.." I couldn't think of anything bad enough to call him. "Asshole?" Mr. Preston said, the shadow of a smile showing. "Yes, that." He leaned closer to ...e; I could smell his cologne. "I want to hear you say 'asshole'," he said, giving me a look that could only be described as tempting. I hesitated and bit my lip. "Jimmy's an asshole." "I don't know why it sounds so much dirtier coming out of your mouth," he teased. For the first time, I recognized a tingle that must have been sexual. I responded. I was miserable, my husband saw to that. He cut me off completely from my family and friends. He dictated who I saw and when I saw them. There were few places I was allowed to go, and fewer alone. I was told how to clean the house, cook our food, and it had to be perfect. He controlled every aspect of my life down to when I went to the bathroom and whether or not he was there to supervise. Soft whispered declarations of love turned to insults about what I looked like, how I behaved, what I wore. More

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