Expectations

"A life, a life. Just a simple life." She paused, pain demanding all strength as payment for a breath. "How arrogant and naive. And Edwardo, what a ... fucking fool for believing in you."
She cleared blood from her mouth and explored with trembling hands the tears in her torso. It was too much of a struggle to sit upright, the body broken and raw, fumbling over herself required time.
"Edwardo said the farm might allow me to find hidden patience. A quiet life, that's all we wanted." Sobbing, she extends her fingers. The nerves of which are still so raw the warmth of blood isn't detected. "The truth, Hand, is that I've never had patience, not even for my own flesh."
Exploring the unnatural openings, ugly geography that was now her body, she shuttered. Wasn't she entitled to a safe home? To a sense of stability, peace? What of children and a protective husband? This last thought, turning to Edwardo, focused her anger. In response, her body tightened, the muscles taking the universal form for displeasure; raised, hard units of pure tension. Blood squeezed past foreign objects and, like water from springs in the ugly geography, emptied in red ponds.
"I didn't do anything! I don't deserve this!" She shouted with abandon, foregoing safety.

The woman heard voices, and then a sound like movement. Her disloyal lungs began to work faster, sending pulses of pain with every expansion. She licked her lips and swallowed as something akin to hope arose to sit next to disappointment and regret in her heart.