Indian Foot Worship

Throughout the rest of the week at work, Denise and Stan continued to work together, Stan now passing the project over to Denise for her to work on. While the two were concentrating on professional matters, they were able to get along without undue friction, but if Stan mentioned Anne he noticed a distinct drop in temperature.On Friday afternoon, just as they were leaving at the end of the day, Stan said, "See you Tuesday then, Denise." Oh, yes! I'd forgotten it was a Bank Holiday weekend. You doing anything over the break?"Anne and I are going to visit an old friend of hers. A lecturer at her university, I think she said." The words were out of his mouth before he could recall them.Once again, Denise's expression closed up, the dark clouds appearing again. Stan wondered if there was anything he could say to alleviate the evident problem.Eventually Denise replied, flatly, "Well. Have a good weekend, then Stan. I'll be on my own, with a book in my garden, or something. But you and Anne. ‘Yep, just as I said, tastes like shit, but does the trick.’ He winked at her and returned his attention to the road, humming some country western tune. Sharon took the cup back and poured herself a decent amount. As promised it tasted horrible. But, it was hot and did help to stave off the damp chill of her clothes. She felt herself relax a bit and settled into her seat for the long ride. Consciousness came back in a deafening rush of screams and pain. Her screams. Her pain. He was on her. He was in her. Pounding in and out of her like a freight train, breath foul and drool dripping across her face as he pounded in and out and in and out… She screamed and thrashed, reached for the jacket pocket and brass knuckles that weren’t there. She tried to bite at his hand as he covered her mouth. He hammered his fist into the side of her face and stars went nova in her eyes as oblivion returned with a sigh. *** Music was playing. Her music. She has lost time somewhere. She was still.
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