Enticed by the Satyr (Kindred Tales)

Apparently, this was it. Her piano was the one thing she would not yield and she was prepared to fight for it—fight to the bitter end.

“I said the piano is mine,” Mia told him again, making her voice stronger. “Granny left it me in her will—it’s not yours to sell. I don’t begrudge you a pool table—though I don’t know where we’ll put it. I’ll even help you buy it—hell, I’ll pay for the whole damn thing! But you have to leave me my piano and let me take some of my students back. You’re not selling what’s mine!”

Hank didn’t answer in words. Instead, his mean, piggy little eyes narrowed and he took a step back. Lifting one big fist, he slammed it into Mia’s face with no warning, as hard as he could.

Mia gasped and fell backwards, feeling her lip split and something in her cheek crunch at the same time. Suddenly her left eye felt loose and wobbly in its socket and she saw two of Hank where there had been one before.

How could one punch do so much damage? she wondered hazily, as she sank to her knees, her hands cradling the wounded left side of her face. Maybe it was because Hank’s fist was so big and her face was relatively small compared to it. Maybe—

“Have you had enough?” Hank was breathing hard, his hands balled into fists as he loomed over her. “Had your say now, peanut? Or do you want to contradict me again and earn yourself some more punishment?”

That was what he called it when he hit her, Mia thought bitterly. Punishment. As though she’d done something to earn it—as though she’d brought it on herself.

A wise woman would have shut her mouth or begged his forgiveness, but Mia found she couldn’t be wise—not anymore.

“You can’t have it,” she told him, enunciating her words carefully because of her split and stinging lip. “It’s my piano—Granny left it to me. It’s not yours to sell.”

“I said it’s already sold, you little bitch!”

Reaching down, Hank hauled her up by the front of the plain cotton dress she was wearing.

“Leave me alone!” Mia cried. “Leave me alone—you’re nothing but a big bully! You always have been and you always will be!”

Have you lost your mind? the dark little voice in her head screamed. He’ll kill you for that—you know he will!

But now that she had finally found her voice, after so many years of abuse, Mia couldn’t seem to stop using it.

“I hate you!” she shouted in her husband’s face. “I never wanted to marry you in the first place and I’m glad I never got pregnant again because if I had a baby, you’d only hurt and abuse it the same way you hurt and abuse me!”

“You little bitch! How dare you say things like that to me?” Hank demanded, shaking her.

It was no wonder he was surprised, Mia thought distantly. She had never gotten the courage to talk back to him before—never had the nerve to tell him what she really thought of him. But now that she had started, she couldn’t seem to stop.

“I say them because they’re true!” she yelled in his face. “Everybody in town thinks you’re such a big deal because you’re the Sheriff but I know the truth about you— you’re a monster! I’d rather die than live here with you one more minute!”

By this time Hank’s piggy eyes had narrowed down to little black dots of anger and his face was beet-red. His voice, when he spoke, was surprisingly quiet—a danger sign, as the dark little voice in her head tried to warn her.

“So you’d rather die than live with me anymore, would you?” he snarled, glaring down at her, his mouth a trembling sneer of fury. “I think that can be arranged, peanut. I really do.”

Look what you did—now he’s going to kill you! the voice in her head screamed. You opened your fat mouth and got yourself killed, Mia! He’s finally going to beat you to death right here in front of Granny’s piano and then he’ll pretend somebody broke in and did it and he’ll get off scot-free because he’s Sheriff Rogan and nobody contradicts him in this shitty little town!

Hank was still holding her by the front of her blouse, the cotton fabric twisted in one big fist. He had her yanked up on her tiptoes and there was no getting away. Now he brought the other fist back and Mia knew that this time he wasn’t going to stop with one blow. No, he was going to punch her and keep punching until her face was a bloody mess and she stopped breathing.

Go on, then, she thought, feeling sick and scared but defiant at the same time. Go on and do it—send me home to Granny and Mama and the baby you put in me that I lost too late for me to get away from you. Send me home—I won’t miss you one bit!