“Hold still.” He parts the cheeks of her buttocks, mounting her from behind.
Nick has mentioned wanting to try anal sex several times over the last few years, but Dani was always able to dissuade him, or at least divert him.
“Wait. I don’t know…”
But he is already pounding his way into her, her pleasure disappearing into a pain so intense she feels she might split in two.
She tries willing her body to go numb and closes her eyes, picturing herself back at the gun range, the .22 in her hands, pumping bullet after bullet into her target.
Except this time, the target has a face.
She groans as she watches the imaginary bullets shatter Nick’s skull, obliterating his once-handsome features, fragments of his flesh and pieces of his bones flying into the air like so many spent casings.
She squeezes the trigger to the rhythm of his thrusts, shooting him again and again, over and over, until there is nothing left of her husband but an empty outline riddled with holes.
The outline crumples to the floor as Nick collapses onto the bed beside her, his body bathed in sweat. “Whew,” he mutters, then laughs. “That was intense.”
“Mom…Dad…” Dani hears Ben call from downstairs. “How long are you gonna be? I’m starving.”
“Be right there, sport,” Nick calls back. “I think you might be bleeding, babe,” he says as he pushes off the bed. “Nothing to be concerned about. You’ll be fine. I promise it’ll be better next time.”
Good effort. Don’t worry. Keep trying. You’ll do better next time.
Dani remains on her stomach, motionless. If she moves, she will fall apart.
“Mom!” Ben calls again.
“Come on, babe,” Nick says, giving Dani’s backside a playful slap, causing fresh spasms of pain to shoot through her body. “Up and at ’em.”
She watches as Nick climbs back into his clothes, then opens the door and disappears down the stairs.
Only then does she find the strength to move, her legs all but giving out when she tries to stand. Her hands, which just a short time ago were shaking with excitement, are now shaking with outrage and shame.
“Did I hear someone say they’re hungry?” she hears Nick say.
“I am!” Ben exclaims.
“Where’s Mommy?” Tyler asks.
“She’ll be down soon,” Nick tells him, sounding as sure of himself as he always does.
As sure ofheras he always is.
Dani pushes one foot gingerly in front of the other, keeping close to the bed so as not to fall over, as she shuffles toward the bathroom. She locks the door behind her and steps into the shower, releasing the hot water and letting it wash over her wounded flesh. She watches the blood drip down her thighs to dance circles around the drain, then disappear, wishing she could follow suit. Grabbing the soap from its dish, she rubs it over her breasts, her belly, her thighs, between her legs, between her buttocks, rubbing even harder than she’d rubbed her hands at the range, trying to obliterate every trace of the poison that is her husband, stopping only when her efforts threaten to draw more blood.
She lifts her head toward the shower’s steady spray, opening her mouth and letting the water fill her throat until she gags. Her body doubles over as she empties herself of the taste of Nick’s fingers, the smell of his skin, the obscene rhythm of his thrusts. Only then does she shut off the water and step out of the stall. She stands there naked, staring at the steam coating the mirror over the sink, blocking her reflection. “I know you’re in there somewhere,” she whispers, not moving until she hears a knocking on the bathroom door.
“Dani,” Nick calls from the other side. “I’ll be out front with the boys.”
She nods, says nothing.
“I made you a sandwich,” he says.
Is he expecting her to thank him?
“It’s on the kitchen counter,” he adds when she doesn’t.
She waits until she hears the front door close before leaving the bathroom, opening the bedroom window and standing just out of sight while staring at the street below, grateful for the burst of fresh air that fills her lungs. She sees Nick toss a baseball to Ben and watches her son leap up to catch it in midair. Ben immediately throws it to Tyler, who misses, and they both watch helplessly as the ball rolls into the flowering shrubs lining Julia Fisher’s front walk.