My wrists were forced up until I thought my shoulders would separate. They beat me again and again with the crop and cane and even with an old belt I...had. They left me in that position for days—maybe even weeks—I don’t really know. That’s how it happened for months and months—the same thing over and over—beatings, feeding me piss and shit and antibiotics, diarrhea and vomiting, but mostly pain. I was beaten every night when they returned from work. I dreaded the weekends when it would last. As she watched Fran approach her bed, Joanne once again realized how strikingly beautiful her friend was. Fran’s hair, earlier styled perfectly, was mussed, meaning, Joanne thought, that Fran must have been tossing and turning and unable to sleep, too. ‘I wonder if telling me that story about her night with Greg caused her the same problems it caused me?’ Joanne mused. ‘It would serve her right if it did.’ ‘Are you OK, Joanne?’ Fran asked softly. ‘You look, I don’t know, upset.’ ‘I…I guess so,’. More

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