Beware The Fury

by C. I. Lopez

  Violence was intended to be kept secret from Tomas’ wife. However, she would have to be both blind and deaf, not to know the atrocities happening in the basement of the house. Some nights while locked in her room, she heard the sounds of heavy trucks entering the compound and the squeal of wooden boxes dragged on the cement floor of the garage area.

  Yasmin would hear the creaking sound of nails being pried from wooden crates, followed by the drunken voices of Tomas and his men. They would be unloading what had to be weapons, judging by the sound of metal and the snapping of cartridges being loaded. In their drunken state, an occasional burst of gunfire was released, followed by laughter and talk of rival gangs. Yasmin buried her head beneath her pillow to avoid listening to their talk.

  The implications were evident that her husband and his guards intended to use those weapons on other gang members. Perhaps, they were to be sold on the black market to revolutionaries and other miscreants in the country. Ordinarily, the laughter and the banter included information on the number of people they had to kill to obtain those weapons. The capability of her husband’s proclivity to inflict pain through violence frightened Yasmin beyond her perception.

  Fear and hatred for the man grew by leaps and bounds. She listened to the details of how pain inflicted on others was treated as a victory for the perpetrators. The intensity of the brutality described in the yard below her bedroom window was of a magnitude she never knew existed. These overheard conversations were the cause of nightmares for Yasmin, waking up regularly with fear for her own life.

  One evening, Yasmin lost track of time while entertained with some glossy magazines Miss Belky had brought her.

  When Tomas flung her bedroom door open and saw she wasn’t dressed for the evening, he became furious. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

  Yasmin jumped up before she answered, moving away from her angry husband.

  Tomas moved toward her with fury in his steel-gray eyes. He grabbed her by the throat and tightened his hold until Yasmin almost fainted from lack of oxygen. Seeing that her legs buckled under her, Tomas realized he’d made his point. He threw her on the bed, reminding her of her place.

  “When I say something in this house, I expect to be obeyed, without question. Now, get dressed.”

  Coughing and inhaling large gulps of air, Yasmin waited until Tomas left the room. She knew better than to encourage his ire by arguing her rights.

  Shortly after, Yasmin emerged from her room looking stunning, wearing a black crepe dress that molded itself to her body as if she’d been born in it. On the right side of the dress was a long slit that completely exposed one shapely leg. The earrings she’d chosen were the color of emeralds, which made her eyes appear greener than the precious stones. The reason for her choice of clothing was that the dress sported a high turtle-neck collar that hid the bruise marks on her throat.

  Previously, Tomas made sure to exercise his abuse on her in places that would not show when she dressed in public, to ensure his friends’ envious looks. This latest physical abuse assured Yasmin that he was starting to lose control. Appearing as lovely as ever to their guests, Yasmin and Tomas made their usual entrance at the club.

  To disguise her hoarse voice from the earlier strangulation attempt by her husband, Yasmin pulled one of her linen handkerchiefs from her clutch. She pretended to have a cold, thus explaining her voice. She smiled demurely at the guests and acted pleasantly throughout the evening.

  The abuse became a constant with Yasmin as the victim. Miss Belky appeared at night to place her magical cures on the girl. Sometimes she would sing in a barely audible chant of prayer songs in her language that was so soothing to Yasmin.

  For several nights after the strangulation incident, Yasmin wasn’t able to accompany her husband to the nightclubs, having almost completely lost her voice. She continued her search for a possible escape. She felt discouraged at not finding any possible way out with every window encased in solid wrought iron bars disguised as attractive Spanish baroque. The cameras that followed her every move were like the devil’s eye, multiplied.

  PART TWO

  Chapter 5

  Vindictiveness and Vulgarity

  During the second year of the marriage, their many nightclub outings became ever more distasteful. It was the latter part of the second year, and the social life had become monotonous. On one night, Yasmin was particularly disenchanted with the two couples Tomas was entertaining. One of the men smoked big cigars, the scent of which clung to her clothing and nostrils. The other man cursed continuously and was unable to say a sentence without using the four-letter word she detested so much. The women, while polite enough at the beginning of the evening, drank like fishes. They were stumbling around drunk before the night ended.

  Without realizing it, Yasmin rolled her eyes several times at such objectionable manners and rude behavior. She never considered that Tomas was finding her haughty behavior more inappropriate than that of his crass friends. She should have known better. Hadn’t she already suffered Tomas’ cruelty and abuse in a hundred different ways?

  After two years of abuse, she had become despondent around Tomas, willing to do anything to avoid inviting his rage. Now, unwittingly, she had done just that. No sooner were they inside the door at home, Tomas confronted Yasmin where they stood in the spacious marble foyer.

  “Baby, do you find my friends distasteful?” Tomas stood at arm’s length and ran his hands lightly up and down Yasmin’s upper arms while he studied her with lustful intent. His steel-gray eyes were raking her from head to toe and back again, possessively assessing her as one might a piece of property. His voice sounded calm, giving no visible indication of underlying hostility, a half-grin forming from one corner of his lips.

  Yasmin should have known better than to trust his offhand manner. He had done the same thing numerous times before, inviting her negative responses, and then retaliating with a thrashing. It was a ploy to deceive, a snake curling in readiness to strike. The light touch of Tomas’ hands on her arms held no hint of confrontation, giving her the impression, she could speak freely. The man used the inconsistency of his actions as his weapon for keeping her off-guard.

  “I found your friends’ company boring and their behavior crude,” she said.

  Tomas’ brow furrowed at hearing his wife’s complaint, and his eyes darkened. Unexpectedly, he reached to touch Yasmin’s cheek, sliding his fingers down to her silky throat, where he caressed the exposed skin there.

  “Boring and crude,” he repeated, a smile on his lips, and then he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  The sound made Yasmin’s stomach lurch and turn sour. She was still not suspecting that behind his attitude lay a fit of violent anger he had nursed all evening against her. She had not yet learned that Tomas worked at keeping his emotions hidden. It was his way of exhibiting his control over others.

  “Hmm … you know, baby, you may be right,” he said, laughing. The glint in his eyes changing, turning to cold steel as his laughter turned to an acrid snort. “They may be sons of bitches for all I care, but when we invite anyone out for dinner, I expect you to act like the perfect hostess. You represent me, baby. Your opinion is of no importance on the matter.”

  “Tomas, how do you expect me to pretend to enjoy them?”

  He turned his back on her, taking a deep breath. He was seething, and the alcohol was fueling rage. “You associate with them because I damn well say so. Do you think you’re better than they are, you stupid little bitch?”

  His crude insults no longer shocked Yasmin, but his blunt sarcasm stung. Lately, his attitude toward her had worsened, and now he showed pure contempt for her most of the time. Drinking merely intensified his destructive nature. Yasmin feared being locked in her room again. The list of abuses started increasing every time Tomas found a new reason. She usually stepped lightly around him to avoid his attacks on her, but tonight she was so incensed she could not hold her tongue.

  Tomas had nev
er been what Yasmin would have called endearing. At least he treated her with a modicum of respect in the beginning. Now, his contempt replaced any feelings he once had for her. She was sure his heavy drinking was due in part to problems with his organization. Her husband found sadistic relief through taking his frustrations out on her. He was angry at the world, and he used her as his scapegoat.

  “Tomas, you know I have put up with men’s vulgar jokes and boorish behavior many times before,” she said softly. “Are the women supposed to sit there pretending to enjoy the men’s crude remarks and their intimate gropes in public without complaining? If you had any respect for me, you wouldn’t allow their vulgarity in front of me.”

  With saliva oozing from the corners of his mouth, Tomas sneered contemptuously at Yasmin’s remarks. His hand touched her throat, his fingers gliding about the porcelain skin, following the stream of little blue veins that seemed to intrigue him. His hand and fingers spread out all at once around her neck, grasping it so tightly, her face turned crimson as her breath grew ragged.

  “How did you get so goddamned stupid? If I respected you, I would not have had you in the company of those crazy bastards. However, the truth is, darling wife, the only thing I respect about you is what you have between your legs. Haven’t you learned yet what role you play in my life?” His fingers were tightening on her throat. In desperation, she attempted to loosen his strangling hold by pulling on his hands.

  “Tomas, please stop. You’re hurting my neck.” She gasped for air.

  “Shut your damned mouth. I’m tired of your constant bitching, and it’s getting worse every time we go out.” Spittle flew out of his mouth and sprayed her face.

  Uncontrolled words poured from her throat despite the fact they served as an invitation to Tomas’ abuse. “Then, don’t make me go out anymore with that bunch of low life scum you like to associate with.”

  He released her neck, drew back his hand, and slapped her across her cheek, making Yasmin reel and grab the stair post to keep from falling. Charged with adrenaline and sudden fear, she turned and started running up the stairs to get away from her husband. If she could reach the bathroom in her bedroom, she could hide behind the massive locked doors. Uppermost in her mind was the fear that one day, Tomas’ drunken rages would unglue his control so entirely that he would kill her. Tomas grabbed Yasmin by the ankle, knocking her off balance, jerking her back down the steps.

  “Bitch, don’t you dare turn your back on me when I’m talking to you. I’m not through with you.” Another spray of spittle flew from his twisted lips.

  “Tomas, please let me go upstairs,” she pleaded. Her lips were quivering as if she might be freezing. He grabbed the front of her expensive designer gown, pulling her back toward him, ripping the front of the dress, baring one of her breasts, cupping it in his hand, squeezing. “Nice,” he slurred through a sickening smile. “Daddy has something for you, baby.”

  Frightened by his sudden change in demeanor, and suspecting what he planned to do as her punishment for confronting him, Yasmin recoiled, begging him. “Please, Tomas, let’s go upstairs.”

  “What’s wrong with right here?” Tomas answered, roughly massaging her breast.

  “You know why—the security cameras. Tomas, you know the guards are watching on monitors. Please don’t do this.” Reaching up, Yasmin pushed his hand from her bosom, embarrassed at knowing the horrible scene and her exposed naked breast were on the monitors. She tried to pull the fabric over her chest, turning at the same time to go upstairs.

  “I said, don’t ever turn your fucking back on me again.” He spoke through gritted teeth and snatched her around to face him.

  Yasmin recoiled in alarm, every nerve prickling with terror. “Please, Tomas, I beg you.” Her expression softening, she brought her hand up to caress Tomas’ cheek to calm his rage, her eyes filling with tears.

  “What’s wrong, baby, I thought you enjoyed being on center stage and being a movie star,” he taunted. “A fine lady like you looks good on the monitor screen. Why don’t we give the guards your first performance?” His hand wrapped tightly on her wrist, she tried to twist free, but he squeezed tighter, his nauseous alcohol breath assaulting her nostrils.

  “Stop it, stop it,” she screamed, and with renewed strength, pushed him as hard as she could, giving her a moment to start running up the stairs again.

  Most drunk men are easy to tumble with their alcohol imbalance, but Tomas’ rage gave him strength. He grabbed her by the hair before she reached the third step, snatching her back and spinning her around to face him.

  She screamed as it felt like her scalp was being torn away, bringing instant excruciating pain. A sudden headache behind her eyes made her dizzy. A hand was drawn back and slapped her, sending Yasmin flying backward against the stair steps, the sharp edges cutting into her back. She lay there for a moment, crumpled like a rag doll, feeling as if her spine had broken, her sudden headache making it difficult for her to move.

  It gave Tomas time to grab his wife by her injured wrist to jerk her to a standing position. With a sneer, Tomas roughly found her lips, ravaging her with his teeth, tongue, and mouth until her lips were swollen and salty with the taste of blood.

  She struggled to get away from him, but her strength was no match against his one hundred and seventy pounds.

  When he tasted the blood from her teeth-torn lips, he turned to one side to spit out the blood while pulling her toward him again. He tightened his grasp on the torn fabric at the front of her dress, jerking at the seams of the beautiful silk until it tore in shreds from her body.

  Desperately attempting to cover herself with hands and arms, Yasmin stood paralyzed in fear and shame. She watched Tomas open the zipper of his pants before he pushed her hard against the edge of the steps, which were digging into her already injured back.

  Once naked, and with her dignity destroyed, Yasmin became aware that Tomas’ mental and physical abuse had reached an unparalleled level. Raping her in front of security cameras monitored by guards was the ultimate victimization—a demonstration of his complete control over her and lack of respect. In a punishing assault, the pain of the sharp edge of the steps against her slender form, and his rough treatment drew hysterical screams from her throat.

  When finished, he rose to his feet. He stared down at her as if she were a piece of the trash forgotten by the garbage truck. Tomas stood over her, reached down toward his crotch, saying, “Do let that be a lesson, darling, never to cross me again, or next time I will kill you.”

  While two guards at the monitors were likely having a field day, Yasmin’s modesty was compromised beyond repair. She grabbed her tattered clothing to cover herself. Her face straining with the pain of her injuries, she struggled to stand, every bone in her body screaming.

  Still standing above her with a frozen sneer, Tomas kicked her thigh with the point of his shoe for emphasis, making her cry out again, further humiliating the girl. Sickly, nausea churned in her stomach and burned her face. Tomas Chacon had tainted and destroyed her pride, dignity, and self- respect, violating her so ruthlessly. Yasmin’s hate of Tomas was the only strength he couldn’t take from her.

  “From now on, your only purpose in life is to make me happy,” Tomas stated arrogantly, giving her a contemptuous glare. He turned and went upstairs, leaving Yasmin stiff and bruised on the cold stairway.

  Meanwhile, the two guards hovered around the security monitors afraid to blink lest they miss even a single glimpse of the best performance ever seen on television or in the movies. They were disappointed when it was over.

  As the sixteen-year-old Yasmin struggled to cover herself with the rags of her dress, she instinctively knew her life with Tomas Chacon would be nothing but pure hell from now on.

  *

  The next morning arrived with clouds gathering outside for a possible thunderstorm, Tomas stopped in Yasmin’s room before breakfast. He found her dozing, still in bed. The weight of his body as he sat on the mattress ma
de her eyes flicker open.

  “How are you feeling, baby?” he asked with what sounded like concern, but was only due to his not being drunk yet at that time of the morning.

  Opening her eyes in unbearable pain, Yasmin moaned. “I’m not well, Tomas. I need to go to the hospital.” She knew he would not let her go as it would invite too many questions.

  Tomas ran his hand across her forehead, brushing the dark auburn hair back from her face, and noticed that Yasmin winced at his touch to her swollen scalp. “I’m sorry, baby. You’ll feel better in a couple of days.” He tossed a bottle of aspirin on her bed and told her it would ease the pain.

  “Aspirin isn’t enough, Tomas, I am hurt.”

  “I’ll check on you later,” he said, leaving the girl on the bed to watch his arrogant stroll across the room. He posed with an authoritative thrust of his chin.

  She studied his profile. Looking at him like that, she noticed his previously sleek body was beginning to show a midriff bulge. His presence sent hate through her system like a festering sore erupting pus.

  Moving her body with difficulty, she turned her back on him to hide the bitterness assailing her. Yasmin’s thoughts turned to Tomas’ guns. She had seen them many times. In his office, his study, his bedroom, and on the nightstand at the side of the bed. She wished for the courage to point one at him and pull the trigger. It would be so easy and quick, she reasoned, experiencing growing desperation to be free of the monster she married.

  Before closing the door, he turned. “I’ll be gone for two or three days. A meeting has been called in Colombia that I have to attend. But, don’t get any ideas as the guards all know what to do.”