Lezabeths POV
Everyone has their talents, I guess you could say my main one is acting. A lot of people would lable my talent as something else, something a little more insulting. I guess I understand why people would use terms that aren't so pleasing to my ego.
Some of the acting I do just doesn't cut it, for example, no matter how many excuses I can try and give myself as to why I would ever subdue myself to a man like him, nothing would satisfy.
I am supposedly the innocent one, the good and obedient one, so why the fuck am I inlove with him?
He is a picture perfect image of a beautiful disaster, he's the god damn mascot for everything thats wrong with our world. He has many hobbies ranging from rape to torture and more, on his free time he likes to jump fences to get away from the law and hang out with his buddies from varies gangs.
We just weren't made compatible; we were made like predator and prey, murderer and victim. Even with all these perfectly rational reasons, here I am intertwined in the most beautiful man under his duvet as comfortably naked as a woman can be.
I married a sadist who tells me everything I need to hear to be okay with every brutal, bone and flesh obliterating beating he serves me. I guess you can say he is a good actor too.
He's cunning, so it's no surprise that no one expects such a perfectly mannered, handsome, and graceful man to be a criminal. He seems so perfect it almost hurts to watch.
He is my husband and I love him. I chant this in my head over and over. It's my perfect mantra calming, effective, and above all manipulative.
I can’t back out now though; he's all I have. My family, although I deserve it, haven't disowned me though my idiotic pride would never let me tell them that they were right about him and that I want to move back in with them. They can never know, and I can never need their support again.
The last time one of his 'punishments' got out of hand, I convinced them it was a car accident generosity of my great acting skills. Of course I knew the truth and it played over and over in my head until I was ready to claw my own eyes out so I could some how reach my brain and just turn off the broken record of images. I could see him when he gave me a wryly smirk before each blow then soothed me by whispering sweet nothings in my ear, telling me it's all because he loves me. He does it because he loves me, my other perfect mantra.
Love is a powerful word, and he wields it like a weapon. Even with love, he seems to make me feel small and out weighted. And here I am again with my first question, why do I love him? My last perfect mantra.
And now I know I can never answer this question, not with complete honesty. At least I can stop stressing because I don't need a reason to love him anymore, since I have no way out anyway. The reason is simple; other than the family issues, I live in Iran at the moment and my parents are in the west and I will join them with him as soon as I can. I lost my virginity to this man when he raped me when I was fifteen, four years ago. He made me believe I wanted it, and that nobody else in this country would take me anyways, as I have lost my one point of value for a woman, being a virgin. Before, I would have thought that once I left Iran for the west no one would care about my virginity, that means I could just leave him when I get to the west for another man. That isn’t the case though, because I am seven insufferable months pregnant.
I slowly detach myself from Jan's limp body. He's fast asleep. Hah, who wouldn't be after that? I blush to myself at the thought of his expert touch. His hands, lips, and tongue all over me; his teeth nibbling, teasing. I lie still next to him on our small bed and just stare at him.
