After that day, October 13th, 2019, Oliver had pulled Sarah into a brick house. It seemed way too large to just fit them. With five bedrooms and two full bathrooms,-one half bathroom- Oliver practically carried her inside, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as he put her down so she could marvel at the home he got for them.
Sarah, before she found herself in these situations, always watched the movies and shows that showed the husband and the wife dancing together in their living room, their days filled with affirmation and kisses. They'd hold each other close, whispering love into each others ears, holding hands so tightly that the skin was beginning to bruise.
But there was something different to their arrangement. The only time Oliver showed her affection was when he pulled her into bed. On their wedding night, there was a roughness into the way he took her. Sarah remembered not being able to breathe, pain radiating between her legs. She could feel herself bleeding, along with the friction from his thrusting length, and the frustrating grip on her hips when he buried himself into her.
Afterwards, Sarah realized she was crying. He was asleep next to her, snoring softly while she wept silently. She pulled herself out of bed, and went into the bathroom where she gazed at herself in the mirror. Then, her eyes glanced down to the mess between her legs. Red and white streaks slipped down her thighs. Sarah knew she was feeling pain and blood drip, but Oliver didn't seem to care. In fact, he seemed to enjoy her gasps of pain and mewls for mercy. Maybe he thought her cries and her begging for him to stop was all the more reason to keep going faster and harder.
Now, two months later, New Years was approaching. The winter wind was howling against the shutters of the open window. This brick house had some history, with furnaces heating up every room. An old tiled kitchen was where Sarah would spend most of her day. She'd clean the dishes, scrub the floors, making sure everything was spotless. It was bestowed upon her as a wifely duty, but she soon found herself doing it out of boredom.
When she was married, Oliver seemed to take away any responsibility in the outside world. The only thing she had to worry about was looking pretty, shopping, and cleaning. Sarah was turned into a housewife, a servant to clean the house for his satisfaction and to please him with gratification. She soon found herself doubting her abilities to stay strong and steady in the marriage, and only a few months had passed.
On top of his dismissiveness and rather high sex-drive, Sarah noticed that he'd keep an eye on her about two weeks after their last sexual encounter. She recognized that he'd spend more time in the bathroom, and she'd hear things getting knocked around. Sarah began to wonder what he was searching for in her, so she began to pay attention as well.
After he witnessed no change in her behavior or physical appearance, he'd drag her to bed again, this time making sure to finish inside her not once, but multiple times. Then, he'd take note of her behavior, repeating the cycle of his search for any changes.
Sarah was staring down at her hands as they began to burn in the hot water. Bubbles were creeping up her wrists, painting her forearms. She found herself always zoning out, always wanting to piece together the puzzle to Oliver's recent shenanigans.
When Sarah realized it, she began taking an extra five minutes to her nightly routine. She kept her packaging in her makeup bag, always checking to see if he had gone so far as to check her personal things. Sarah learned that he was checking the trash and underneath the sink weekly, growing annoyed when he found nothing. When Sarah showed no signs of morning sickness, he began to ask her questions.
Are you sick? It was his indirect way of asking if she was infertile.
No, Oliver. I'm not sick. Sarah would mutter in a tone that was sickly sweet- like she was relieved he cared for her wellbeing, but she knew better.
YOU ARE READING
The Grean Household
Romance"It was a mistake..." She told her mother, folding her hands into each other. "Marrying him..." Her mother said nothing, she simply sat there as her only daughter stood across from her, on the verge of collapsing from bruised ribs and cracked shins...
