by Raeden West
Her black eye punctuated how terrible the dinner was. The split lip indicated that she had not even served it correctly. And the tender ribs meant that she had not cleaned up the mess fast enough after he splattered spaghetti across the kitchen wall. She sighed to herself and kept scrubbing down the wall and the floor.
He screamed something at her from the dark recesses of the living room and she just assumed it meant he wanted another beer. She dutifully stopped cleaning and fetched one from the fridge. She popped the twist-off cap and delivered it to him with tomato sauce stains on her bare knees.
“About fucking time,” he leered.
She nodded and returned to the kitchen while he finished watching the baseball game, or the football game, or whatever sports season it was. She could not remember them all, nor did she care. She just cared about the mess in the kitchen and the money that he was going to lose when whichever team lost that he had placed his bet on.
There were nights that she prayed his loan sharks or bookies or whoever it might be would come and break his neck. But with her luck, they would most likely just come break his knees and she would then have a drunk, angry invalid in her home. At least she would be able to outrun him then.
She cracked a smile at the thought of him screaming at her from the couch as she stood just out of his arm’s reach. The smile opened up the cut on her lip and she had to fight back tears at the sudden stab of pain. She had dodged so many questions about the state of her face and the frequent doctor visits, and she was not stupid enough to think her coworkers believed she was really that accident prone. But she fell into the trap that so many women do: too embarrassed to say anything and too afraid to leave. She just hoped something would happen to change her situation. Like a meteor falling on his La-Z-Boy chair one night and crushing him into dust.
By the time she had finished cleaning the kitchen, he had finished the twelve beers and was passed out in the easy chair and she tiptoed her way to the bedroom to escape her life into a dream. Overall it had been one of the good nights, because he passed out before he had decided he wanted sex.
Chapter Two
The next morning, Marie made sure her thick pancake makeup was in her purse before she left the house. For whatever twisted pleasure it gave him, he liked it when she left the house with her bruises still showing. She only covered them up once she was stationary in the office parking garage. There was no makeup that could hide the split lip and she just had to breathe carefully to avoid any further pain in her ribs. She dabbed the foundation on carefully and tried to smooth lip balm over her sore mouth.
The receptionist gave her that knowing look when she walked in, but she looked down at her feet and mumbled a good morning in Susan’s direction. Hoisting her purse on her shoulder shot a twinge through her ribs and she was certain that Susan saw her wince as she passed. She stopped to get a cup of coffee before heading to her office and deliberately avoided eye contact with the other people milling around in the breakroom. She tended to keep everyone at arm’s length, out of fear mostly. She knew what they would all say and she knew what she should do. Chris did not like her having friends or social connections and it was actually easier to just go along with his demands.
Marie got settled into her office and started working on the brief that she left unfinished yesterday. She was one of those employees that kept her head down, tried to stay out of the way, and just got her work done. She would have stayed last night to finish the document, but knew that if she did not have dinner on the table on time, there would be hell to pay. Almost everyone she worked closely with silently understood her situation and since she always got her work done efficiently and effectively, they did grant her a reasonable amount of slack.
She took small pleasures where she could though. After she spent several hours working through the requested legal brief, she took a break for lunch. Marie shouldered her purse gently and walked from her office to the small nearby park. As soon as she crossed onto the grass, she slipped out of her heels and wiggled her toes into the soft dewy blades. A smile snuck across her lips and she breathed in the fresh air deeply.
A few more steps on the natural carpet and she was in front of the pond. Marie settled into her usual grassy spot, and dipped her toes in the cool water as she pulled out her book and her peanut butter sandwich. It was not linen napkins and champagne, but it was something. She relished these lunch hours, when no one demanded anything of her and she could not disappoint anyone. The water swirled around her toes and she relaxed into several chapters of her trashy romance novel. She had very few escapes but had learned to treasure any moment that she could. All too soon, the alarm on her cell phone chirped to let her know it was time to return to work.
Even work, in its own way, was an escape from her home life. She was not sure what she would have done if Chris had turned out to be one of those guys that ordered her to stay home while he made the money. It was easier this way, to be the breadwinner and get out of the house. She was constantly surprised that he never verified her paychecks, but that enabled her to save a little bit twice a month into a hidden account at a separate bank. She was also in charge of paying all the bills, so sometimes she was able to sneak in a trip to the bookstore as long as she kept the books hidden under the seat of her car. The fact that he preferred to sit on the couch and drink her paychecks away actually did afford her a larger amount of freedom.
She slipped her high heels back on to her damp feet and headed back to the office to finish her work for the day. On her way home that evening, she stopped and picked up a twelve pack just to cover her bases. It was not worth going home at all if he ran out of beer.
Once home, she set the carton in the fridge and took a nice cold one to Chris in the easy chair. She stutter stepped when she actually looked at him. His eyes were ringed with red and the furrow in his brow was even deeper than normal.
“What are you looking at, bitch?” he growled.
“N-N-Nothing. I was just bringing you a beer.”
She hated to get close enough to him to hand it to him but there was no other option. When she bent over, he snatched it from her and glared coldly. She was startled to see the beginnings of several bruises on his cheek and jaw. Marie was smart enough not to ask but she grinned inside her head.
“I’ll have dinner ready shortly,” she promised.
“You better,” he snarled before shifting his eyes back to the television. “And bring it to me in here.”
She nodded and carelessly turned her back to him. The sudden dull pain radiated up from her lower back and she knew he had kicked her. Any sign of acknowledgement would have brought on more so she just kept walking away from him. Part of her wanted to just keep walking out the back door but most of her was still tied to the dark man in the dimly lit living room. The only light in the room was the faint blue glow from the television set.
As she finished cooking the baked chicken and fixed his plate, she ran through the possibilities in her mind. She was almost certain that one of the bookies had sent a henchman to the house that day and obviously Chris had not had the money to pay off his debts. It was only a matter of time before all of that caught up with them, but what could she do. She gave him the necessary cash when he asked but he certainly was not trying to help himself in any way. She only wished she had been there to see him grunting in pain and whimpering for mercy. But her presence would not have made the situation any better, especially for her, and his anger towards her for witnessing his weakness would have been worse.
“Where’s my damn food? And bring me another beer.” He yelled at her from the darkness that surrounded him.
She took him his plate of food and another beer and returned to the kitchen to eat her own meal. After cleaning up, and delivering yet another beer to His Majesty, he eventually passed out and she headed to bed. Her books were tucked away safely in her car, so she laid down in the dark and listened to him snore from the easy chair.
Her body was mostly dull and
her mind was almost completely numb. For a long time, she had carried a tiny candle of hope deeply protected inside her, but time had continued to whittle away at anything that kept her focused on nourishing it. With nothing but her dark thoughts, she drifted into a fitful sleep.
Chapter Three
The next day started the same as the previous, but before Marie headed off to work, she was rewarded for her tardiness or her insolence or some other perceived offense with another reddened cheek from the back of his hand. Looking at it in the rear view mirror from the parking lot, she hoped it would not blossom into an actual bruise.
She worked quickly through her morning, and missed her lunchtime in the park. She had to eat at her desk since she was leaving early for a dentist appointment. A tooth that her loving husband had loosened for her. After the appointment, she stopped by the store for beer, and arrived home about two hours early.
She studied the motorcycle parked outside for a long moment and debated on whether to just leave and return at the time she always did, like usual. But the irritation of having missed her lunch break grated on her nerves, so she opened the front door and cautiously entered her own home.
An enormous man loomed over Chris in the easy chair, bellowing about how much he owed somebody for something. Her own pain would come later but Marie almost grinned as she saw the leather-clad arm pull back and fly forward against Chris’ jaw. Chris slumped over and moaned into his own lap. He caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his swollen eye, and growled in her direction.
“What are you doing home, you lazy bitch? Are you skipping out on work again?”
Marie felt her sore cheek flush pink as the large interloper whirled around to see who Chris was speaking with. When he turned to face Marie, she realized that not only was he muscle-bound and angry, but he also looked vaguely familiar. She shook her head to clear the fog, and stepped back abruptly when she realized he was striding towards her.
“Who are you?” he growled, in a deeper voice than Chris but with less venom.
“I-I-I’m his wife, Marie. Who…who…who are you?”
“I’m the bill collector,” he replied snidely.
Chris fumed on the chair and Marie knew that she would catch hell for this later. She clutched the handle of the beer carton tightly and nodded to the man. His pale blue eyes studied her face closely as if he was memorizing her.
“C-C-Can I help you?” she stammered.
“Are you okay?”
“Y-Y-Yes. I’m fine.”
“Come out front with me,” he ordered.
Her eyes darted from Chris’ face to the man’s and back to Chris. Chris nodded angrily and gestured for her to follow the man. What on earth was about to happen? Was Chris promising her in exchange for his debts? She actually would not have been surprised if he had done just that. She was horrified by the prospects but was not really sure it could be any worse than her living situation already was. She set the beer on the coffee table, lowered her head, and followed the broad leather-clad back out the front door, still clutching her purse. He slammed the door closed behind them and narrowed his eyes at her. His gaze was penetrating but oddly enough, did not seem angry.
“C-C-Can I help you?” she whispered.
“Are you okay, Ma’am?”
“Yes, I told you I was fine.”
“You’re not fine. I can see the bruise on your eye and the cut on your lip. He do that?” the man asked, jerking his thumb back towards the house.
She averted her eyes and declined to answer.
“I’ll take that as a yes, Marie.”
He stepped closer to her until they were face to face, and she was surprised at how good he smelled. Chris always smelled of beer and sweat and misery. This man smelled like Ivory soap and leather and a pleasant sort of danger. She winced instinctively. This kind of closeness from a man almost always ended in both physical and mental pain.
He shoved his large fists into his jacket pockets.
“I’m not going to hit you, Marie. Calm down.”
She took a deep ragged breath and tried to avoid direct eye contact.
“You look familiar,” he mused.
“I do?”
“Yeah. I’ve seen those brown eyes before. I know I have.”
“Well, I doubt we know the same people,” she deferred.
“We know at least one in common,” he pointed the top of his head back to the house. “So don’t pull any of that attitude with me.”
She could not stop her eyes from rolling as she sighed.
“Yeah, my thoughts exactly. What a waste of oxygen. What the hell are you doing married to him?”
“It’s a long story,” she replied.
He crossed his arms over his hard chest and leaned back on his heels, looking her over for a long moment.
“You want to get out of here for a little while?”
“W-W-What?” she stuttered. “What do you mean? Where are you taking me?”
“You just don’t seem all that eager to get back inside. Want me to make up some sort of story, and I can get you outta here for a little while?”
Marie looked down at her conservative black suit and sensible black heels, looked back at the house containing Chris and a case of beer, and then looked up at the scruffy man in front of her.
His face was hardened by sun and life, but his ice blue eyes were not harsh and his lips were curved back in a slight smile. She did not know this motorcycle hooligan from Adam; she could very well be putting her life on the line. He tilted his head as he waited for her answer. She heard the beer top pop in the house as Chris screamed at the television, and she blinked once very slowly.
“Let’s go,” she said with a feigned air of determination and bravery.
Chapter Four
Marie piled her long blonde hair on top of her head and tugged the helmet down, snapping the face guard into place. It had been years since she had been on the back of a motorcycle and she hoped it was like riding a bike. She smirked at her bad pun.
She slung her purse into a cross body position behind her and scooted up behind the man in front. She turned her head towards the house and saw Chris gaping at them in the window and momentarily feared for her life more upon her return to that house than for the motorcycle ride itself.
She spread her thighs wide around his from behind and felt momentarily grateful for the loose fitting skirt. As she settled in to the seat, she wrapped her arms around the man’s surprisingly trim waist and inhaled the clean scent that wafted off of him. When she closed her eyes, she was back in high school and clinging to her boyfriend as they rode through the back streets of town. She could see him clearly, despite the almost twenty years between then and now, and instantly knew who the rider in front of her was.
It was an impossible coincidence, but there it was. She spread her palms flat against his chest and stomach and felt the muscles twitching and bulging.
Her breath caught in her throat as the memories flooded back into her; how she had always had a crush on him, how he had taken her to prom and had a wonderful laugh as she bunched her evening gown up to accommodate the motorcycle between her legs, how he always deferred any suggestion that they might actually date instead of just hang out. He had seemed like the dangerous biker boy back then, and apparently had grown up into the dangerous biker man. His muscled body felt all masculine to her and she gripped his waist tighter.
The motorcycle roared to life between her thighs and she jumped at the sudden vibrations against her sensitive areas. It had been a lifetime since anyone had been interested in her pleasure, and the intensity of the engine’s stimulation was almost too much for her body. He screeched out of the driveway and they disappeared from Chris’ view.
She had long forgotten the experience of riding a motorcycle, so the twists and turns seemed exaggeratedly sharp and dangerous. She tried to lean with his body but that only made her more aware of each lean muscle in his body as it flexed and bulged. It had been so long sin
ce she felt any tingle in her own body other than fear, that it was a completely foreign sensation to have heat surge through her bloodstream. Still, she felt safer on the back of this speeding monster of a vehicle than she did in her own living room.
Her thighs and everything in between felt almost numb by the time he coasted to a stop outside of an older rickety apartment complex. He turned the machine off and kicked it to one side, leaving her in place as he quickly dismounted. Her body felt cold and empty at his absence, but he then turned and offered a large hand to help her down.
His thick rough fingers enclosed her delicate hand as she tried to climb down without flashing him. She smoothed her skirt into place and shook her blonde hair loose from the helmet. His eyes sparked with something she could not quite distinguish, but instinctively knew she should have recognized. Her senses were on overdrive and she tried as best she could to make sense of where they were. Looking into his tanned and weathered face, she searched for a sign of the boy she had known, or any indication that he knew who she was.
“I knew you as soon as I saw you,” he answered, startling her with his psychic abilities.
“You did? How?”
“It was your eyes, like I said. They used to be gentler, more exposed I guess, but I can still see you in there somewhere.”
“I don’t know about that. I don’t know if there’s anything left of me in this old body.”
His eyes scanned down over her conservative suit and back up to her face.
“You are stronger than you give yourself credit for. And stronger than that asshole I was pounding.”
Her soft lips parted into a grin. “I have to admit, I did like seeing that. But I’ll catch hell for witnessing it later.”
“For witnessing it? How could you be in trouble for that?”
“’Cause he’ll be upset that I saw him like that, even though that’s always been pretty much a dream of mine for the last several years.” She let out a small giggle, and then clapped her palm over her mouth.
