Dr Jew

couldn't find her voice. She tried to get away from him. She tried to make some distance. He would have none of it, first holding her clothes, and then wrapping his arms around her, squeezing her uncomfortably as she shook. He held her and smiled.
    "Stop," she said.
    Instead of stopping he brought her down to the kitchen floor, pressed down upon her, and kissed her.
    "Stop!" she said. "I hate you. I hate you so much."
    And he did stop, for a moment. "You… hate me?" And then he laughed and laughed. His hands were on her now and tearing into her dress, pushing down through the layers. He unbuttoned and unzipped his own pants and by now she was paralyzed. It had happened so many times, the sequence assured like clockwork and the setting of the sun. In her mind he was an animal, and like any beast coming to feed, he would not be satisfied until he had his fill. She swallowed and did not resist. Her body did not belong to her in these moments. Dave knew this.
    He did his work ins ide her and she would not fight. But he would never have her attention. She would go away at this time and imagine what life might have been like had she married a different man than David Parker. Normal. That's what she'd expected when she married Dave. And she realized that her imagination of how it would be is what had blocked her from seeing reality in the first place, so she stopped thinking of another who might treat her right, an idealized form she would never meet, and instead let her mind see nothing at all. And this blank mode of being is all she hoped for when her end would come.
    He did his work inside her, the work of five minutes, and lingered upon her. His beer breath and rough skin and she had to turn away. Finally he stood. He grabbed her again and she realized it was not over yet.
    "Up," he said, dragging her upstairs to their bedroom. Her legs moved automatically and she hated them for their treason. They came to the bedroom and he pushed her on the bed and shut the door. He went to the safe, opened it, and removed the gun and a little box. He took them to the bed and set the gun down. He opened the little box and took six bullets from it and proceeded to load the gun. He showed her the chamber with the bullets and closed it. He put the gun in her hands.
    "No!" she said.
    He made her hold the gun.
    "It 's loaded this time," he said. "No fooling."
    As he 'd done the night before, he pointed the end of the gun at his chest and pressed it against his skin.
    "There," he said. "All set. All you gotta do is pull the trigger."
    She shook her head.
    "What? You don't want to?"
    "Stop," she said, still holding the gun.
    "I think you want to."
    "No," she said. She aimed the gun away, dropped it on the bed. "I won't," she said.
    He took the gun. "Think hard. This is the only chance you'll ever get. You don't do it now you're never gonna do it."
    She closed her eyes and water came through. "I won't," she said.
    He nodded and breathed heavily. He put the gun away.

XIII.

    A few nights later he had taken the boy to that martial arts studio again. But he said it wouldn't be just him and me for dinner – thank God – and that he had a guest, an "associate." And that didn't really sound too much better since his type of associates are pure filth, like him. He said to make a turkey and call it practice for Thanksgiving. The way men think. The way he thinks. I don't think he's at all like most men. Not like most people even.
    So I made a turkey with gravy and mashed potatoes and stuffing and cranberry and all the fixings like he told me, and when seven o 'clock approached he added a detail about this guest we had coming.
    "He 's a midget," said Dave.
    I laughed.
    "Yeah," he said, "That's why I tell you now, 'cause you got the brain of a three-year-old and I know if I didn't tell you then you'd up and laugh as soon as you saw him. You'd ask him if he eats off a big plate like normal people does and then you'd say whoops I don't mean you're not normal you're the same as anyone else just shorter, not that that's a bad thing and then I'd have to put my foot in your ass to shut you up."
    "I wouldn 't laugh at his face," I said. "You think I'm like those Southern women you grew up around."
    "And there you go again putting down my background and history like you 're miss high falutin' aristocrat and them Southern women is straight out of Gone With the Wind . Well your shit smells as much as any of them, all you whores."
    "Should I heat the gravy