stomach to my center, causing me to quiver with anticipation. She rubs her fingers in my wetness, tracing my outer lips, grazing over my clit. My hips jerk in reaction to the contact with the swollen flesh.
She chuckles softly, “Patience, baby.”
I start to growl, but it comes out in a whimper as she guides two fingers into my saturated cunt. Her fingers take up a painstakingly slow tempo; her thumb takes on an equally torturous, feather-light pressure against my clit.
I give her a couple of minutes, hoping that she’ll speed up, but it never happens. I mentally roll my eyes for thinking she would. She loves doing this to see how long it’ll take me to start begging for release. When we were younger it didn’t take me long to learn how to get her to do it without pleading.
My hand moves down her chest to her abdomen and continues down, my fingers play in her soaked pubic hairs. I tug lightly at her clit with my middle and index fingers just to hear her grunt, and then I swiftly bury my fingers in her wet heat. My fingers take up a fast cadence and in next to no time, her fingers catch the same rhythm.
The mixed sounds of harsh breathing, our skin slapping together, my moans and her grunts fill our bedroom. I feel her channel painfully clench around my fingers setting my orgasm into motion. The ball of tension that had been building in my stomach explodes and I black out for a short time.
When I re-open my eyes, I’m held tenderly in Angie’s arms. From the gentle rise and fall of her chest, she’s asleep and I let myself relax in her embrace. I can’t fall asleep yet; I let my thoughts go where they may. Inevitably, they go to the plans I’ve made for tomorrow. Pangs of sadness, loss, and regret fill my heart. My chest tightens and I clench my eyes shut fighting off the tears that try to escape. I lay there for some time before I slip into an uneasy sleep.
When I awaken the next morning, I know Angie’s already left for work by the coolness of the sheets next to me. Breathing a sigh of relief, I get out of bed to pack the bags. I just pack us both a few outfits and the necessities so that I don’t have to carry more than one suitcase for Jack and one for myself.
I set the divorce papers on the night stand and blink when I notice the plane tickets sitting there. “Oh fuck! She had to have seen those.”
I feel panic welling up inside of me, but forcing it down I grab the tickets, putting them back in my purse where I swear they were last night when I went to bed. I resume my preparations with more determination and speed. Later, I wonder why Angie isn’t here to stop me.
Putting the bags in the car, I go back in the house to grab the phone. I sit in Angie’s favorite recliner and dial Sandra’s phone number. It rings a couple of times before she picks up.
“Hello?” I hear the grogginess in her voice and smile at the habit she has of sleeping in.
“Hey, sis. I don’t have much time to explain right now, but I need you to meet me at the airport.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll explain when I get to a phone where I’m going, all right?”
“Okay. I’ll meet you there, sis. Love ya.”
“Love you, too.” I hang up the phone and hurry to Jack’s room to wake him up.
I help Jack get dressed and he seems confused when I grab a couple of packs of Pop Tarts and a couple of bottles of Sunny D. I grin at him and grab the car keys. “C’mon, my heart. We’ve got places to go.”
The drive from the house to the airport is uneventful, filled with the usual chatter of an excited six year old. When we enter the airport, I spot Sandra and hurry over.
“Hey. Sorry to rush like this, but we need to get going or we’ll miss the plane.” I hand her the parking tag and the keys to my car. “Just have a tow-truck pick the car up and take it to the house. I don’t want it because she could track me down easily by the license plate.”
Sandra’s eyebrows are furrowed, but she doesn’t question me, she just hugs Jack and I before leaving to do as I asked.
Putting the finishing touches on the letter, I re-read it to make sure it’s what I intended to say.
I love you, but I had to leave. Too many times, you left me crying, bruised, and bloodied. We were once soul mates but I don't think I can survive your kind of love. Once I was addicted to the feelings you gave me when you touch me the way only you can, but I can’t take the pain when you beat and rape me the way you did so many times.
When love hurts, it's not love any more.
Sitting back, I stare at the envelope, letting my thoughts wander. We’ve been settled in our new home for a couple of months. I’ve decided that I should at least send her a letter. I’m not putting my address on it just in case she decides that she wants to try to find me, I'm even mailing it from three towns away, just to be safe.
After I drop the letter off at the post office, I pull my sunglasses down over my eyes and step back onto the bus to go home, a home without pain. I feel an odd sense of accomplishment for such a small task. Next to me, Jack prattles about the trip to the zoo his class went on last week. I roll my shoulders and I’m reminded of the one memento I couldn’t resist bringing with us, Angie’s old leather jacket.
I still haven’t received the divorce papers, but I’m not too worried about those. I doubt I’ll be tryin’ to find a new relationship any time soon.
When a partnership turns abusive, every one acts differently. There are variations, some subtler than others. Some women become addicted to the abuse, I was well on my way to that point. There comes a time when a choice has to be made. It must be made immediately or the results could be deadly. Some women are killed before they can be free. Sometimes after they make the choice to leave, their abusers track them down and kill them. It takes a lot of strength to go, and even more to stay gone. For me, it was definitely quittin’ time.
Return to the Academy