by Jade Eby
I let the steam from the coffee roll up to my face. I could divorce Tawny, but that makes me seem weak. And the thought of her in some other man's arms—it's enough to make me want to murder someone. I wish I could love her again. Like before.
I return to her hospital room, where the doctor stands at her bedside. He looks to me.
"Ah, Mr. Brooks. I was just telling Tawny that I've scheduled a follow-up appointment in a couple weeks to talk about your next steps. You two are young, healthy adults, and I believe the likelihood of carrying a child to term is very possible. We can try another round of fertility treatments, if you're up for it, Tawny." He pats me on the back on the way out. The nurse walks in and unplugs the cords, freeing Tawny from the confines of her bed. If only I could do the same—free her from me.
Tawny changes into the clothes she came in with. She hasn't said a word to me, and I ask her if she's okay, but she doesn't answer me.
I grab her arm. "I asked you a question."
She wrestles free. "I don't want to talk to you right now."
"That's too damn bad. I'm your husband. You'll answer me when I talk to you."
She folds her arms across her chest, her chin bobbing like she's going to burst into sobs again. "I'm really sore and I don't feel good. Please, just let this go."
Her pleading whine hits a nerve. It's the voice a child uses to get their way when they have weak parents. Just looking at her blotchy, swollen face annoys me, and I’d slap the pathetic right off her if there weren't a stream of people outside the door.
"Fine," I say instead.
We walk to the car in silence but once we're on the road, I let my tongue go. "Why in the hell was that doctor talking about a follow-up appointment for? I thought you weren't trying again."
Tawny's head rests against the window. "He wants to run some tests."
"What kind of tests?"
"He's concerned there might be a difficulty in implantation or fertilization." Her voice remains even.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"Jesus, Carter. It means there's something wrong with one of us, okay?"
I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. "There's nothing wrong with me." Tawny's silence wraps around my brain. She thinks I'm the reason she can't have a baby. "I said, nothing is wrong with me."
She turns to look at me. "I heard you."
The next few minutes break down strangely. My hand—outstretched, slamming into Tawny's head—flashes by in a millisecond. The crack of her skull smacking against glass rings in my ear. But the way her head falls down, her chin resting on her chest—that moment seems to last forever.
"Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" I slam my hand against the steering wheel, the horn blaring a warning. I yank the wheel and pull over to the side of the road. I cradle Tawny's head in my hands.
"Tawny, wake up!" I try to lift her head. "Honey, you need to wake up. Now!"
Her body is jelly in my hands. Oh fuck, I killed my wife. I put my ear to her chest and listen. Her heartbeat is faint, but it's there. Do I take her back to the hospital? How would I explain this? We hit a bump in the road? We hit a car? No, there's no damage to the vehicle; that wouldn't work.
Tawny groans a few minutes later, the sound breaking into my excuses. She tries to pull her head up. A tiny stream of blood flows from her temple. She wipes at it and looks at her fingers stained with the evidence of what I've done. "You‒"
"Tawny, I'm so sorry. I don't know what got into me. It will never happen again," I say, quickly. I kiss her cheek, her mouth, her nose. Every part of her face I can touch with my lips. I want to kiss and take away what I've just done.
She recoils and turns her gaze out the window as she rubs the side of her head. "I can't believe–"
"I said I was sorry. If you would've just shut up." I turn the ignition and pull away from the side of the road.
I allow the silence to fester between us, my rage building up for no reason other than that I let her get under my skin. I barely have time to park the car before she jumps out and runs into the house, slamming the front door behind her.
I grab a couple beers from the garage fridge and park my ass on the back porch. I relish the bitterness that slides down my throat and toss the can in the yard. The tab of the next beer pops open, and its fizz is melodic. The sky is shifting colors from a pinkish-orange to purple-black, and all I can think about is the way Tawny's head sounded against the glass. Hard enough to knock her out and yet not enough to break the window. I wonder how hard I would have to hit her to make it shatter. I dismiss the thought and down the rest of my beer.
I hear a door slam shut in the house, and I look up to see Tawny staring at me from the bedroom window. No, staring through me. Exactly like she did the day I met her. She was so foreign then, so brave and strong. And now? She's just the weak woman who puts up with my shit.
Her outline disappears from view and I crack open another beer.
2008
I smell it when I walk in the front door. Spices mingled with roasting meat. Tawny's in the kitchen, humming along to one of her stupid songs.
"Smells good in here." I throw my keys on the counter. The metal clanks against tile.
Tawny jumps at the sound, but only glances at me for a few seconds before pulling the lid off the crock-pot. She's wearing the short cotton dress that I love.
She's up to something.
"What's the occasion?" I ask.
She turns and smiles at me. "You'll see." She moves to the sink and bends over to wash a dish and my eyes travel the length of her legs—every luscious inch of skin. I grab her hips and press myself against her backside. She flinches, and I whisper in her ear, "It's just me."
She swats me away. "Not now, I need to get these dishes done."
"But you look so sexy right now. The dishes can wait."
She flips around so her back is arched against the sink. She pulls me into her, and parts my lips with her tongue. She bites my lip, knowing it drives me fucking crazy.
"We'll pick this up later. I'm not feeling well, and dinner is getting cold," she says, pushing me away from her.
I hate when she does this. Teases me like the bitch she is. But the hunger pangs in my stomach take over, so I don't argue. For now.
She sets the meat and vegetables drowning in thick gravy on the table with side bowls of salad and creamed corn. The smell is so heavenly, I serve myself before Tawny even sits back down. I shovel the food in my mouth as fast as I can.
"Slow down, killer."
"I'm starving. Didn't have time for lunch," I say between bites.
She piles her entire plate with salad with a tiny side of meat.
"I thought you liked roast?"
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Don't you remember our conversation the other night?"
I rack my brain, trying to remember which conversation she's referring to. "No."
"Oh, you don't remember telling me I was getting pudgy and maybe I should lay off the food?"
I nearly choke on my dinner. "I never said that."
Her fork drops, clinking against the glass plate. "Seriously? Well, you were pretty wasted, so I guess it doesn't surprise me that you don't remember."
I set my fork on the right side of my plate calmly. "What did you just say?"
"You heard me."
Why does she do this to herself? She knows how quickly she can turn my good day to shit. I slam my fist on the table, and the plates jump.
"Here it goes," she mumbles.
I stand up so fast, I pull the tablecloth and the plates crash to the ground. My perfectly delicious dinner sits like mush on the grimy, cracked linoleum.
"Look what you did!" I shout.
"Me? You're the one who sent it flying to the ground. After I spent the last four hours cooking it, too."
She starts to pick up the shattered glass, but my foot makes contact with her ribs, and I'm not sure if the crunch is a bone breaking or the glass crumbling beneath
the weight of her body. She's sprawled on the floor, her dark hair hiding her face. Her dress has slipped up to her stomach, leaving her thighs and ass in plain view. Her creamy skin stops at the knee, and the evidence of my love shows all over her body.
I pull her up by the hair, though she whimpers and struggles against me. "Don't fight me, Tawny. It's no use. You’re not stronger than I am."
She stops struggling, but her cheek is bleeding, so I brush her hair back and remove what tiny slices of glass I can find. I trace the outline of her cheeks to her jaw and bring her face to mine. I kiss her even when she presses her lips together in silent protest. I pick her up and lay her on the kitchen table.
She gasps, and her eyes are two terrified black coals, but her lips say something else. She always did like it rough. I rip her dress, and her tits flop free. They're still supple and perky, and they turn me on as much as they did the first time I saw them in the backseat of my Jeep. I caress the velvet skin between the valley of her curves.
She smells like mint and lavender, and I close my eyes and bury my head in her neck, inhaling her scent. I take Tawny's hands and move them to the waistband of my jeans. "Take them off for me."
Her hands work nimbly, pulling at my belt buckle and the button. When I pull my head back, her tears catch on my cheek. I cup her chin with one hand and guide the other one over the taut skin of her stomach. I stick my finger in her and kiss her at the same time.
"Don't cry. You like it when I do this."
She shakes her head, but the cold metal of the zipper scrapes against my hard-on as she yanks the fabric down. I step out of the jeans and push her back down. She cries out in pain as I push into her, gripping the sides of the table. I'm deaf to her cries. All I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears.
If there's one thing I do right, it's fucking her brains out. I thrust harder, my balls slapping against her ass. She turns her head, but I grab her jaw and turn her back to me. "You look at me when I'm fucking you, dammit. This is the best sex you're ever gonna get."
She pushes my hand from her jaw. "You're hurting me."
I thrust harder. Faster. "Good."
"Stop it, Carter. Please."
"I can't stop, you haven't come yet."
She arches her back and twists, and I slip out of her, my dick ramming against the table. Her eyes know what's going to happen a second before it does…and my fist crashes into the side of her head before I can stop it. Her body is a rag doll, unmoving and limp. I don’t panic. This isn’t the first time I’ve knocked her out cold. And at the rate she’s going—it won’t be the last either.
I scoop her from the table and bring her to the bedroom, where she stirs. She catches my gaze, her black eyes welling up instantly. She begins to cry and I put my finger to her lips.
“Shh. Quiet, Tawny. Calm down.”
She tries to sit up, but I hit her so hard, I’m guessing the room is still spinning because she lies back down.
“That was the last time, Carter. The last time.”
“It is if you can find a way to behave yourself.”
“I’m not a child.”
“Then quit acting like one," I say. I move her under the covers, and bring them up to her neck, and kiss her forehead. “Go to sleep, Tawny. I’m sorry I had to hit you."
One tear slips through a closed eyelid. "I just wanted to do something nice for you," she whispers.
"Well you have a really shitty way of showing it."
"I…tried to show you. I made your favorite dinner. And put on the dress you liked." Classic Tawny. Trying to get herself out of the mess she created. "Then why did you have to put up such a fight? You wouldn't have worn that dress if you didn't want to be fucked like that."
She tries to open both her eyes, but only one black iris is visible. The other one is already starting to swell shut. "All I wanted was to tell you the good news."
Her words send pricks down my spine like a thousand tiny icepicks needling into my skin. There's never good news anymore. "What good news?"
"I'm pregnant," she says as her chapped, split lips attempt a smile. Her pain is as obvious as the weight dropping onto my shoulders.
"You're lying."
Tawny shakes her head and sits up slowly. "It's true, Carter. I just found out this morning."
"Who is he?" I yell at her.
"What do you mean?" Confusion. Fear. Guilt. She's all of it and none of it at the same time and I want nothing more than to wrap my hands around her throat—the only piece of skin without evidence of who I am on her—and squeeze until her eyes bulge from her sockets and the last word on the tip of her tongue is my name.
But then I wouldn't find out who she slept with.
"You know exactly what I mean. Who is he? Because when I find out his name, he's going to wish he never fucked my wife. Better yet—he's going to wish he never knew you existed." I can imagine it as I say it. The feel of my fists slamming into his head over and over again. The crunch of the bones in his nose shattering. His jaw dislocated, gaping like a fucking idiot.
She moves her head from side to side like she's watching my transformation in real time. "I didn't sleep with another man. This is your baby. Yours. This is the baby we've always wanted, Carter. Things will be different, honey. They'll be–"
"No!" I say as I pull her from the bed and pin her against the wall. "You wanted the fucking baby, not me. And you're either lying about the baby or who you've been with. So quit being a sneaky bitch and tell me who you fucked."
Her sniffles send me to another level of madness. She's a skilled actress and she's milking her part like she's gonna win a Golden Globe. I rear back and put all my force into punching her stomach. She doubles over, her arms wrapped around her stomach.
"Look what you made me do, you stupid, stupid girl."
She leans up and spits in my face. The seconds it takes to realize what she did is long enough for her to get to the bathroom. I reach the door just as she's locking it.
"Let me in this bathroom right now, or so help me God." I bang on the door and the hollow sound of the wood reverberates around the room.
"No!"
"You can't stay locked in there forever. One way or the other, I'm getting you out of there and you know it won't end well."
"I'm not leaving until you're gone," she squeaks from behind the door.
"Might be a while. I'll just sit here and wait. How bout that?"
"You want to know what I think? Not even your father would try to kill an unborn child. You’ve been so scared of being him your entire life and here you are…exactly like him. No, you're worse than him."
She says it with so much conviction; it almost makes me believe her.
I punch the door and it splinters but not enough for me to care to keep trying to break down the door. "Fuck you," I say and slam the door on the way out of the room. I take out my customary six-pack of PBR to the back porch. If things go my way, I'll be obliterated in two hours, so I don't have to think about Tawny's head slamming against the table, or the crunch of her ribs, or how satisfying it felt.
#
Heat. All over my body. So hot. I open my eyes, but the brightness burns into my retinas so I close them and sit up, the ache in my back working its way to my shoulders. When I open my eyes again, I find that I'm sitting in the same exact spot as I was last night. I must have passed out instead of making it back into the house. The ground beneath me tilts when I try to stand up, so I sit right back down. I lean my head between my knees but even with my eyes closed, the world spins. And the pounding. It's wreaking havoc in my head and I swear my brain is going to explode. I need ibuprofen…or another drink.
When I try the back door, it's locked. Shit. I walk around to the front door. Same thing. Tawny must still be sleeping, so I pound on the front door.
Nothing.
I pound harder. "Tawny, wake the hell up!"
Nothing.
Then I see a movement in the side window. She stands with her arms crossed,
watching me. She's been awake this entire time and locked me out of the house. Fucking bitch.
"Let me in the house,” I shout. “Now!"
She shakes her head no, a scowl lining her face. Even through the smudged window, the garish blue-purple coloring on the right side of her face is visible. If I weren't standing on my front step, locked out of my own house, still drunk, I'd feel bad for her.
"Unlock the door, Tawny or I swear to God, I will fucking kill you."
She flips me the bird and walks off. That bitch. That fucking cunt bitch. She has to know she's playing with fire. I walk over to my truck and reach under the tire for the spare key holder. It's gone. Damn her. She covered all her bases. She knows I'll kill her, that’s why. I hear the front door pop open, and I run to get in, but she slams it and the lock clicks again. My silver truck key is sitting on the front step. How nice of her.
I slam my fist against the door again. "I'm going to work where there's plenty of time for me to think about what I'm going to do to you when I get back."
She doesn't appear at the window, and there's no "fuck you," so I can't tell if she even heard me.
I swipe the key and jump into my truck. I drive to work, rage filling my veins and seeping into my bones. It’s a damn good thing I have the day to cool off because if I were home, I’d wrap my hands around her neck and choke her until she begged for mercy. This whole pregnancy thing is a lie. I know it. She thinks she can make things better by making up stories. She actually thinks pretending to be pregnant will stop me from giving her what she'd owed. The first time I hit her hard enough to break a bone, I thought she would leave me. She didn’t. She was too weak.
She won’t now either. She needs me. She's worthless without me. She thinks she's so fucking smart—well, she never made it to college, and she hasn't had a fucking job since we got married. Hell, she's never had to work for anything since I waltzed into her life. She wouldn't even have anywhere to go if she left. No, she won't ever leave me. I'm all she has. Lazy, stupid bitch.
I take the right turn into the construction site a little fast and nearly go over the curb before parking the truck next to the others. Patrick is going to be pissed. This is the third or fourth time I've been late this month. The residual effects of my fights with Tawny. When I walk up to the trailer, Patrick is already standing in the doorway.
