I knew her frustration but couldn’t do anything about it.Monday morning I was up and down to the laundry room by 8:00 AM to beat the crowd. I heard a couple machines humming away as I rounded the corner and as I stepped into the brightly lit room Ashly was near the door and flashed me a big smile. “I beat you down here,” she said and turned towards her machines and started throwing clothes in the washer.I walked down the row of machines and heard her say, “hey Larry, these machines are open, come join me and we can chat while our clothes wash.”This was why I hated coming when others were here. It was not that I didn’t like to chat, I just liked my privacy while doing laundry. So not to be rude I set my basket on the top of the washer next to hers and turned towards the soap machines to get a box of soap.When I got back to the machine I noticed that the t-shirt I had on the top of my clothes was laying half out of the basket. Ashley looked me in the eyes and said, “I see you have some. She watched as he unbuckled his belt, withdrew it from the loops of his jeans. “Hands in front.” She held her wrists together and he bound her tightly with the leather. “It's better with the belt.” “Yes,” she said. He led Melanie with the belt, pulling her from the sidelines toward a squat athletic office near the bleachers. It looked like a bunker; built of unpainted cinder block with it's two, single-paned windows and a door frame you had to dodge on your way though. Inside, the florescent tubes cast harsh light on the narrow desk. There were lockers, a shower stall, shelves with towels and a floor to ceiling cage with balls, flags, buckets; all manner of sports gear locked inside. “Here,” he said, leading her to the end of the desk, turning her toward it. She wanted to cry when she felt his hands on her waist, to struggle. But in the end, it proved to be too much trouble. The effort would be unbearable. And besides, this wasn't his fault. The whole thing could have been so.
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