She would not have been surprised to find it locked, but the door opened. Laura looked first in the kitchen. The coffee was made, pot full, with two clean mugs on a tray. Dan wasn’t in the kitchen. Dan and Artsy? Dan and I? She poured the two mugs full. She heard the shower running as she entered their bedroom. She looked for a sign of Artsy and didn’t, oh there it is, her purse on the chair and her shoes underneath. Laura set the tray down and returned to the kitchen to begin fixing brunch. They ate brunch on the patio. Artsy did not stay long; she ate some fruit and a roll, she had one more cup of coffee, kissed each goodbye, and then left. Dan walked her to the door with his arm around her waist. “Baby, I am really glad Artsy has been with you while I have been gone. I don’t resent her at all. If she ever seems to think so, tell her it is okay.” Husband and wife talked through another cup of coffee. They tried hard to avoid confrontation by sticking to easy subjects. Laura asked. In fact, she was fucking certain, as one soldier's buttocks descended onto the buttocks of the soldier fucking Sweetness, pushing his prick in with far less resistance than he'd have found in Sharon's cunt and pushed backwards and forwards in a manic fashion gasping orgasmically in the same rhythm as Sweetness' cries of pain.And then, she didn't recall how, they were dragged along, their knees bleeding from when they staggered and fell, just as did their orifices from their punishment, away from the smoking ruins of the bombed factory for how long Sharon didn't know. But each step was an agony. Each stumble, and its attendant kicks and blows from the soldiers, another even greater agony. She could barely see where they were: the tears in her eyes clouded everything despite the bright sun. She repeated Tracey's name again and again without knowing why, punctuated by every fucking shitting bastard swear word in her vocabulary. Loud enough she was sure to be heard by anyone with an ear.
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