Beauty in the Broken

I consider the question. No, without a doubt. I would’ve been gentle and kind. “This is who I am now.”

She bows her head.

I wait for her to say more, but she’s quiet for so long I lift her face with a finger under her chin. Tears stream in rivulets over her cheeks. They’re not tears caused by choking, but by emotional distress. She tries to turn away, but when I won’t let her hide this sorrow from me, she lowers her lashes in a feeble attempt of keeping her pain private.

Hooking my arms under her armpits, I hoist her to her feet and pull her into my lap. She doesn’t fight me when I push her face against my chest. She lets me hold her through her silent tears, asking nothing but not denying the little I’m offering, either. It’s only when she starts to shiver that I lie her down. Before covering her with a blanket, I tend to her knees. The scabs from the fall have reopened from the rough carpet. They require fresh plasters.

Downstairs, I prepare a warm drink with two teaspoons of honey for the ache in her throat. I make her drink everything, and when I undress and pull her against my body, my woman falls quickly into a restless sleep. I’m too high on the adrenaline of the fight and the knowledge that she opened her body to my tongue to succumb so easily to dreams. Instead, I enjoy the sound of her breathing, feeling her heart beat under my palm where I cup her breast. She stirs and makes a distressed sound.

“No, please,” she whimpers, tossing her head on the pillow.

I shake her gently. “Lina, wake up.”

“No, no.”

“Lina.”

She jackknifes into a sitting position, gulping in a wheezy breath. For a moment, she seems disorientated, looking around her with a panicked expression.

“It’s all right, angel.” I pull her back down to me. “I’m here.” She shivers. “Shh.” I kiss her temple.

Her body relaxes marginally.

“It was a dream.” Or more likely a nightmare.

She doesn’t reply.

“What did you dream about?”

“I don’t remember,” she says too quickly.

I doubt that very much. She’s hiding something. I want to force it from her with every cell in my body, just like I want to force the issue of how she got her bruises, but for once I tamp my selfish need down to put her distress first. In time, I’ll know everything there is to know about her. In time, even her nightmares will be mine. Rolling over her, I take her mouth before moving down her body to make her forget. In time, she’ll see I’m both her torture and remedy.

Lina

It’s like I’ve been tossed in a tumble dryer all night. I wake with pain in my throat and a bruised body. My hip and nose throb. After waking up twice more during the night with Damian’s tongue in my pussy and his stubble between my legs, my labia feel as if they’ve been scraped with sandpaper. As usual, Damian’s side of the bed is empty. I squint at the alarm clock. It’s after eight.

Grunting, I roll from the bed and limp to the bathroom to have a quick shower. I’m meeting with a landscaper at nine. It was the bat box installer’s idea, information I haven’t shared with Damian yet.

Standing naked in front of the mirror after my shower, I study my body. My years in isolation with too little nourishment and no exercise weakened me. I tired too quickly during yesterday’s swim. I want my strength back. I need my strength not only to escape, but also to survive. I’ve seen Zane jogging on the property, but I have no desire to run into him on an isolated path at the back of the house where Russell may not jog along in his black suit. If I’m going to get fit and strong, I’ll need money.

After pulling on a red sundress and sandals, I go downstairs in search of Damian. He’s not in the kitchen, but Anne is.

One look at my face, and she grins. “Damian is that rough, huh?”

Taken aback at her unwelcome insight, I blurt out, “Why would you say that?”

“Tell-tale signs, honey. Swollen lips, scraped chin, blood-shot eyes. Did he strangle you? Yep, I guess he’s that rough.”

“That is none of your business,” I say, keeping my tone friendly.

She pours coffee from the percolator. “Come on. Not even you can be that naïve. Surely, you knew how it was going to be in the bedroom before you married him?”

Did I? I wish I could say I was unprepared for last night, but she’s right. I knew how it was going to be the day his breath feathered warm and frightening down my neck, the day he announced my fate in Harold’s library. What I couldn’t know was how I’d react to his perverse advances or how wet I’d get when he all but chokes me with his cock. Heat pushes up my neck and into my face at the memory.