Prologue
My husband's ranting carried across the small apartment into the bathroom. It was the same tired rant I'd heard for three years. "...busting my ass to provide for you...don't appreciate it...you think your job is hard, you try climbing ladders all day in the heat..."
I didn't bother anymore to reply. In the first year or so of our marriage, I would reply that he had chosen his career as a sheet metal journeyman, that I brought home just as much money as he did, that since I did all the housework and cooking, I was technically contributing more to the family than he was. But it didn't make a difference. He never saw my side. He was right, I was wrong. So I had, long ago, stopped arguing.
I started drawing a bath, so the noise of the rushing water would drown out his words. Heaps of bubbles started forming after I poured in lavender bubble bath.
"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?"
I jumped. My husband was right behind me, crowding into the tiny bathroom. He grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the tub into the bedroom, shoving me onto our bed. "Such a bitch. Can't even listen to your own goddamn husband. I slave all day for you, and you can't even appreciate it."
He took his belt off, and shoved his jeans down to his ankles. My pink spaghetti strap nightgown was around my waist, and before I knew what was happening, he flipped me onto my hands and knees, and thrust himself into me. I wasn't wet, not in the slightest, and it burned.
"Please don't!" I gasped. "You're hurting me!"
He ignored me. He wasn't much taller than me, but he was stronger than me, and his hands gripped my hips so tightly, I was sure I'd have bruises. It didn't take long for him to finish.
"Ahh... you're a good wife, Marion." He walked into the bathroom to clean up. I turned over and lay down on the bed until he came back. "I'm going to bed, babe. Long day at the site tomorrow. I won't be home for dinner. I'll probably grab something with the guys."
"OK." I went back to my bath. He had turned the water off, but bubbles and water flooded the floor. I grabbed a couple towels to mop it up.
He raped me.
He had never hit me. He wasn't a drunk, and he didn't abuse drugs. There had not been a good reason to call him a bad husband. Until now.
I examined my hips. I was right, bruises were forming. They'd show up more tomorrow.
After I cleaned up the mess, I called the sick line at work. I wouldn't be in tomorrow, I told the voicemail. I have a stomach bug.
Then I went to bed. Tomorrow, I had to pack up my things and get the hell out of here.
Chapter 1
Two years later
"You should come out to the Edison tonight!" My coworker, Lizett, was perched on my desk. "My cousin's jazz band is playing there tonight. They're really good."
"I don't know, Liz..." The Edison was right around the corner from my loft, but I usually didn't go out on work nights.