The Waiting

12Jan16

waiting bedThe clock was pounding insistently, the tic after toc dominating the room. Occasionally, outside a car would go by; a light roar suddenly near and then quickly receding leaving all hope of rescue dashed. Not that Felicity expected any; that was just a game played by her nervous mind as she lay forlornly upon the bed.

The young woman bit her lip now at every creak of the stair or crack in ceiling. It was only at times like these that she noticed how alive these old houses really were. Would it stand witness then to what was to occur? She eyed the corner nervously and her tummy tightened. In times past she had been ordered to wait there for him, but that was a terror redoubled. She shuddered. Even that was not as bad as the times she had spent cornered downstairs by the front door or in the kitchen. At these times she was a casual display for any who happened to call in; before and after her behind was stained red, the shame was no less.

Felicities’ heart lurched as she was suddenly back there and fresh tears pricked her eyes at old memories.

Sometimes she told herself that it was unfair and she didn’t deserve it. Sometimes she told him. But it was a lie and they both knew it.

She sighed, but the heaved breath turned into a suppressed sob and she hugged at a pillow then bit into it. Big blue eyes blinked hard as she tried to steel herself. Why had she done it, why? It had seemed such a good idea at the time; she had even convinced herself that he wouldn’t mind. Or was it that he wouldn’t find out, which was much the same thing wasn’t it?

The confrontation replayed in her head. What did she say? Words dispatched from her lips rolled back on her like a wave and she cringed. An unbridled mouth had ever been her trouble. She didn’t mean it, didn’t he know that?

But of course he did, that was why she was being punished, one of the reasons anyway.

Oh why doesn’t he come? She sighed again.

An imagined footfall on the stair made her startle and her head became light. “Not yet,” she whispered, she wasn’t ready.

Panic over she was almost relieved, but her heart thundered in her chest as another car went by.

Soon though the heavy tread on the stair would be real and he would come. Would he have something in his hand, hairbrush or a slipper perhaps; surely not the cane or the heavy paddle?

She strained her brains to remember what he had said last time. Had she ever committed a similar sin and what had been the sanction?

The door opened without warning and suddenly he was there. He filled the space and blocked out the light so that his large frame was as a silhouette and she couldn’t read his face. His paddle-like hands were empty for once but that did not stop her throat tightening.

“I am sorry,” she said.

Then without a word he entered the room and closed the door.

 



6 Responses to “The Waiting”

  1. Well, that one was heart poundingly terrifying. Good job.

  2. Oh, the anticipation. Nice piece of writing.

  3. 4 Becky

    Catches the anxiety of waiting to receive what you know you deserve and my own experience of playing over what you did wrong and how stupid it was. It feels like my own corner time.

  4. 5 MrJ

    Very recognizable. Waiting is a key part of fun and effect.

  5. 6 DJ

    Thanks everyone 🙂


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