Role-Play

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My name is Ezra and I’m an Angolan woman married to Francisco, a Portuguese businessman.  We have been married for ten years.  We have two children, a boy named Bento and a girl named Mafalda.  We live in Luanda.  During the week, I’m at home alone because Rodrigo is at the office and the children are in school.  I’m a housewife and I love it.  I love taking care of my family.

From the time I was seven years old, I knew that I wanted to be a homemaker when I was older.  My mother, God bless her soul, was my inspiration.  I watched her work tirelessly and happily to take care of the home, my father, my siblings and me.  When I was old enough, I helped around the house.  She taught me how to cook and keep a clean house.  She told me that one day I would be a wife and it was best to start learning how to do things as early as possible.  Sadly, she didn’t live to see me get married or hold her grandchildren.  My father and my siblings were at my wedding.  They were happy for me and warmly welcomed Rodrigo into the family.  They weren’t upset that I married a European man instead of an African man.

Rodrigo and I met when I was working as a cook at a restaurant owned by a family friend.  He came in there one day to have lunch with a client.  After having my Fish Calulu, he wanted to meet me to personally compliment me on the dish.  Feeling a little self-conscious after being in the hot kitchen all morning and not having enough time to fix myself up, I went into the dining-room.  He stood up as I approached.  He was tall and very attractive in his expensive looking grey suit.  I was immediately attracted to him.  He smiled and said in Portuguese, “I wanted to personally tell how much I enjoyed the Fish Calulu.  It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

I smiled shyly.  “Thank you.”

His client had left so we were alone.  “My name is Rodrigo,” he said, extending his large hand.  I looked at it before placing my hand in it.  The long fingers closed over mine in a firm handshake.

“I’m Ezra.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ezra.  I wonder if you would like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

I gulped.  He was asking me out on a date.  I could hardly believe it.  It took a moment for me to say, “Yes.”

“Good.  I’ll meet you here at eight.  “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”  I watched him leave and then returned to the kitchen.

The following night we went for dinner at a popular Portuguese restaurant.  Afterwards, we went for a drive.  We saw each other regularly after that and the following year, we got married.  I quit my job at the restaurant after learning that I was pregnant with Bento.

Life with Rodrigo ideal.  Our sex life is amazing  and sometimes, we indulge in role play which add a little spice to the marriage.  Lately, I have been dressing up as a slave girl while he pretends to be my slave master.   But this is happening way too often.  He wants to do it for every lovemaking session.

Last night, he pulled my dress down about my waist and turned me around so that my bare back was to him and had me hug the bedpost.  He got the whip he had bought from one of those sex stores and started to use it on me.  It didn’t hurt but Rodrigo wanted me to pretend that it did.  When he was done, he dragged the dress off and threw me down on the bed.  I lay there while he ravaged me, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if this nightmare would ever end.  What had started out as harmless fun had become something I dreaded and desperately wanted to stop.  I wanted to be his wife and lover again not his slave.

I’m sitting here in the kitchen, staring out at the window.  I have made up my mind to tell Rodrigo that I’m not going to be his slave in the bedroom anymore.  And if he cares about me and our marriage, he will respect my wishes.  Worst case scenario, I will pack up and leave.  And of course, take Bento and Mafalda with me.

Hours later, I’m in the bedroom and Rodrigo walks after taking a long, hot shower.  He’s stark naked and by the looks of him, he’s in the mood.  I’m standing by the bed, wearing one of my nightgowns.  The slave girl garb was tossed in the garbage along with the whip.  I was very determined not to subject myself to that again.  Before he could say anything, I said, “Rodrigo, I’m Ezra, your wife, not your slave girl.  I don’t ever want to play that role again.  I didn’t mind doing it the first few times but you want to do it every time and it’s no longer fun for me.  It has become degrading.  I refuse to do it any more.”

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Rodrigo stared at me.  Silence filled the room and I found myself holding my breath as I waited for him to say something.  He came over to me and putting his hands on my shoulders, he said as his eyes met mine.  “Me desculpe, querida.  I’m sorry.  I should have realized that this particular type of role playing would affect you.  It was very insensitive of me.  Please forgive me.”

Relief washed over me like a tidal wave and I hugged him around the waist and buried my face in his chest.   He will never know how close I came to leaving him if he had not respected my wishes.

Role-play in marriages is healthy and exciting but make sure that both of you are having fun. Never indulge in role-play which will demean or devalue either of you.

Love Lives On/Tranquil #writephoto

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Photo by Sue Vincent

I stood there in the secluded spot and tranquil place where we used to meet.  It was our secret place where we could love each other freely.  Back there it was against the law for a white man and a black woman to have relations.  Race mixing as they called it was banned.  The punishment for interracial marriage to be a year in jail and the white person was fined $100 fine.  The person who officiated an interracial wedding was fined $200.  How I hated those laws.  They were passed by ignorant and racist people who couldn’t accept that people of different races could fall in love with each other.

My parents were just as intolerant.  They believed that people should stick to their own kind–you know, to keep the races pure.  They even used the Bible to validate their racist views.  I read the Bible myself and nowhere did it prohibit interracial love.  In fact, there were examples of mixed marriages.  I hated going to a school where blacks weren’t allowed and even church which was to be the temple of the God who created all races, blacks weren’t allowed to worship with us.  I hated living in a state that was so intolerant.  I promised myself that I would leave it as soon as I was old enough.

My parents made sure that I went to the best schools and associated only with those whom they deemed to be socially acceptable–the filthy rich.  They even had it in their heads that one day I would marry Governor Brown’s daughter, Virginia (I can’t believe her parents named her after the state).  Granted, she was a nice girl, very pretty and I could tell that she liked me very much.  We went on dates and such and then, I went away to university.  It was an understanding that we were going steady and that in due time, I would propose.

When I returned from university one summer vacation, my mother told me that we had a new maid, Flora.  The previous one, Berta had been fired.  My parents never told me what happened but I was sore because I really liked Berta.  Well, when I met Flora, I quickly forgot about Berta.  She was much younger than Berta but about ten years older than me.  Flora wasn’t pretty like Virginia but she was very attractive.  She had big brown eyes that didn’t seem to miss a thing, smooth dark skin and a lovely voice.  Sometimes she would sing as she worked.

Once I asked her why didn’t she become a professional singer.  She scoffed and said, “The only thing white folks want colored people like me to do is cook, clean, do the laundry and keep my place.”

Flora had a room built at the back of the house where she would change into her uniform and use the bathroom.  She had special plates and forks to use for her meals.  She was paid $10 a week which in that time was considered good money.

Flora was a bit cynical and who could blame her?  Although she is well paid, she is treated with disrespect and condescension by my parents, relatives and family friends.  There are times when I sit at the dining table and seethe with rage.  The final straw came when Flora accidentally spilled a glass of wine and some of it got on Mrs. Miller, an insufferable and vain woman.  She rose to her feet and struck Flora hard across the face.  “You clumsy n—–,” she cried.  “You’ve ruined my dress.  It’s too bad you can’t be whipped for this.”

My mother didn’t bat an eye.  I couldn’t believe that she wasn’t livid that one of her guests had slapped Flora.  I guess I was foolish to expect her to say something in Flora’s defense.  Instead, she said to her crossly, “Clean that mess up.”

Flora quickly left the room and was back in a seconds to clean the spill.  I wanted to go after her but propriety made me stay put.  I promised myself that I would speak to her before she left this evening.”

“You should fire her, Rosemary,” Mrs. Miller said as she resumed her seat.

“It was an accident!” I said as calmly as I could although, what I really wanted to do was throw the rest of the wine in her sanctimonious face.

“You mind your manners, Boy,” my father scolded.

“You’re excused,” was my mother’s rejoinder.

“Excuse me,” I said as I rose to my feet.  I was happy to leave the table.

I headed straight for the kitchen where Flora was busy washing up the dishes.   I wanted to help but I knew that she wouldn’t let me.  Besides, it would get her into trouble.  I went and stood beside her.  I could see that she had been crying.  I wanted to hug her.  “I’m sorry about what happened just now, Flora,” I said quietly.  “Mrs. Miller had no right to hit you.  You’re a grown woman, not a child.”

“You heard what she called me.  That gives her the right to hit me.”

“Flora, sometimes, I wish I could take you away from all of this.”

“You shouldn’t be saying such things, Master Oliver.”

“But, it’s true, Flora.”

“And where would we go?”

“I don’t know yet but some place where you’re treated better.”

“Right now I can’t think of any place like that except Heaven.”

“Flora, after I graduate from university, I’m going to leave Richmond.  I want you to come with me.”

“Master Oliver, stop talking foolish.”

“Stop calling me Master Oliver,” I retorted.  “I’m just plain Oliver and I’m not talking foolish.  I’m very serious, Flora.”

“I’ll think about it now, go before your mother comes in here and finds us together.”

“All right. I’ll go.  Goodnight, Flora.”

“Goodnight, Mas–Oliver.”

The next morning, she was gone.  My mother had taken Mrs. Miller advice and fired Flora.  I was so upset that I didn’t speak to my mother for weeks.  I found out where Flora lived and the first opportunity, I had, I went to see her.  She was alone.  After I letting her know how upset and furious I was that she had lost her job, I made her promise to meet me that afternoon at the pond where no one ever goes.

I got there first and waited.  As I waited, I picked a bunch of wildflowers I saw there.  Flora would like them.  I bet she never got flowers from anyone before.  I would be the first.  I smiled at the thought.  She showed up five minutes later.  I gave her the flowers and she took them, smiling.  She smelled them.  “Thank you,” she said.  She reached up and kissed me on the cheek.

I felt my face get hot.  I also felt strange sensations in my body.  “You’re welcome, Flora,” I said.

We sat down on the grass and talked and talked.  I loved being with her and I could tell she felt the same way.  We promised to meet there again tomorrow.  She left first and then I left several minutes after.  When I went home, my mother told me that Virginia and her parents were having dinner with us that evening.  It would be the first time I would be seeing Virginia since I’ve been home for the summer.  I was more excited about seeing Flora tomorrow than seeing Virginia that evening.

The evening went well, I suppose.  Virginia didn’t seem to notice that I was preoccupied with my thoughts.  She talked mostly about herself and what she had been up to while I was away at university.  I didn’t make any plans to see her again.  After we parted company, I went up to my room where I remained until the following morning.  As soon as the afternoon came, I was racing down to the pond.  This time Flora was waiting for me.  And she brought two huge slices of an apple pie she had baked.  After we ate them, we went for a swim.

Afterwards, we lay in the sun.  We talked about different things and then, I rolled onto my side and looked down at her.  She had her eyes closed.  The strange sensations stir inside me again and this time, I lowered my head and kissed her.  She didn’t push me away or slap me in the face.  Instead, she reached up and put her arms around my neck.  We ended up making love for the first time.

Day after day we met there in our secluded spot until one day we were discovered by Virginia’s brother and his friends.  I was promptly sent back to Atlanta where I spent the rest of the summer until it was time to return to university.  I don’t know what happened to Flora.  No one would tell me anything.  I was devastated because I was madly in love with her.  I wanted to marry her.

When I returned to Virginia, I went to her house.  At that point I didn’t care what people said or did or thought.  All I wanted was to see Flora.  However, when I went to her house, the neighbors said that she was gone.  They had no idea where she had gone.

Dejected, I returned to Atlanta where I tried to forget about her.  I even got married to a nice girl named Amy and we had a boy.  Time passed but the memories of my summer with Flora never faded.  I still yearned to see her.  I still loved her and no amount of time would make me forget about her.

After Amy died, I tried to see if I could find out any information about Flora.  I wish I had a photo of her that I could have put on Facebook but I didn’t.  In spite of these setbacks and disappointments, I haven’t stopped hoping that one day I will see her again.

It’s 2018 and summer again here in Richmond.  I’m here by the pond, allowing myself to relive the happiest memories of my entire life.  I look at the wild flowers and smile.  I will never forget the spark in Flora’s beautiful eyes when I gave them to her.  If she were here now, I would give her another bunch.

“Mr. Jones?” a voice called out and startled, I turned.

It was a young African American girl.  “Yes,” I replied.  “I’m Mr. Jones.  Who are you?”

She came closer.  “I’m Regina.  I was told that I might find you here.  Someone asked me to give this to you.”  She held out a letter sized brown envelope.”

I took it.  It didn’t have any address.  It only had my name written neatly at the front.  “Who asked you to give this to me?”

“My grandmother, Flora.”

My heart caught in my throat.  Flora.  I sat down on the tuft of grass and eagerly opened the envelope.  I pulled out a letter and some photos.  I looked at the photos first.  They were of Flora and a lovely little girl.  She looked so much like Flora but much fairer in complexion.

With trembling fingers, I unfolded the letter and read it.  Halfway through, I started to cry.  Flora was pregnant when she left Richmond.  She wanted me to know about Olivia and wrote to me at the university several times but all of her letters were returned.  She never got married, she said because there was only one man whose wife she wanted to be.

I looked up at Regina who was standing beside me.  “Where’s Flora?” I asked.  I longed to see her.

“I’m sorry, grandfather, but she died this morning.”

I broke down at that point.  Regina dropped to her knees and put her arms around me.  The only thing that gave me any comfort was the knowledge that Flora and I have a daughter and a granddaughter.  Our love will live on through them and generations to come.

Those we love are never really lost to us–for everywhere their special love lives on – Amanda Bradley

This was written for the #writephoto Prompt – Tranquil at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.

 

Sources: The Washington Post; The Post and Courier

 

 

 

 

Puppy Love

“Adorable,” she said as she watched him with the three puppies.  He had brought them over from their next door neighbor.

“Who, me?”

“No, silly, the puppies.”

“Yes, they are.”

“As adorable as they are, we aren’t going to keep all three.”

He sighed.  “I was afraid you’d say that.  Okay, which one do you think we should keep?”

She got up from the sofa and went over to them.  She sat cross legged on the floor and looked at the little critters.  She picked up the black one with the white patch on its tiny nose.  She cuddled him against her.  “This one,” she said.

guy with puppies“Good choice.  Well, Patch, it looks like this is going to be your new home.”

“Patch?” she looked quizzically at her husband.

“Don’t you think it’s a fitting name?”

“It’s a bit corny but it will do.”

“I’ll take his brother and sister back over to Bill and Cheryl.  Are you sure you don’t want to keep them?  You know to keep Patch company?”

“I’m sure,” she insisted with a laugh.  “One puppy is more than enough.  While you take them back, I’ll fix up a place for this little guy.”

He sighed and got up.  “All right.  I’ll be back shortly.”

As she fixed up a basket with old blankets for Patch, she wondered what Erik would say if he knew that there was going to be another addition to the family.  She smiled.  Tomorrow, they would go shopping for a crib and think about turning the spare bedroom into a nursery.

What if it’s another girl?

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Photo Courtesy of Lakshmi Bhat

“What’s the matter, Aditi?” Bavishni asked her friend.  They were sitting on the verandah watching little Jaafar run barefoot about the yard.

Aditi sighed.  “I’m pregnant,” she announced.

“Pregnant?”  Bavishni got up and hugged her.  “Congratulations!”

“Thanks.”

“You don’t seem happy that you’re pregnant.”

“What if it’s another girl?”

“So what?”

“You can say that because you have a son.  Tahir and I already have a girl.  What if this one’s another girl instead of a boy?”

“Aditi, it isn’t the end of the world if you have another girl–”

“You’ve been living in America too long, Bavishni.  You’ve forgotten our ways.  Back home having a girl is considered by many to be a curse.  Don’t you remember what happened to Rekha?  She had another daughter and her mother-in-law poured paraffin over her.  She was about to strike a match and set her on fire in the bed when the neighbors rushed in.  They’d heard Rekha screaming.  I don’t want that to happen to me if this baby turns out to be another girl.”

Bavishni put her arm around her.  “Tahir won’t let anyone harm you.  He loves you.”

“But he wants a son.”

“I hope it’s a boy.”

 

200 Words

This story was inspired by the sad reality that still exists in India where according to Anju Dubey Panbey, of the Centre for Social Research, “if you are blessed with a son you are almost revered, and if you are the mother of daughters you are made to feel guilty and your status in your family goes down. It is very, very disturbing.”  To read more about this, visit Here.  Many Indians don’t want daughters who become financial burdens because the matrimonial dowry demanded by a groom’s family.  Perhaps the best solution to this problem may be to do away with the dowry.

This was written for Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit Here.  To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Source:  The Guardian

Two Different Worlds

T10626_Jacob_001“I’m thinking of breaking up with Josiah,” Phyllis said to her friend, Veronica when they were having lunch at a cafe close to Veronica’s workplace.

Veronica looked surprised.  “Why?” she asked.  “I thought you were really into him.”

“I am but, I’m not sure where this relationship is going.  We’ve been seeing each other for three and a half years now and I still haven’t met his family.  The last two years when he flew to Seoul for the Christmas holidays, he doesn’t ask me to go with him.  I don’t even know if he’s told them about me.  He met my family in our second year of dating.”

“Yes, he did on Thanksgiving but as I recall, some of your relatives didn’t exactly welcome him with open arms.  Maybe he’s trying to spare you from the same kind of treatment from his family.”

“You really like him, don’t you?” Phyllis asked.

“Yes.  He’s the best thing that has ever happened to you.  Don’t blow it.  Hang unto him.  He’s a keeper.”

Phyllis sighed.  “All right.  I’ll take it one day at a time.  Thanks for being such a terrific friend.”

Veronica smiled.  “You’re welcome.”  She glanced at her watch.  “It’s time for me to head back to the office.”

“Let’s do lunch again soon, okay?”

“Sounds good to me.”

They split the cheque and parted company.  Phyllis walked back to her office.  She was busy for the rest of the afternoon and was thankful when it was time to go home.

5404faab75c57b2d48d4ae4fbee86294--black-girls-black-womenShe grabbed a hot chocolate on her way to the subway.  On the train ride home she thought about what Veronica said.  Josiah was a really special guy who treated her like a queen.  He liked to buy her gifts, take her places and cook dinner for her.  Tonight, she was going over to his place for another romantic, home cooked dinner.  She was really looking forward to the dinner and spending the weekend with him.  She couldn’t wait to see the expression on his face when she wore her new negligee.  I probably wouldn’t be wearing it for long, she mused.  Yes, I would be a fool to break up with him.  When the time is right, I will meet his family.

When she got home, she checked her messages and then took a long, hot shower before she got dressed, grabbed her overnight bag, handbag and left.

“Something smells really, really good,” she remarked as soon as she entered the apartment.”

“It’s Popcorn chicken with basil.”

“Hmmm.  My mouth’s watering just thinking about it.”

He smiled as he helped her to remove her coat.  After he put it away in the closet, he took her in his arms and kissed her.  “I’ve been looking forward to doing that all day,” he said when he raised his head several minutes later.

Phyllis could hardly breathe.  “You have?” she gasped.

“Yes and I want to kiss you again but if I do, it will lead to other things and the dinner will get cold.”  Reluctantly, he released her and stepped back.

“Why-why don’t I go and freshen up in the meantime?”

“Good idea.  Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

She took up her overnight bag and headed for the bedroom.

A few minutes later, they were sitting at the candlelit table, having dinner.  In the background, classical music was playing.  “This is so good,” she exclaimed after she finished her first mouthful of the food.

“Thank you.”

“You’re such an amazing cook.”

“Cooking is something I really enjoy doing.  Before I became a Marketing and Sales Manager, I wanted to be a chef.  After I left university, I went to a culinary school in Paris.  It was a fantastic experience.”

“Why didn’t you become a chef?”

“As much as I loved it, I realized after a while that I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life working in a kitchen.  So, I decided that I would open my own restaurant and hire a guy who went to the same culinary school as the chef.”

“I’m glad you did.  We met at your restaurant.  One of my girlfriends was celebrating her fortieth birthday and we wanted to take her to the best restaurant in Soho.”

“Yes, I remember that night as if it happened today.  When I came out to greet and chat with the diners, I saw the staff gathered around your table singing happy birthday.  I came over and my eyes fell on you.  I barely acknowledged who else was at the table.”

“I couldn’t believe that you were the owner.  You looked so young.”

“Is that why you didn’t want to go out with me at first?”

“Well, I’ve never dated a younger man before and…”

“and one who’s from a different culture.”

“Yes, but then, I was so attracted to you that after a while, I had to stop making stupid excuses not to go out with you.”

“And here we are three and a half years later.”

She smiled.  “Yes.”  If she had followed her mind instead of her heart, she wouldn’t be here now enjoying a romantic dinner with him.

“I spoke to my parents this morning,” he said as they cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher.

“Oh.  How are they?”

“They’re doing well.  I’m planning to visit them in July.”

“Oh.  I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you.”

“They’re looking forward to meeting you.”

She almost dropped a glass.  “They know about me?” she exclaimed.

“Yes, they do.  I wanted to take you to Seoul to meet them but my grandmother was living with them and she wouldn’t have approved of us.  I wanted to spare you that.  While I was there and when she wasn’t around, I told my parents about you and even showed them pictures.  I hated spending Christmas without you and I promised myself that I would never do it again.  My grandmother died a couple of days after I left.  I couldn’t go to the funeral because of the short notice and I had already been away from the restaurant for a while.  My parents understood.”

“I’m sorry about your grandmother.”

“Me too.  I wish she could have known you and accepted you.”

“I’ve met people like your grandmother.  They don’t see past color or culture.”

“My mother had to deal with the same thing because she’s British.  My grandmother wanted my father to marry a Korean girl and was furious when he didn’t.  She refused to attend the wedding and stopped talking to my grandfather for months because he did.  I’m surprised that she didn’t shun me because I was Eurasian but she said that I looked more Korean because my Korean blood was stronger than my English blood.”

Phyllis shook her head.  “It’s sad that this sort of thing still happens in families.”

“Yes it is,” he agreed. “But let’s not talk about it anymore.  The important thing is that we are together.”

“Yes.  And we have our parents’ approval.”

“And even if we didn’t, it wouldn’t matter.”

They left the kitchen and the dishwasher going and went into living-room where they spent the evening talking and planning their trip to Seoul.  It was close to mid-night when they decided to turn in.  While he undressed in the room, she was putting on her negligee in the bathroom, her heart pounding with excitement and anticipation.  When she finally emerged, he was standing beside the window, wearing only his pajama pants.  He turned when he heard her and his eyes traveled over her.  She knew that the negligee looked great on her.  Its muted red shade flattered her coloring and the fine silk hugged her body in all the right places.

In a matter of seconds, she was in his arms and he was kissing her ravenously.  She clung to him as she returned his kisses.  They stood there kissing wildly and then he drew back, his chest heaving and pulled the negligee over her head.  She was naked.  Then, his hands and lips were all over her, making her head swim as ripples of indescribable pleasure spread through her body.  Then, he was backing her over to the bed until she was lying on top.  His heated gaze ran over her as he ripped off his pajama pants.  She reached eagerly for him and their lips met as their bodies merged.

In between kisses, he murmured, “I love you.”

When he buried his face in her neck, she whispered, “I love you.”

Before they went to Seoul in July, they got engaged and in the spring of following year they got married when his parents visited New York for the first time.  In June, at the age of 40, Phyllis gave birth to their first child, a healthy boy whom they named after her father who passed away just a couple of weeks before.  The second boy was named after Josiah’s father.

Two different worlds collided and became one. 

A Drug Habit

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PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

I really didn’t think he meant it this time.  Whenever he broke up with me, he always came back.  He once said that I was like a drug habit he couldn’t kick and that made me feel good because it meant that he needed me.

His family and friends never approved of me. They said that I was toxic for him.  They wanted him to dump me.  He tried to countless times but always came back.  This time when he didn’t, I went to the deli where he worked and met his fiancée.

He’d gotten me out of his system.

 

100 Words

 

This was written for the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields For more details, visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

One of These Days…

I am sitting in front of the mirror.  A bruised face with haunted eyes are looking back at me.  The cut on my temple needed stitches.  I used to be a nurse before I got married.  I pick up the threaded needle and proceed to sew the cut.  I bite down on my lip at the pain but I won’t stop until it’s done.

I examine my handiwork.  It looks a bit crude but it will do.  I didn’t want to go to the hospital because I would have to explain the bruises on my face and hands.  No, it was better to do this myself.

I sit there staring at myself for a while longer, watching the tears, silent and unabated run down my cheeks.  What have I done to make him hate me so?  It has to be hate.  No man would hit a woman he loves.  I have been a good wife to him.  When he wanted me to give up my job at the hospital, I did so without any argument.  I take care of him, our home, do the laundry, cook the meals and everything else.  I don’t complain even though I am bone tired by the end of the day.  I make sure that his food is piping hot and ready when he comes home.  I don’t resist when he wants us to make love even though I’m not in the mood.

Yes, I have been a good wife to him.  Why then, does he hate me?  Why does he get angry for no reason and hit me?  In the past, when he hit me, he used to be sorry right after and beg me to forgive him.  Then, the beatings became more frequent and the apologies were less until they were no longer expressed.

Once he threatened to kill me if I left him.  So, I stay not out of love but out of fear.  How much longer could I live this nightmare?  How many more blows and insults can I take before I decide that leaving him is worth the risk?

I place my finger on my lips to silence the voice screaming inside me.  I am afraid of what would happen if I were to unleash it.  I have been living with an abusive husband and suffering in silence for six years.  I was beaten during pregnancy and suffered a miscarriage as a result.  I can’t have children because of the damage that was done.  My mother knew about it but still she insisted that I stay with Anil.  “A woman’s place is with her husband.  It’s against our religion for you to leave Anil and you will only bring shame to our family.”  She even made me think that it was my fault that Anil was beating me.  “He’s a good man.  You must be doing something to make him so angry that he beats you.”

So, I listened to her and I stayed.  I didn’t want to bring shame to our family.  That was two years ago.  One of these days, though, I am going to leave Anil and I don’t care if that brings shame to my family.  I don’t owe them anything.  They don’t care about me so why should I care about them?

I make a solemn promise to myself now on the eve of my thirtieth birthday, that one of these days, I will walk out of here and never look back.

Leaving an abusive marriage/relationship isn’t as cut and dry as many of us believe.  Women remain in these situations for various reasons–self-blame; damaged self-worth; fear; the desire to change the abuser; the children’s safety; family expectations and experiences; financial limitations and isolation.  Some women eventually leave while, sadly, others don’t.

This was written for the Ragtag Daily Prompt for Monday which is Needle. For more information, click HERE.

 

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Source:  Institute for Family Studies

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