That feeling came upon me again-he was about to go into a fit of rage-I distanced myself from him with tiptoes backwards, towards the door. His eyes became inflamed in anger, his nose lifted up in fury & his hands balled into a fist. I knelt by the door and pleaded for mercy. Next thing I felt was blood racing away from my left cheek. I fell to the ground where he pinned me with leather shoe-covered foot while removing his belt from his slacks, readjusting his tie to fit his rage, he lifted my dress off and slammed the iron of the belt against my back…
I woke up face down on the bed, with the scent of roses and cinnamon- my favourite. I felt an icy object on my back skin & looked beside me to behold the view of aspirin with a glass half-filled with water, as always.
But this time, he hadn’t left the noise of the television wake me. He simpy slept on the couch opposite the king size bed with the Holy Bible on his chest.
I imagined my honeymoon to be different things, but this.
Not all stories need a background nor a proper ending. This way, I believe, you can insert what ever needs to be inserted to make it yours, to personalise it.
Let the readers be the writers.