“I…” I feel tears pricking at my eyes. “I don’t…I don’t know…”
“Awww,” he croons. “Ain’t that sweet? Don’t know what to do, huh? Well damn. I got me a real-deal virgin.” He palms his member in one hand, pinching my shoulder in his other and shoving me down to my knees. “Open your mouth, wife. I’ll show you what I like.”
* * *
18 monthslater
I’m sittingon our bed, naked, waiting.
Hands on my lap. Head bowed. Knees together.
I hear him. He’s outside, talking on the phone. Discussing a business deal—he’s taken over part of Papa’s farming business, selling beef and produce.
I’ve been here for twenty minutes, waiting. I’m to be on the bed, naked, waiting for him every night at nine. Wait until he arrives. Lay with him.
If I’m not? I found out, once. He wasn’t home, so I decided to wait until he was.
It hurt to breathe for two weeks, from his boot in my ribs—which came after he’d backhanded me to the floor.
Once he’d hit me and kicked me while I was down, he’d forced me to undress and lay for him, right there on the floor of the living room.
So now, I’m on the bed at nine, ready and waiting.
It’s better than the alternative. It never takes him long, for which I’m always thankful. He falls asleep afterward, as well, so I can shower him off me in peace.
My stomach roils.
I hear him through the open window. “Yeah, yeah, I sold all this year’s processed beef. Hell yeah, I got a good price. It’ll set us up for the next few months, so we can resupply for the next job. Has Bud heard about the contract we were supposed to be getting? Oh, right. Well, we’ll be ready…I’m gonna let you go, Jimmy. I got my wife waiting for me. Nah, not yet, but not for lack of trying. All right, Jimbo. See ya tomorrow.”
Not for lack of trying. He’s referring to my womb, which is still empty. I seem to be infertile, which is a source of intense displeasure to my husband, seeing as my entire purpose in life is to provide him with more children. Why he wants more children, I do not know. He barely pays attention to the ones has—his youngest two are ten and seven, and I’m their primary caretaker and educator.
I can’t breathe.
My stomach is in knots.
I’m cold, chattering, and shivering. My privates are still sore from laying for him yesterday—he was particularly rough in his attentions last night.
Tears prickle, and something hot and thick and hard burns in my chest. Expands. Crackles. It’s…anger, I think.
Desperation.
I can’t lay with him again.
Not again.
I just want one night. Just one.
I won’t get it.
The tears spill down my cheeks, despite my best efforts to hold them back.
The door opens.
No, no, no. I’m not ready.
“Bend over the bed, Naomi.” He slams the door behind himself, already peeling out of his clothes.
I swallow hard. “Jerry…please, can…I’m sore. I…I can’t. Not tonight.Please.”
