(A moment wherein the heroine realizes how fucked she is.)
I very often inform him that I’ve made this “too easy” for him (shush up, you out there in the peanut gallery! I can hear your snickers!). I’m pliable and malleable and all sorts of other -ables that make things too damn easy for him to manipulate and shape and mold and change and get what he wants.
What I mean by “easy”, of course, is that I am losing (or have lost) any sense of thinking what he does is abnormal or unacceptable.
People get all hysterical about limits, or the lack thereof, and demand to know how it’s possible to be limitless– when really the process of erasing a person’s hold on limits can be as simple as consistently making the unacceptable become the norm.
Earlier today, in the kitchen, I said something curt. He grabbed me by the throat, squeezing, and pushed me with a hard thunk against the wall, smacking my head against it. Leaning in close to my face, he growled “You’re getting awfully mouthy.” Then, silence, holding my gaze and waiting a beat to let it sink in.
My only response when he released me and stepped away was to rub the back of my head and say “You aimed for the corner of the wall on purpose.”
No objection to the fingers painfully constricting my windpipe. Not the smack up against the wall. Not the idea that I can’t talk in whatever tone of voice I want. Not the intimidation of his foot-taller and 70lb-heavier body bracing against mine. Not the threat behind his size… and his words. Not even the invasion of my personal space as he got all up in my biznez.
No, no. It was just the added insult of the corner of the wall smacking the back of my head rather than the kinder, flat area to smack it on that struck me as mean and objectionable.
Now? The next time when he smacks me up against the corner of the wall rather than the flat part, it likely won’t occur to me to say anything.