The Banishing by Fiona Dodwell

question. He held up the mobile phone in his hand as if it was an award, a trophy. “I checked your dialed numbers. You phoned her up. That bitch.”
    Melissa felt sick. She felt the drink she had in the bar rise in her throat. It tasted acidic, bitter. “I…just got mixed up. It doesn’t matter, does it? I just phoned for a chat, and then she asked about us going for a drink. What difference does this really make?”
    “That’s why you’re home late, is it?” Mark snarled, throwing the mobile phone onto the floor. It hit the carpet with a dull thud.
    Melissa took a step back, nodding. “Yeah, we just went out for a drink. Just one. Then, I came back. It doesn’t matter, does it?” she asked a second time, trying to sound casual, trying to make light of whatever darkness had covered the room between them. “It isn’t a bad thing that I called her. Is it? You said I could go out with her!”
    Mark laughed; it sounded dark and menacing. “What’s bad,” he said, now only inches away from her, “is that you lied to me. You lied to me and made things up. I can’t trust you.”
    Melissa forced a smile. “You can trust me, I swear. It’s only Sharon, Mark. You know Sharon.”
    “I don’t like people lying to me. Why would you do that? That’s the real issue here. Why lie about something little like that?”
    Melissa was about to answer, when she realized Mark didn’t want one. He leaned in close to her, running a hand though her hair. “Make it up to me,” he said, his voice hard and emotionless.
    “How?” her voice was weak, shaky, and she hated herself for allowing herself to seem so defenseless, so under his power. She felt like a frightened child under his cruel eyes. She wanted to push him away—to kick him, whack him, tell him to get out—when all she said was “How?”
    Mark kissed her gently on the cheek. “You know how,” he said, and pressed against her. Melissa could feel the bulge from his pants and knew what he wanted. She felt sick when she realized that this would be better than getting hit. Sex would be better than another split lip.
    She lowered herself onto her knees, and with shaking hands, began to unzip Mark’s jeans. She pulled them down to the floor, and he stepped out of them. His penis poked beneath the material of his briefs. She lowered them and began to take him into her mouth when she suddenly felt a huge blow to the back of her head.
    Numb for a moment, she felt her head explode with pain. Tiny dots of light floated in front of her eyes. She realized after a moment of feeling stunned that he had punched her. She fell backwards and raised her hand to her face. She felt for blood, but there was none.
    “You’re a bitch,” he spat at her, his voice loud. She didn’t recognize his voice; it was a deep, booming rasp.
    He reached down and pulled her onto the bed, his face contorted into a mask of rage. “I don’t like bitches who lie, bitches who don’t respect my things!”
    Melissa tried to hold back tears. “Please, Mark. Don’t hurt me.”
    It was as if he never heard her. He crawled onto the bed beside her and tugged at the damp clothes she was wearing until they came off, and then he threw them onto the floor.
    “Please, Mark. My head…you’ve hurt me.” Melissa winced as another wave of pain crashed against her skull.
    Mark, ignoring her, yanked at her bra and pulled it off, all the while laughing—the most insane, unsettling, frightening part of it all, Melissa thought—as he threw them to the side. She was completely naked, now.
    Mark, covering her mouth with his hand, thrust himself inside her, deep and hard. Melissa thought about how it smelled of vanilla soap, normally her favorite smell.
    “Mark, you’re hurting me,” she tried to say, but the words came out all wrong, muffled and lost beneath the weight of his hand.
    His body, pressing her down and pinning her against the bed, felt like a weight she could not bear. He thrust inside her, hard