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Week 9: Infrastructure
Sep. 2nd, 2025 01:37 pmThump—scrape—thump—scrape—
Each brick landed in place with a muted thump and soft squelch as it settled into the mortar, the scrape of the trowel marking out a steady rhythm like a craftsman’s metronome. Emily wiped away the sweat that beaded on her brow. Her muscles burned and her body ached, but she pushed herself forward, so close to having her dream home. And her project wasn’t going to finish itself.
She stepped back and admired her work. The plastic bottle crinkled as she opened it and took a long swallow, letting the cool water soothe her burning, dry throat. Emily nodded to herself as she surveyed the distressed wooden framework and weathered bricks filling in the space she’d built herself, a flush of pride washing through her.
It looked classic and antique but had a decidedly modern twist. Emily had put her own flair on it. This was her haven and every brick she laid in felt like another piece of freedom falling into place. She smiled.
* * * * *
“What do you think, babe?”
Emily stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around her middle and surveyed the house around her. Despite it being nearly ninety outside, she pulled the collar of her shirt up and her sleeves down, wincing as she accidentally bumped her wrist, sending bright bursts of pain traveling across her body.
Emily swallowed hard as she tried to find the right words. Beads of sweat rolled down her back, making her shirt stick to her body uncomfortably.
“It… it looks like it needs some work,” she said.
“It does,” he replied. “But it’s got good bones. Right?”
“Right,” she said, her voice softer than a whisper.
Al walked over and knocked on the wall and nodded, seeming to be pleased. Acting like he knew what the fuck he was doing.
“The structure is sound,” he declares. “I think this is going to be great. This will be our dream home, won’t it, Em?”
He didn’t notice her flinch as he stepped over and wrapped his arms around her and she did her best to melt into his embrace. He put his fingers beneath her chin and raised her head. Emily offered him a smile that felt as wooden as her embrace. If he noticed how stiff she was though, he said nothing. He never did. He either never noticed or didn’t care. It didn’t matter to her.
It stopped mattering to her a long time ago.
* * * * *
Thump—scrape—thump—scrape—
The brick thumped into place followed by the sharp scrape of the trowel edging away the concrete, leaving a smooth, clean line. The rhythm of the work was soothing. Thump-scrape-thump-scrape… it was like a metronome. Steadying. Constant. Grounding.
Emily closed her eyes and lost herself in the movement, her strokes sure and confident—two things she hadn’t felt in a very long time. And for the first time in she didn’t know how long, she felt like she was coming back to herself. As if she’d been lost as sea for an age and had finally caught sight of the shore again.
Thump—scrape—thump—scrape—
* * * * *
“Can’t you do a single fucking thing right? Jesus, Em,” he roared.
“I give you one thing to do, one small, mindless thing to do, and you fuck that up too? You’re fucking useless.”
Every word was like a nail being driven into her soul. She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough that her mouth flooded with the coppery taste of her blood, willing herself to keep her tears from falling. He hated that. And all she wanted was to please Al. To make him happy. To be the perfect wife. The perfect partner. To be all the things he wanted.
And she couldn’t even do that right.
He crosse the room in a flash and she fought herself to stay still, to not move. But as he loomed over her, Emily’s body betrayed her, and she recoiled. He leaned down the tip of his nose hovering mere inches from her face, his dark eyes boring into hers, the sickly sweet stench of Jack Daniels washing over her face.
Emily felt her heart race. Felt her stomach roil with a sick, greasy feeling. She fought the wave of nausea that bubbled up inside of her and slicked the back of her throat with hot, acidic bile. She had to fight to maintain eye contact.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.
“No,” she whispered.
“Have I ever given you reason to be afraid of me, Em?”
“No.”
“Then stop acting like a fucking child.”
“I’m sorry.”
He grunted in disgust. “Get back to work. This house isn’t going to fix itself,” he growled. “And try to do it right this time or I’ll give you a fucking reason to be afraid of me.”
* * * * *
Thump—scrape—thump—scrape—
Only a handful of bricks left, and her project would be done. The thought of completing it and putting her own stamp on her dream home filled her with delight. With joy. And with a sense of satisfaction she never knew existed. A sense of contentment she never thought she could feel. Just a few more bricks and her home would be complete.
“My home,” she whispered to herself.
* * * * *
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
His words were more slurred than usual and when he staggered to his feet from the chair he’d been parked in so long she wondered—hoped—if he’d died, it was with a chorus of crashing and clinking bottles hitting the hardwood floor all around him.
Emily froze, her fist curling tighter around the handle of her bag. Her stomach churned in a maelstrom of nausea and fear and her legs shook so hard, she feared they’d give out beneath her. She turned to see his hulking form silhouetted in the doorway. He stepped forward on unsteady legs, a look of pure malevolence on his face.
“I asked you a question, bitch,” he snarled.
She tried to swallow down the lump of fear lodged in her throat. “I—I can’t do this anymore,” she said, her voice quaking as hard as her body. “Neither of us are happy. Let’s just go our separate ways and find—”
He closed the distance so quickly she didn’t have time to react, and she heard the sharp crack of flesh meeting flesh before she registered the sharp sting of pain. Her head snapped to the side, and she stumbled then fell, her bag skittering across the floor.
He stepped forward again, looming over her. Al’s eyes glowed with rage, and his lips were curled back in a silent sneer. Emily felt her bladder let go, her shame mixing with her terror. He delivered several more close-fisted punches to her face and head, each one that landed driving her further and further into the darkness.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled. “You understand? You’re never leaving me, Em. You belong to me. And you’re not going anywhere.”
She lowered eyes she could already feel swelling, her tears mixing with the blood that trickled from her nose, splashing pink on the hardwood floor beneath her.
* * * * *
Thump—scrape—thump—scrape—
Emily paused and put her fingertips gently to her eyes, feeling the echo of the pain that had gripped her all those weeks ago. The bruises had faded—outwardly.
Thump—scrape—thump—scrape—
After that night, she’d thrown herself into being better—a better wife, a better partner, a better everything. She dedicated herself to being everything Al could ever want. She degraded and debased herself, letting him act out his most sadistic fantasies with her. She wanted to be all things he could ever want.
And Al responded. He seemed to appreciate that she acknowledged her failures and shortcomings and was doing her best to correct herself. He had never been happier in all the time they’d been married. And he did not lay hands on her after the night she’d tried to leave.
Thump—scrape—thump—scrape—
His eyes fluttered open and Emily stepped forward, meeting his gaze. The corners of her mouth curled upward in a malevolent smile. He groaned.
“Hello, Al,” she said. “Have a nice nap?”
He growled as he came awake and struggled with his bonds. His face flushed red and his eyes grew so wide, she thought they might actually pop out of their sockets.
“Bitch!” he roared. “What the fuck did you do to me?”
She said nothing. Instead, she let him look around for a moment. Let the reality of his situation sink in. Emily laughed.
“I built the framework myself,” she said. “What do you think?”
“Bitch.”
“You said that already.”
Trapped inside the wood and brick recess she’d built, there was barely enough room for him to move. Not that it would have mattered. He wasn’t going anywhere. She held up the small brown bottle for him to see.
His face blanched. “What the fuck did you do to me?”
“Trazedone,” she said. “Once I had this framework built and got everything ready, I gave you a hefty dose of it. You slept like a baby. I got you into the recess and have been bricking it up for the last few hours.”
“Let me the fuck out of here, bitch or I swear to God—”
“Or you’ll do what, Al?” she said with a laugh. “Your feet are encased in concrete, steel chains are binding your arms to your torso, and you’re in a framework I built specifically so you couldn’t move once you were inside. What are you going to do?”
He spat and cursed at her, threatening Emily with retribution on a biblical scale. She let him go on until he ran out of steam then laughed.
“You can’t hurt me anymore, Al.”
Thump—scrape—thump—scrape—
Emily dropped the empty bottle of trazadone into the hollow with him then got back to work, his screams echoing around the house, which made her laugh more.
Thump—scrape—thump—scrape—
When she’d fitted the last brick into place, his screaming was muffled but still audible. She stepped back then dropped onto the sofa, staring at the wood and brick space she’d created. It was a decorative wall with a classic feel. She would eventually decorate it, but for now, she enjoyed the plain, unfinished look to it.
Emily leaned back on the couch, admiring her handiwork. The home she and her soon-to-be ex-husband had built had been transformed from a chamber of horrors and degradation into her dream home after all.
Thump—scrape—thump—scrape—
It was the sound of freedom.
“You were right, Al,” she said. “This place has great bones.”
Each brick landed in place with a muted thump and soft squelch as it settled into the mortar, the scrape of the trowel marking out a steady rhythm like a craftsman’s metronome. Emily wiped away the sweat that beaded on her brow. Her muscles burned and her body ached, but she pushed herself forward, so close to having her dream home. And her project wasn’t going to finish itself.
She stepped back and admired her work. The plastic bottle crinkled as she opened it and took a long swallow, letting the cool water soothe her burning, dry throat. Emily nodded to herself as she surveyed the distressed wooden framework and weathered bricks filling in the space she’d built herself, a flush of pride washing through her.
It looked classic and antique but had a decidedly modern twist. Emily had put her own flair on it. This was her haven and every brick she laid in felt like another piece of freedom falling into place. She smiled.
“What do you think, babe?”
Emily stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around her middle and surveyed the house around her. Despite it being nearly ninety outside, she pulled the collar of her shirt up and her sleeves down, wincing as she accidentally bumped her wrist, sending bright bursts of pain traveling across her body.
Emily swallowed hard as she tried to find the right words. Beads of sweat rolled down her back, making her shirt stick to her body uncomfortably.
“It… it looks like it needs some work,” she said.
“It does,” he replied. “But it’s got good bones. Right?”
“Right,” she said, her voice softer than a whisper.
Al walked over and knocked on the wall and nodded, seeming to be pleased. Acting like he knew what the fuck he was doing.
“The structure is sound,” he declares. “I think this is going to be great. This will be our dream home, won’t it, Em?”
He didn’t notice her flinch as he stepped over and wrapped his arms around her and she did her best to melt into his embrace. He put his fingers beneath her chin and raised her head. Emily offered him a smile that felt as wooden as her embrace. If he noticed how stiff she was though, he said nothing. He never did. He either never noticed or didn’t care. It didn’t matter to her.
It stopped mattering to her a long time ago.
Thump—scrape—thump—scrape—
The brick thumped into place followed by the sharp scrape of the trowel edging away the concrete, leaving a smooth, clean line. The rhythm of the work was soothing. Thump-scrape-thump-scrape… it was like a metronome. Steadying. Constant. Grounding.
Emily closed her eyes and lost herself in the movement, her strokes sure and confident—two things she hadn’t felt in a very long time. And for the first time in she didn’t know how long, she felt like she was coming back to herself. As if she’d been lost as sea for an age and had finally caught sight of the shore again.
Thump—scrape—thump—scrape—
“Can’t you do a single fucking thing right? Jesus, Em,” he roared.
“I give you one thing to do, one small, mindless thing to do, and you fuck that up too? You’re fucking useless.”
Every word was like a nail being driven into her soul. She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough that her mouth flooded with the coppery taste of her blood, willing herself to keep her tears from falling. He hated that. And all she wanted was to please Al. To make him happy. To be the perfect wife. The perfect partner. To be all the things he wanted.
And she couldn’t even do that right.
He crosse the room in a flash and she fought herself to stay still, to not move. But as he loomed over her, Emily’s body betrayed her, and she recoiled. He leaned down the tip of his nose hovering mere inches from her face, his dark eyes boring into hers, the sickly sweet stench of Jack Daniels washing over her face.
Emily felt her heart race. Felt her stomach roil with a sick, greasy feeling. She fought the wave of nausea that bubbled up inside of her and slicked the back of her throat with hot, acidic bile. She had to fight to maintain eye contact.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.
“No,” she whispered.
“Have I ever given you reason to be afraid of me, Em?”
“No.”
“Then stop acting like a fucking child.”
“I’m sorry.”
He grunted in disgust. “Get back to work. This house isn’t going to fix itself,” he growled. “And try to do it right this time or I’ll give you a fucking reason to be afraid of me.”
Thump—scrape—thump—scrape—
Only a handful of bricks left, and her project would be done. The thought of completing it and putting her own stamp on her dream home filled her with delight. With joy. And with a sense of satisfaction she never knew existed. A sense of contentment she never thought she could feel. Just a few more bricks and her home would be complete.
“My home,” she whispered to herself.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
His words were more slurred than usual and when he staggered to his feet from the chair he’d been parked in so long she wondered—hoped—if he’d died, it was with a chorus of crashing and clinking bottles hitting the hardwood floor all around him.
Emily froze, her fist curling tighter around the handle of her bag. Her stomach churned in a maelstrom of nausea and fear and her legs shook so hard, she feared they’d give out beneath her. She turned to see his hulking form silhouetted in the doorway. He stepped forward on unsteady legs, a look of pure malevolence on his face.
“I asked you a question, bitch,” he snarled.
She tried to swallow down the lump of fear lodged in her throat. “I—I can’t do this anymore,” she said, her voice quaking as hard as her body. “Neither of us are happy. Let’s just go our separate ways and find—”
He closed the distance so quickly she didn’t have time to react, and she heard the sharp crack of flesh meeting flesh before she registered the sharp sting of pain. Her head snapped to the side, and she stumbled then fell, her bag skittering across the floor.
He stepped forward again, looming over her. Al’s eyes glowed with rage, and his lips were curled back in a silent sneer. Emily felt her bladder let go, her shame mixing with her terror. He delivered several more close-fisted punches to her face and head, each one that landed driving her further and further into the darkness.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled. “You understand? You’re never leaving me, Em. You belong to me. And you’re not going anywhere.”
She lowered eyes she could already feel swelling, her tears mixing with the blood that trickled from her nose, splashing pink on the hardwood floor beneath her.
Thump—scrape—thump—scrape—
Emily paused and put her fingertips gently to her eyes, feeling the echo of the pain that had gripped her all those weeks ago. The bruises had faded—outwardly.
Thump—scrape—thump—scrape—
After that night, she’d thrown herself into being better—a better wife, a better partner, a better everything. She dedicated herself to being everything Al could ever want. She degraded and debased herself, letting him act out his most sadistic fantasies with her. She wanted to be all things he could ever want.
And Al responded. He seemed to appreciate that she acknowledged her failures and shortcomings and was doing her best to correct herself. He had never been happier in all the time they’d been married. And he did not lay hands on her after the night she’d tried to leave.
Thump—scrape—thump—scrape—
His eyes fluttered open and Emily stepped forward, meeting his gaze. The corners of her mouth curled upward in a malevolent smile. He groaned.
“Hello, Al,” she said. “Have a nice nap?”
He growled as he came awake and struggled with his bonds. His face flushed red and his eyes grew so wide, she thought they might actually pop out of their sockets.
“Bitch!” he roared. “What the fuck did you do to me?”
She said nothing. Instead, she let him look around for a moment. Let the reality of his situation sink in. Emily laughed.
“I built the framework myself,” she said. “What do you think?”
“Bitch.”
“You said that already.”
Trapped inside the wood and brick recess she’d built, there was barely enough room for him to move. Not that it would have mattered. He wasn’t going anywhere. She held up the small brown bottle for him to see.
His face blanched. “What the fuck did you do to me?”
“Trazedone,” she said. “Once I had this framework built and got everything ready, I gave you a hefty dose of it. You slept like a baby. I got you into the recess and have been bricking it up for the last few hours.”
“Let me the fuck out of here, bitch or I swear to God—”
“Or you’ll do what, Al?” she said with a laugh. “Your feet are encased in concrete, steel chains are binding your arms to your torso, and you’re in a framework I built specifically so you couldn’t move once you were inside. What are you going to do?”
He spat and cursed at her, threatening Emily with retribution on a biblical scale. She let him go on until he ran out of steam then laughed.
“You can’t hurt me anymore, Al.”
Thump—scrape—thump—scrape—
Emily dropped the empty bottle of trazadone into the hollow with him then got back to work, his screams echoing around the house, which made her laugh more.
Thump—scrape—thump—scrape—
When she’d fitted the last brick into place, his screaming was muffled but still audible. She stepped back then dropped onto the sofa, staring at the wood and brick space she’d created. It was a decorative wall with a classic feel. She would eventually decorate it, but for now, she enjoyed the plain, unfinished look to it.
Emily leaned back on the couch, admiring her handiwork. The home she and her soon-to-be ex-husband had built had been transformed from a chamber of horrors and degradation into her dream home after all.
Thump—scrape—thump—scrape—
It was the sound of freedom.
“You were right, Al,” she said. “This place has great bones.”
