Blood Orange
Part One
Kate sliced the orange in half and watched the crimson juice flow off the cutting board.
"That could be my blood," she murmured.
"What was that?" Jenny spoke sharply, "what was that you said, Kate?"
Kate shook her head. Reaching for a kitchen towel to wipe the stickiness off her hands, she answered quickly, "Nothing. I'm Just worried… you know Jen, it's Friday … Russell gets paid… he'll drink this afternoon… you know…".
Kate started to cry. "I'm so worried, Jen," she whispered.
“Don’t cry Kate. But you've got to do something; this can't go on. You can't continue getting bashed up every time he gets into a drunken rage. Think about it Kate. And look at your eye! God, you're poor eye! The bruises haven't gone from the last time!"
"More coffee?" Kate asked her friend.
"Kate! Yes okay, more coffee… but listen to me. He'll kill you one of these days! You've got to leave him… soon!"
"But he’s a good man in some ways. You know… sometimes we’re happy," agonised Kate. "And I'm doing sorbet for him. He loves it. I'm trying a new one… with these new blood oranges I found. He might be alright tonight."
"Yeah, maybe, maybe not… But he's an alcoholic, Kate. It's the alcohol. You can't trust him; he could hurt you again, and he will! You've got to leave him!"
Kate admired the tall blond personal trainer; 'A goddess! Physically fit, and beautiful,' she once told her friend.
Jenny had brushed her off, "What... with my unfeminine muscley arms?"
"Anyway, he promised me everything would be all right," Kate finished lamely, trying to reassure her friend.
Jenny paused at the door before leaving, "Now remember Kate, call me any time, straightaway if he threatens you. Don't wait till he hits you! Oh, and by the way, keep your doors locked. That serial rapist is not far from here and the mongrel’s bashed and killed two women already!"
"Probably be a happy release," Katie mumbled morosely, out of earshot of her friend.
In the quiet of the house she whispered, "Jenny's right. I won't take another beating!"
Jenny frowned as she walked home. She knew Kate well; they'd been together to the social worker. And after the last crisis with Kate and Russell, she'd related her fears to her husband, Mal, "Kate knows the pitfalls of staying with a violent alcoholic husband."
Deep in thought, Jenny chewed her fingernails as she walked.
When she reached home, she laid her head on her husband shoulder, "She seems different today, Mal. You should have seen her. She's tired and drawn…I think she's near breaking point."
Kate was distracted, walking into the bedroom and out again for no reason. On her fingers she counted the positives, mumbling out loud, "I've got everything ready. Steak with mushroom… his favourite… and the sorbet… he should like that, and I've fixed his shirt pocket..."
She clock-watched the day through, until four o'clock when ticking time picked up to the speed of a bullet train. When 5.30 came and there was no sign of Russell, Kate bit her lip and glanced at the oven.
At six o'clock she heard the front door close loudly, and tensed, "Hello darling," she greeted him, giving him a peck on the cheek, "dinner’s ready whenever you are." His whiskey-breath was ominous.
Ignoring her, he dropped without grace into his favourite lounge chair, and scanned the TV programme.
Pretty but petite, dark haired Kate looked insignificant in her husband's presence. She tried again, "I've got a new sorbet for you -- blood orange -- should be nice."
He grunted.
Kate retreated to the kitchen, where she leaned against the refrigerator, holding her folded arms tight against her stomach.
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