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“You don’t want this?”
“No. If you’re so in love with me---”
Smack. This time the belt bit across my ass and I bit down on my lip hard and tried to pull away. He did it again. This wasn’t a sexy game, this fucking hurt. And he had to know the difference. Tears stung in my eyes.
“You don’t set the rules around what I will and will not do if I love you, do you hear me? If I’m in love with you? Unfuckingbelievable…”
He took me by the arms and pushed me off his lap but onto the bed on my tummy and then I heard him undo his pants. Before I could move, he pushed into me in a quick thrust but I was not wet, I was not aroused. It fucking hurt. He had my hair, “Not wet for me? Oh baby, this is a problem. Don’t you remember that I ordered you to get wet for me whenever I spanked you?” his hot breath was against my ear and under any other circumstance I probably would’ve thought it was sexy, it probably would’ve created some moisture down there. Not now, “Another reason to punish you.”
“Tommy,” I whimpered.
“What?” he spat.
“Stop.” I pleaded.
“How else will I teach you that running from me is absolutely never okay? Don’t tell me to stop. I fuck you how and when I want to fuck you.” His hand covered my mouth.
He pulled out and tried to go in again, slower, but I just winced, still bone dry. Then he pulled out and flipped me over onto my back and ripped my blouse open and then pinned my arms with one hand and covered my mouth with the other.
“I don’t want to hear another fucking word out of your mouth,” he spat.
I was shaking and it felt like we were back where we started. Me afraid, him being horrible but worse because I knew he didn’t have to be like this but he was choosing to be. I hated this. This wasn’t a game; this was something else, something hideous. This was so hideous it was going to take me back to when I first met him and would erase the moments we’d had together that had made me go from feeling like my life was over to feeling like I could fall for him, fall hard.
In Mexico when he held me and washed me clean.
In the hayloft when we danced and he told me he was in love with me and played the song I’d dreamt of dancing with my future husband to.
In the hospital when he was so worried about me and showed me that he would look after me, when he slept all awkwardly in the chair holding my hand all night long.
On the floor in the bedroom the morning when we were shot at, when he’d been a human shield to keep bullets from hitting me.
Something inside of me was shriveling up and it, whatever it was, was dying. He let go of my wrists and my mouth and then let out a big exasperated-sounding sigh. Then he leaned over me, “Stop it,” he said, looking me in the eye. His eyes were so cold. I was sobbing so hard I was starting to hyperventilate.
“Stop…” he repeated, angrily.
I couldn’t stop. I’d probably need to breathe into a paper bag before I could stop.
“Shut up!” his hand came down over my throat and he squeezed. I think I stopped breathing out of shock as much as him cutting my airflow off. Tears froze in their tracks on my face and my mouth and eyes were wide as I gasped and then he loosened his grip.
He stared at me. He stared at me with such an angry hateful look. He still had my throat but he’d loosened his grip. I swallowed and felt the lump in my throat touch his palm.
He got up and opened the door. I stayed where I was. I was just lying there with my shorts down around my knees, my ripped blouse, and my tear-stained face.
He was back with a glass of whiskey. He stood there, his pants undone. He drank from it and then threw his t-shirt over his head and then dropped his pants.
I closed my eyes and held my breath. He took my shorts and underwear the rest of the way off me. I just laid there.
“Sit up,” he said.
I sat up. He pulled my ripped blouse off and undid my bra and then took that off. He did these things almost clinically.
“Up,” he muttered and I stood up. He pulled the blanket back, “In.” he said.
I lay down and he got in beside me then climbed on top of me.
“Open your legs,” he said.
I shook my head, “Please, Tommy.” Enough. Please enough.
