by Martin Webb

Created on: December 28, 2008

For the Sake of Love

Molly held her left arm against her body with the right. Every step jarred her dislocated elbow. A pain spiked through it as each foot touched the sidewalk, and the cast didn't help stop the pain. The cut on her lip had almost healed, but when she licked her lip she tasted the salty tang of blood. Her tears began to sting; she could feel her face turning red. Harry had hit her before and worse than this but the feeling of guilt still hung over her. She tried to hide her tears from others on the street, and walked toward Eastside Lanes with her head down.

Nobody understood the guilt. It was easy to tell someone not to blame themselves, when you don't live every day with it. She was the typical battered wife. She loved Harry, and always seemed to find an excuse for his actions. She gave the typical response when she was asked why she puts up with it.

"He's under a lot of stress", or "He's not like this all the time", "He just needs time to", "If I hadn't", and so on.

As the bowling ally came into view, she began to get paranoid. She wondered what would happen if Harry came home early, and found her gone. Would he come looking for her? It had only been three days since her fall down the stairs at least, that's what she told the nurse in the emergency room but it was a chance she had to take.

As she was cleaning out a closet she had found a small heart shaped tin. The key had been the only thing inside, other than a folded piece of paper reading: Good luck. There was no reason to keep the key, but something about it. Whenever she stopped to take a break for a moment, she would surreptitiously put a hand in her pocket to caress the tiny points of the key's short shaft she didn't know why.

It was a secret. She didn't tell Harry, of course. And it wasn't anything bad she didn't think. It was only a key; a small, shiny silver key, with a red round top. This red circle had an odd logo printed in the plastic. It read "Eastside Lanes", and featured crossed bowling pins like a funny family crest. She carried this with her for a week; putting it in her panties, her bra, anywhere Harry couldn't notice quickly.

He would want to know why she was hiding it. It was hers. She liked keeping this to herself. It made her feel stronger in a way. His bawling voice and his demands both domestic and otherwise were easier to bear. But it also made her little over confident. The boldness she had shone, raising her voice to match his during one of his endless bitch sessions,

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