Hayden Read online

  Hayden

  Copyright © 2019 Matt Tims

  *****

  Contents

  Chapter 1 – Home

  Chapter 2 – An Early Midlife Crisis

  Chapter 3 – Hayden

  Chapter 4 – The Date

  Chapter 5 – Spaghetti

  Chapter 6 – A Fancy Dinner

  Chapter 7 - Memories

  Other Works & Contact Info:

  Chapter 1 – Home

  “Open the fuckin’ door!”

  Claire took a deep breath in an attempt to think. He was in another one of his moods. Angry and violent outbursts had become the norm over the years; and unfortunately, she’d turned into his punching bag.

  “I’m gonna break it down if you don’t open it!” he screamed.

  She sat on the cold toilet seat lid in only her pink cotton panties and a white t-shirt. Calling the police wasn’t an option with her phone in the family room, but it wasn’t like she would anyway. She’d learned her lesson in regard to that mistake. The beatings had only gotten worse since the time she had Bob arrested.

  “Hey, bitch! Open the fuckin’ door!”

  The wooden frame visibly shook with every violent punch Bob threw at the door. Why was she so loyal to a man who treated her this way? Why hadn’t she left him by now? She wouldn’t be in this horrific situation if she had!

  She’d never told a soul about her relationship problems despite years of pent-up fear and anxiety. Well, at least not in person. She’d sought help on the internet, only to be bombarded with hundreds of messages pleading for her to leave him. She knew what she had to do. The validation of faceless strangers from all over the planet wasn’t necessary, but it was the only support she had.

  Bob hadn’t always been this way. He was smooth, charming, and personable in the beginning. He was a ladies’ man, if you will. In fact, it was that very trait that had caught her attention at the bar all those years ago. The way he effortlessly flowed from conversation to conversation was sexy to her. His control over the room portrayed a certain type of power; and after eleven months of knowing each other, Claire and Bob were married. That was the moment when things began to change. Well, kind of.

  There had been signs early on that he wasn’t the man she thought he was. How many nights wouldn’t he return her calls and texts—only to show up at three in the morning—claiming the battery on his phone died? There was also the incident when he ignored her safe word during sex and continued to drive into her, despite the unbelievable pain she was experiencing. The most degrading moment of that particular memory was the way he’d snickered at her when it was over. She wasn’t a sexy toy. She was a human being with feelings; but more times than not, he didn’t treat her that way.

  “I swear to God, Claire, I’m gonna break this fuckin’ door over your head if you don’t open it immediately!”

  Where did she have to go? Home? Home had been just as awful as her current situation. They always say that a woman ends up marrying a man like her father, don’t they? She certainly couldn’t argue against that. It sure felt like Dad was on the other side of the bathroom door as the chaos continued.

  Twenty Years Ago.

  “Where the fuck were you?”

  Claire stopped dead in her tracks. She was busted.

  “Don’t make me ask you again, girl.”

  “With my friends,” the fifteen-year-old blonde answered quietly.

  “It’s midnight…”

  “I’m sorry,” Claire apologized, her blue eyes bolting to the hardwood floor below.

  The family room light turned on, revealing her father sitting in his recliner with a half empty bottle of Jameson on the end table next to him. “Friends, huh?”

  “Yes, Dad,” she nodded. She was doing everything she could to avoid eye contact with her father.

  “Are any of these friends, boys?” he asked, his voice full of jealously. He was too much of a seasoned drunk to slur his words after consuming God knows how much whiskey.

  She shook her head no.

  “Is that so?” Rick questioned.

  The sudden sound of skin slapping against skin captured her attention. She glanced up to see Dad patting his thigh with the palm of his hand, a pair of white underwear briefs and a white t-shirt covering him on this muggy night.

  “I’m just gonna go to bed,” she told him before turning and heading toward the stairs.

  “Get your ass over here!”

  She froze. Why was he always like this? Why did he always change when he drank? And why was he so miserable? Their lives weren’t bad. Sure, they didn’t live in some upper class neighborhood and drive new cars, but none of that mattered anyway. They had enough to get by, so why was her father so bitter over not having more?

  “Now!” he demanded sharply.

  She slowly shuffled over to his chair. The overwhelming odor of whiskey almost knocked her back after she arrived. The uncomfortable sound of him patting his thigh greeted her once more; and unfortunately, she know exactly what that meant. This wasn’t the first time this had happened.

  She hesitantly took a seat on his knee.

  Rick wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap, her back now resting against his large stomach and barrel chest. “There aren’t going to be any boys, are there?”

  She just wanted to be anywhere else. She dreamed of waking up on the other side of the country with a completely new family. Why was her life this way?

  “I asked you a question!” he spoke sharply, his hand wandering along her exposed thigh.

  She took a deep gulp before responding, “No, Dad…”

  “Because who’s the only man in your life?” he inquired.

  She didn’t have to look back to see his grin. It’d become an all-too-familiar sight. “You…”

  “That’s right,” he confirmed. “We’re going to have a big problem if I find out you’ve been messing around with some boy.”

  Fingers began to play with her blonde hair while his other hand rested awkwardly on her thigh. Uncomfortable situations like these had become more and more common over the past few years. Dad was always having her sit on his lap once her body began to take shape, and his obsession with her never having a boyfriend was unbearable. She yearned for normal parents like her friends had. Why was she the one stuck with a zombie mom who took enough anti-depressants to kill an elephant? None of her girlfriends had a dad who touched them in inappropriate places either.

  “And what are you always going to be?” he asked as the feel of his bulge pressed against her backside.

  She hated saying it.

  “Don’t make me repeat myself, girl,” he said.

  Claire took a deep breath. She was doing her best to keep herself together. The urge to break down and cry was overwhelming. “Your little girl…”

  “Not my little girl…” he corrected her.

  She took another long inhale as his fingers traced north on her thigh, moving to the denim of her cut off jean shorts. “Daddy’s little girl…”

  “Daddy’s little girl,” he repeated, his tone oozing of arrogance. “Now, go on up to bed, and you’re gonna be locked in there for a long time if I find out about any boys.”

  “Yes, Dad,” she quietly responded before slipping off his lap. When she did, his firm open hand smacked her petite backside.

  “Daddy’s little girl,” he remarked to himself while reaching for his bottle of whiskey.

  –

  Claire had waited her entire youth to escape from her father. She’d gone to college, found a good job, and explored the dating scene, but soon found herself in abusive relationship after abusive relationship. Sometimes she wondered if there was no running from her past. What if she was trapped in this hell forever?

  But she finall
y found her escape after meeting Bob, and tied the knot with her to-be husband shortly after her twenty-seventh birthday. The eight years following her wedding night had been anything but a getaway from her past life, however. In fact, it was more of the same.

  Her husband’s struggle to find steady employment had always been a source of anger for him. He wasn’t lazy or unmotivated. It was just tough out there; and lucky for them, she was able to provide a decent life with her job as a secretary at a law firm. Bob didn’t share her thoughts on their economic situation though. It couldn’t have been any more obvious that he felt emasculated by the idea of a woman providing for him financially.

  “You have five seconds!” he ordered, his fist thudding against the door one last time.

  She jumped to her feet and scurried to the door. “Honey, can we try talking about this?”

  “Absolutely,” Bob answered from the other side of the wood. “After I teach you some fuckin’ manners.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by what I said,” she pleaded. “I honestly didn’t.”

  “You disrespected me in my house,” he reminded her. “You should know better. Now, get out here and take your punishment.”

  She had disrespected him in his house? Why was everything his? His house, his cars, his money: it was always his. Nothing was ever hers. This was a marriage. Everything was supposed to be fifty-fifty. And she’d contributed significantly more money throughout their partnership than he had! God, the problems never ended!

  “I didn’t disrespect you, Bob,” she tried again. “I was just showing you pictures from my friend’s trip.”

  “To Italy!” he rebuffed angrily. “That you know I can’t afford!”

  “We could afford it if we wanted—”

  “You get a kick out of that, don’t you, Claire?” Bob cut her off. “Knowing that you would be the one paying for it? Rubbing my face in your money? Maybe you should’ve found yourself a kike lawyer husband like your cunt friend!”

  There was no use in arguing. All she’d done was innocently show him her friend’s vacation photos on Facebook. It was harmless; but no, Bob interpreted it as a shot at his manhood.

  “For once, can we just sit down and discuss your…our problems?” she inquired, her defeated tone foreshadowing what his answer would most likely be. “I honestly wasn’t trying to insult you.”

  “I told you we’ll talk about things after I teach you some respect,” he said.

  He’s not going away. You can wait inside the bathroom for hours, and he’ll still be sitting there when you come out. Claire, it always works this way. You need to be taught respect; and if you keep acting like a bitch, then he’s going to treat you like a bitch. Now, go take your beating like a good girl.

  She unlocked the bathroom door and hesitantly opened it. Just as expected, Bob stood five feet away at the edge of the kitchen table.

  “Honey, can we please just sit down and talk about whatever’s on your mind?” she begged.

  Bob pointed down at the floor in front of him, resulting in her approaching timidly.

  “I deal with enough shit from everyone else,” he firmly stated. “The last thing I need is to come home and take it from you.”

  She opened her mouth but quickly thought better of it. Arguing would only cause more problems. He had never been one to change his mind.

  “Now, I’m gonna let you decide where you want to take it since you didn’t make me bust down that door,” he said.

  She sheepishly glanced up at his livid face. Bob wasn’t a little guy. He was six-foot-four and pushing close to two hundred and fifty pounds. He had plenty of fat on him these days, but the former college football linebacker still possessed his fair share of muscles, and they left a lasting impact on her petite frame each and every time he decided to teach her a lesson.

  “Where’s it gonna be?” he asked.

  She slowly turned around and bent over.

  “Good girl,” he mockingly praised her as he took his position. His hand reached back and crashed forward into her butt as hard as he could, sending her leaping into the air.

  “Jesus fuck, Bob!” Claire cried out while reaching for her backside.

  “What did you just say?”

  She immediately panicked. As if tonight couldn’t get worse.

  “Did my wife just curse in my house?” he asked, stunned.

  She continued to hold her stinging backside. “Bob, I’m sorry.”

  He pointed down at the floor in front of him, resulting in her shuffling to him once more. Her demoralized attitude caused his cock to stir.

  “On your knees, slut,” he ordered.

  “Bob, please…” she begged. “Let’s just talk.”

  “Don’t make me get my belt.”

  The last thing she wanted to see was the belt. Her butt already had its fair share of permanent scars from the many times he’d claimed to have been disrespected before. She meekly sank to her knees, opting for the simpler route.

  Bob unbuckled his jeans, and dropped them down around his ankle along with his boxer shorts. “We’re gonna find some better use for that mouth than cursing in my house. Your father did one hell of a job fuckin’ you up, you know that? Some lady he raised…”

  Be a good little slut. You know you want to. This will make all your problems go away, Claire. Let him beat you, get him off, and then go to bed fantasizing about a man who loves you for you. Because a worthless cunt like you doesn’t deserve a good man. You deserve exactly what you’re about to get. Now, open that mouth…

  Claire had enough. She cocked her arm back and punched Bob as hard as she could in the balls, sending him crashing to the cold kitchen floor like a ton of bricks. She quickly dashed in the direction of the stairs and climbed the steps until she reached their bedroom.

  Purse, purse, purse…there it is! Make sure you have your credit cards and some cash. Don’t forget your keys either! Take some clothes, take some clothes! The disheveled blonde scurried over to her closet and began piling random garments into her gym bag. What else?

  Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!

  Shit…

  She sprinted to the door and slammed it shut, locking it just in time. Mere seconds later, it was the bedroom door that was now making itself familiar with Bob’s fist.

  “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!” he screamed, his rage sending a chill down her spine.

  She hustled back to the closet to resume filling the bag with clothes. She zipped it up and took one last look around before it finally kicked in. She had everything she needed to escape except one thing: a way out.

  “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t form a coherent sentence,” Bob loudly informed her from the upstairs hallway. “And then I’m going to watch the life fade away in your eyes while my hands are locked around your throat! Do you hear me, Claire!?”

  She hurried over to his side of the bed and reached underneath it. Yes! The baseball bat he kept for protection was still there! Her fingers wrapped around the cool metal before she approached the bedroom door with the weapon in hand.

  “Just let me go, Bob!”

  “You’re not going anywhere, you little fuckin’ cunt!” he responded furiously. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!”

  She positioned herself behind the door and silently unlocked the handle, her actions undetected thanks to his boisterous pounding on the wood. It looked like his horrible temper had finally worked in her favor. It was the only thing that allowed for her plan to possibly work.

  “Let’s just talk about it,” she offered.

  He roared with laughter from behind the door.

  Just wait him out. Don’t antagonize him to come barging through the door because he’ll be ready. He still thinks the handle is locked; so when he decides to turn it, he’ll be caught off guard. That’s when you make your move! If you really want to, that is. We both know you would prefer to just let him beat the shit out of you and hope for the best. That’s pretty much your life summed up, isn’t it? Just sh
eepishly hide and hope things magically change—like a child. You’re a child, Claire, and you’re never going to change.

  A few minutes of silence passed before Bob abruptly spoke up in a calm, cool voice. “I’m gonna fuck you to death.”

  Claire’s head perked up.

  “Because that’s how a whore like you deserves to go out,” he grunted. “Born to a whore, raised a whore, and living your adulthood as a whore. That’s all you are, Claire. Just a worthless whore.”

  Her hands strangled the bat. Eight years of pent-up rage seethed through her body. The only thing—

  The handle suddenly turned as Bob burst into the room, his eyes immediately shooting toward the empty bed.

  It’s now or never. Are you going to allow him to destroy you again, or are you going to make a stand? You better hurry up and decide before he realizes that you’re behind him!

  She mutely pushed the door shut before taking two steps forward. As she did, the metal bat made its way behind her shoulders before launching down with every ounce of strength she possessed. Boom! A direct hit on the side of his right knee sent him collapsing to the floor in a fit of pain for the second time in the past ten minutes. She would be lying if she didn’t admit to enjoying this. It was nice to be on the other side of a beating for a change.

  “You fuckin’ cunt!” Bob screamed, reaching for his leg in anguish.

  She sent the metal bat slamming down on his knee once more, shattering his hand in the process. The sound of him screaming bloody murder was one of the most relaxing moments of their marriage. Something felt right about watching this despicable man writhe around in agony. It was almost as if justice had been served.

  She hustled around his squirming body and retrieved her gym bag before heading for the door. This part of her life was over, and she would never see this asshole again. That was her promise.

  But she wasn’t out in the hallway, rushing downstairs, or turning the ignition in her car. No, Claire was instead sprawling down to the hardwood floor. Bob had reached out and grabbed her foot as she moved by, taking her to the floor with him. She wouldn’t be able to walk out on him that easily.