I opened my eyes this morning feeling dizzy and weak.
As I rose up, I was hit by a wave of agonizing pain. It felt
like my brain had exploded inside my skull, and was now
leaking out of my body through my ears. When I looked down,
I saw that my pillow was soaked with blood.
I ran my fingers through my hair. It was stiff and sticky as
if it was glued. As I reached the top of my head with my
fingers, I touched the edges of the wound. A bite of sharp
pain made me recoil back my hand.
Baffled and still half asleep, I got up and dragged my
aching body to the bathroom; every step sent sharp stings
all through my body. I gazed dumbly at my image in the
mirror for a long moment, refusing to believe my eyes.
Half of my body was covered with dry blood; it looked like
red candle wax was poured on top of my head. Covering the
right side of my face and neck. Flowing down my right
shoulder, on to my breast, and down my right arm. The wound
itself was a huge hideous black hole. Partly covered with a
thick mess of sticky auburn hair, the skin around it was
curled sideways. Making the whole thing look like an
erupting volcano on the top of my skull.
I stared at my self, staring at myself.
Wild green eyes round and wide with fear, Could these eyes
be mine?
My blue nightgown stained with blood, my skin pale, the
veins on my neck, grey and faint.
I looked like a dead woman.
This can't be happening to me, I thought. I felt my heart
beating faster, panic taking over. I heard myself, screaming
at the top of my lungs: "Gary!!!"
For a second everything was silent.
Then I heard him gasp in the bedroom, his bare feet hitting
the wooden floor as he jumped off the bed. Then everything
went hazy, the ceiling was spinning around the walls, and
the marble sink was curling and twisting like rubber around
my fingers.
The last thing I felt, before passing out, was the bathroom
tiles hitting my face, or was it the other way around?

The green pipeline crosses the ceiling from left to right,
but turns sharply halfway across it, to join the red
pipeline. They continue together for a few feet, and then
disappear under a wide air-conditioner shaft.
I followed their colorful trail many times.

Since I opened my eyes, for the first time, on this hospital
bed. I am not sure how long I was out, or how long am I
awake for that matter. Days seem to have passed, maybe
weeks; it's all the same when you are strapped to a bed in a
room with the lights on twenty-four hours a day.
I know my head and face are covered with bondages, and I can
hear the beep-bop of the different monitors and machines
around me. I guess I'm pretty heavily medicated, because I
don't feel the pain anymore.
But something is wrong, maybe the pipeline. I am no
construction expert, but I'm pretty sure the pipes should
look differently somehow. Whenever I think about it, I get
Goosebumps, and I feel sick enough to vomit.

Today Gary came in to see me.
He came with two somber looking policemen, and a social
worker.
"How are you feeling, love?"
His eyes were so sad when he looked at me. So compassionate,
I had to look away.
"Who had done this to you, angel?" He asked me, "Tell me how
it happened."
But I couldn't tell him. I didn't know myself how it
happened. I woke up, and there it was, my head was cut open
like a cheap movie prop.
Gary stayed by my side for an hour or so. He whispered kind
and comforting words to me, holding my hand the whole time.
He managed, as he always does, to give me the courage and
the strength I needed.
"We will come through this, love!" he said to me finally.
Then he rose from my bed and joined the two policemen
outside.
"I love you!" I called after him with a faint voice.
I heard someone enter after he left. It was the social
worker woman.
"How are you doing, Lauren?" She inquired dryly.
I mumbled something incoherent at her. She nodded.
"He did this to you, didn't he?" She asked, looking into my
eyes.
"Huh?" was all I could produce.
"Your husband, he hit you. You can tell me, it's perfectly
safe..."
I was astounded by the very suggestion of it.
"No", I spat; it came out "Ou" because of the bondages
covering my mouth.
"Ery ould aever ait ee! He oves ee."
How could she think that? I was outraged. Gary would rather
die than see me hurt. Her cold brown eyes remained fixed on
mine, as she spoke softly. "I talked with your doctor
earlier, and she told me that after suffering a head trauma,
and loosing a considerable amount of blood, one is very
lucky to survive at all. The fact that no brain tissue seems
to have been damaged is nothing short of miraculous!
However, the next time this happens, you may not be so
fortunate... And believe me, Lauren, this WILL happen again
if you don't put a stop to it now. Am I getting through to
you at all? I can't help you if you don't let me. Think
about it this way, you will not only be saving yourself, you
will also help Gary get that treatment and professional help
which he needs."
I forced my body to rise up as much as I could to emphasize
myself. I locked her eyes in mine and talked slowly,
carefully pronouncing each and every word for maximum
impact.
"Listen, lady, eh, Marsha..." I corrected myself after
catching glimpse of her nametag. "My husband and I love each
other very much. We've known each other for most of our
adult lives, and let me tell you this. Gary is the kindest,
most gentle and pleasant man I had ever met! He couldn't
hurt a fly, let alone me."
Marsha leaned back in her chair, and looked at me blankly,
obviously not convinced. "Very well," she finally said, "It
is still impossible to determine the full extent of the
damage your body and mind sustained. Considering all you
have been through, you may have suffered some kind of memory
loss. Or, you may be in a state of rejection, caused by
post-traumatic stress. Either way, I'm going to keep my eye
on you, Lauren. If you remember anything new, give me a
call. I'm just praying that it won't be too late when you
do..."
I nodded reluctantly, and she got up, and left without a
word.
I let myself drop back in my bed, and closed my eyes. My
head was pounding hard. I needed a fresh round of
medication, it seemed, and I had a growing suspicion that I
was going to dream about pipelines tonight.

Today they let me out of the hospital.
Dr Harrier was there. She came to say goodbye. Gary waited
for me in the car. He brought it as close as possible to the
hospital doors, so that I won't have to walk all the way to
the parking lot.
"I can't wait to get you back home already!" he said to me.
I kissed him on the cheek, and put on my seat belt.
To be home again, I thought.
"Did you miss me, honey?" I asked smiling, and turned to
watch the white stripes on the road, passing us by.

Today I woke up late.
The alarm clock was ringing loudly for almost two hours, but
for some reason I slept through it.
I crawled out of bed and waited for the nausea to pass. My
body was hot, and my skin was irritated. It felt like it was
sun burnt. I made a couple of paces in the direction of the
bathroom, and had to stop.
My thighs were burning bad. But that was not the root of the
pain. It came from inside me, between my legs.
It was unbearable, impossible to describe with words. In my
mind I could see a blacksmith heating a black steel bar in a
furnace, until it becomes red. Then taking it out of the
flames, and driving it into my body.
It was the worst pain I had ever felt in my life, and I
couldn't take it for another second. I fell on the floor,
and started weeping, my hands clutched between my legs, and
my body on fire.
Wanting to scream, but unable to make a sound, I crawled to
the bathroom on my elbows. Got inside the bathtub somehow,
and poured cold water on my body.
I don't know how long I sat there, mumbling to myself, "What
the hell is wrong with you..." over and over again. Finally
I got up, and slowly stepped out of the tub.
I was deliberately avoiding the large mirror in front of me,
afraid of what might glance back at me if I looked.
This can't be happening to me again, I thought. Less than a
month had passed since I left the hospital. It's impossible.
Maybe it's all in my mind, some sort of a freak trauma
syndrome. Maybe, none of this is real.
Then, I saw the scratch.
It started up on my left shoulder just above the collarbone.
Traveled down diagonally across my chest, and ended about an
inch above the center of my stomach. The cut was not deep.
It was red, but not bleeding. It looked like someone drew a
red line across my body, using a razor blade.
I felt it once or twice with my finger, and then turned and
looked up at the mirror.
In front of me stood a woman I could not recognize.
Ironically, the first thing to draw my attention was my
hair. It was wild, sweaty and full of knots. I absently
brushed it away from my face, which was now wet with tears.
The left side of my face was the color of dark burgundy. My
left eye was bloodshot and sunken in its socket. My lips
were swollen and cut, and my cheek was bruised.
A purple hand shaped mark covered my neck. Five long
fingers, Crude and strong, gripping my throat. They were
without a doubt, man's fingers. Another dark purple palm
covered my right breast, another one on my left thigh.
My body was covered with these violet handprints.
I gave myself a full inspection, searching to see if I
missed anything. I found numerous bruises and finger marks
on my arms and legs, and another razor blade cut on my right
ankle.
When I looked back in the mirror, there was a man standing
behind me.
I felt a spike of fear piercing my heart, and my lungs
gasped for air.
He was a tall man, with broad shoulders, and big masculine
arms. His blond hair was short, curly and dirty. His chubby
face were pimpled, and his cheeks had a reddish hue that
made his face look porky and dull.
His eyes were dark, sunken and small; they had a sinister
shine in them. It made them look like tiny black beads, like
the eyes of a spider.
The man was wearing a light blue nurse's uniform over a
white sweatshirt. He was smiling, reveling a set of crooked
rotten teeth, and looking right at me.
In that second, I could see through his little spider eyes.
They opened like windows to his mind. I could see the evil
inside of him, the hate, the brutality.
Then he was gone.
I turned around startled, and searched for him hysterically
with my eyes, but there was no one there.
I was alone.
I knew that the man I just saw was real. I never met him in
my life, but I knew that he was the one who hurt me, the one
who rapped me.
I let my shaking body drop to the floor, and just sat there
for a while, trying to collect back the scattered pieces of
my mind.
Then got up, and called Gary.

This morning I checked out of the hospital, again.
The tests results came back from the lab, confirming that
which I already knew.
Gary waited for me in the car; he was unshaved, and looked
exhausted. The cops kept him up all night at the station,
suspecting he had something to do with my assault.
It was, of course, nonsense, as I explained to Marsha,
again, this morning.
"Tell me who it is, than", she pressed, "Why are you
protecting the man who raped you?"
She was practically yelling at me at this point, as if she
was the victim here.
I thought about the man I saw in the mirror, I wish I knew
who he was, but I didn't. As far as I could remember, I
never saw him before.
We got home. Gary helped me up the stairs, to the bedroom.
It's been three days now, but it still hurts when I walk.

Last night Gary took me out for dinner.
We both needed a short relief from the stress; and I was in
no condition to cook anyway. So we went back to that nice
restaurant, where we used to go, before we got married and
bought the house.
Needless to say, the place changed quite a bit since the
last time we were there. But it still had that romantic,
sort of carefree, atmosphere, and the food was as delicious
as ever. We had an altogether pleasant evening.
The air was warm, and the clear sky was filled with stars.
Gary, of course, doing everything he could to make me feel
better, treated me like a queen, and made me laugh, with his
funny remarks.
By the time we got back, I forgot all about my recent
troubles, and except for some random mild pains I still felt
occasionally, I was a new woman.
I had a hard time falling asleep that night. I just looked
at him; so beautiful, and peaceful. I felt tears filling my
eyes.
"Why the tears, love?" he whispered, his eyes closed.
"Its just the way you take care of me, and comfort me", I
said, gently stroking his hair.
"I love you so much, and I'm just happy you're here with
me," I said,
and closed my eyes.

Today I woke up strapped to a metal bed, a bright neon light
blinding my eyes.
I had to wait a few seconds for my vision to be restored.
I was lying in the middle of a small closed room, surrounded
by four grey brick walls, this was probably a medical
institution of some sort, I figured.
I looked up at the ceiling; three long pipelines ran across
it. One green, one red and another one, blue.
There was something frighteningly familiar about their
pattern. I had a vague but disturbing notion of being in
this room before. My arms and legs were fastened to the
frame of the bed with leather straps, and the bed itself was
secured to the floor with a heavy metal chain.
I was wearing a light blue gown; it resembled the one they
gave me at the hospital. I struggled to free myself from the
straps, but it was beyond my powers.
I tried as hard as I could to recall any information about
this place, but just couldn't make ends meet in my mind. It
seemed I was too frustrated and confused to focus.
A sound came from outside the room, footsteps. It rapidly
grew louder and closer.
A mortifying sense of danger took hold of me.
Almost instinctively, I started twisting and twitching again
in a desperate attempt to break free.
The steps stopped. I froze in mid motion, my entire body
alert.
The crude sound of a key spinning in its lock shattered my
last hope of escape.
The squeaking grey door slowly swung open. A man was
standing outside my room, his face was hidden in the shadows
but I knew who he was even before he walked in.
"And how is my sleeping beauty feeling this fine evening?"
he said as he entered the room.
He was wearing the same nurse's uniform he wore when I saw
him in my bathroom mirror. His short curly hair was hanging
down carelessly around his chubby face. He was wearing a
dirty pair of jeans, and a pair of white old sneakers,
splattered with dry mud. "Oh my, wide-awake for a change!"
he added, as he arrived at my bed.
"Who are you?" I asked, my body shaking.
"Now you insult me, princess," he said smiling, "You and I,
we go back. In fact, we used to be quite intimate."
"Where is Gary? What have you done to him?" I demanded.
"And who is Gary?" he asked, clearly amused.
"My husband", I pressed, fighting to control my voice.
"Such imagination inside that pretty little head of
yours..." he chuckled, and started unbuckling his pants.
"But I didn't come here to listen to your fairy tales."
Horrified, I started to wrestle with the straps again.
"No!" I shouted, "Help! Stay away! Somebody help me!"
"Save your strength, princess," he said, slowly mounting the
bed. "No one around to hear your screams, and even if there
was... Hey! Stop kicking, you fucking bitch!"
He grabbed my ankles with his hands, and forced my legs
open.
"NO!!!" I cried, unable to push him off as he climbed on top
of me.
He grabbed the collar of my gown with his big hand, and in a
single fast motion, tore it open. I was screaming insanely,
as he ran his sweaty palms over my breasts.
"I know what will shut you up", He said grinning.
Than pressed his mouth to mine in a violent kiss.
His stinking breath and slimy tongue suffocated me; I turned
my head away disgusted. He slapped me hard across the face.
I felt my ears ringing, my vision became hazy, and the taste
of blood filled my mouth. "You better start behaving like a
good girl!" He shouted at me, and pulled down his pants. "It
would be less painful for you, if you do", he added,
revealing his penis to me.
"No!" I cried, spitting out blood, "Please don't! Don't do
it! I beg you! PLEASE!"
He crossed his lips with his index finger, and whispered,
"Shhhh..." than lay on top of me, his body weight pinning me
down to the bed.
I threw my head back, my mouth opened in a mute scream.
I looked at the pipelines above my bed.
I felt him penetrate my body, felt him inside me, the
pain... the shame... so familiar.
This abuse, this is not the first time it happened, I
understood. Nor the second, nor the third. It has been going
on repeatedly for months now, probably years. This room was
my room, and it was more real to me than any other place
I've ever been to. This situation, nightmarish as it was,
was more meaningful than my wedding night.
It was... my reality.
He started moving faster, his body pounding harder against
mine.
I couldn't take it any longer. Had to shut it out somehow,
make it stop. I closed my eyes, "Away..." I thought, "I am
far away from here, far away in my home."
"Oh, no you don't!" I heard him shout.
He drove his fist into my ribs. I felt something break
inside me. I coughed in pain, blood rising up my throat,
clogging my breath.
"You don't fall asleep on me this time..." He howled.
I fought to rise up, gasping for air. But he shoved my head
down, banging it against the bed frame. He pulled my hair,
and whispered in my ear: "Pray!"
I looked at him dumbly, what did he just say?
"Pray, Lauren..." He repeated, "Not for mercy, not for
salvation, but for atonement."
I slowly nodded my head.
"O Lord," I said.
Not understanding my own words, or knowing where they came
from. They came out of me like a mantra.
"I am Thy servant; I am Thy servant, and an instrument of
thy handmade: Thou hast broken my bones in sunder. I will
offer to Thee the sacrifice of my heart; let my blood praise
thy name and say, 'O Lord, who is like unto Thee?' Bring
forth thy kingdom o lord, cast down thy whip. And let it
answer, and say unto my soul... I am thy salvation!"
The last words I pronounced with my lips without a sound.
I looked up at his face; his eyes were closed in a mixture
of pleasure and deep concentration. I felt him climaxing
inside me. It felt so filthy, so wrong, but I couldn't do
anything to stop it.
I was helpless.
He finally got off me, and pulled up his pants. He walked to
the door, and turned off the lights.
"Amen."
I heard him whisper in the darkness, just before he left my
room.

Today my dear husband found his beloved wife floating dead
in an overfilled bathtub. Her wrists were cut with a razor
blade, the hot water was left running to increase blood
circulation and insure death.
The bathroom floor was completely flooded, and faint strings
of blood idly floated on the water, hovering by like red
smoke.
With shaking hands he lifted the lifeless body of the one
who was the love of his life, and with trembling fingers,
gently brushed away the beautiful long auburn hair from her
face.
On her chest he found engraved with blood, these words:

Where sanctum is praised,
And psalms are sang,
In the grace of your light,
Forevermore.