Work In Progress

Chapter 1

Eliot had just come home from work. I was sitting in a chair with my swollen feet elevated. He saw me and started yelling.

“What have you even done all day long while I worked hard to provide this life for you? There are dirty dishes in the sink, laundry to be done, and I don’t think you have mopped the floors all month!” Elliot accused with cruelty.
I rubbed my pregnant, swollen belly, and willed myself to stand on my swollen feet without crying out in pain. I began to walk, not saying a word. His words made me feel worthless and unlovable. I wanted to just leave. Elliot grabbed my arm making sparks fly across my skin from the mate bond, but his bitter words now made my heart harden and ache with pain that radiated into my stomach. Sparks turned to pain as he tightened his grip on my arm and dragged me to the kitchen sink.

The last time he touched me with any gentleness was when he made me conceive this child. The pregnancy gave me horrible morning sickness well into second trimester: I lost so much weight. Then the preclampsia started, and I struggled to stay on my feet anymore. From my hips down became swollen so badly my shoes would not fit, and I was forced to wear slippers everywhere. Walking hurt so badly, and I was simply too exhausted to work. I couldn’t even bend, because the pressure made it impossible to do it without pain. My wolf was working hard to keep me alive as I willed myself to die.

I thought my mate was supposed to love me, encourage me, and make my life full. All I felt was pain since meeting him and his words left marks on my soul.

I wanted to cry as I withstood his unjust evaluation of me, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

He yanked my arm painfully and demanded I wash all the dishes and make him dinner. He only released me when I turned the water on.

It hurt to stand so much that my body shook, but I finished the dishes and made the most basic dinner I could: grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. He ate it without complaining.
In rebellion, I refused to eat anything and went to bed early. Elliot followed me.

“Aren’t you going to ask about my day?” He asked as I curled up on my pregnancy pillow.

“How was your day?” I asked uninterested.

“Stressful. I could use some relief if you know what I mean.” He winked at me as he touched my face looking at me with hunger, before excusing himself to use the bathroom.

I was revolted, but it was easier to let him than resist him. The only excuse that worked to get out of sex was my period, and that wasn’t coming back for months.

I put my pregnancy pillow on the floor and quickly applied lube while he went to the bathroom. I laid on my back. When he returned, he did the rest.
Elliot was incredibly handsome and well endowed but with how he treated me, I didn’t want him to touch me. If I didn’t sneak lube, he would force himself on me unlubricated and make me sore for days.

After we mated for the first time, I went to the pack doctor, because it hurt so badly. His professional demeanor slipped for just a moment when I naively described the painful experience. I saw pity in his eyes briefly before he made it disappear behind a mask of professionalism. He then taught me about lubrication and gave me some free samples from the teenage pregnancy awareness display in the lobby.

When I told Eliot, he was against using lube saying it would decrease the friction and sensation for him so I hid the lube, and I used it in secret so he thought he turned me on. Once in a while, his spontaneity made me sore, so I started showering before bed and applying lube then as well as before he came home from work just to be sure he wouldn’t hurt me.

He was my first. He was all I knew. I thought sex was supposed to feel amazing, but all I ever felt was pain. I avoided it at all costs.

I was prepared by our society and lore for my mate to love me and for sex to be a transformative experience, but I soon learned Eliot is the type of person who is never pleased. He never would be the man I wanted to confide in, nor who I would regard as a friend. I tried to love him, really I did, but he never returned my sentiments. It only left me more broken, isolated, and alone.

I felt bad bringing a child into this cold house. I didn’t want to place the responsibility for loving me on such tiny shoulders. I didn’t want Eliot to warp their innocent mind to hate and degrade me. I couldn’t bear that...
How could I show my child love when I am not really sure what love is anymore?

By the time my mind came to this conclusion, Eliot had been riding me for a full fifteen minutes. I should have been able to orgasm in all that time with parts his size, but without his heart, it felt empty and I couldn’t connect with him. It only made me feel sad and depressed.

Orgasms were not part of my reality. I didn’t know what they felt like. I never had one.

His words frequently reminded me: I am just lazy and unqualified to be loved. My suffering doesn’t matter, and the only one who matters in this relationship is Eliot. Who could orgasm with that much weight in their heart?

My mate doesn’t love me and that made the entire world feel harsh and cold.
After Eliot finished, he cleaned himself and went to sleep without giving me a second glance. I limped to the bathroom on sore, swollen feet to shower and by the time I went to bed, Eliot was sound asleep so it was safe to finally cry.