On the few that his face appeared in, it had been blurred out. I suddenly realised that the prints had most likely been done on my own fucking compute... and I suspected they had been taken with my old camera! I booted up my Packard-Bell. Sure enough, the pictures were on the hard drive, and there were a lot more than had been printed. But the bastard wasn't daft. He had fogged his face on all of them. There was no way I could sleep in our desecrated bed, so I went down, grabbed my bottle of. “BECAUSE YOU’RE AN ABUSIVE SON OF A BITCH AND SHE COULDN’T TAKE ANY MORE!” Another pause, this time on my end. “I – SLAP – WAS – SLAP – A – SLAP – GOOD – SLAP – HUSBAND.” I continued striking her with the cane, across her back, her ass, her thighs, I was swinging almost blindly. A small voice in the back of my head said that I shouldn’t be doing this while I was angry, but that voice was overwhelmed by the shrieks of rage sounding through the rest of my brain. “MERCY. PLEASE HAVE MERCY.. More

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