Dead or Destitute (Lams)

Chapter Twelve

"Come on baby," she moaned, pulling him closer. "More," she called out.

He tried to push her off, feeling trapped all of a sudden. "Maria," he mumbled. He pushed harder and the girl rolled off to the side. The look on her face was sheer anger. Her hair was a mess. Sweat rolled off her red face in little drops and she seemed ready to yell or strike Alexander.

"I'm sorry!" he apologized quickly. "I'm scared. I don't want to do this. Please Maria, be done. Give me a rest."

"I'm your wife!" she began. "You chose this. So sit your ass down and finish me. Why the fuck are you scared?"

He wept. "Please. I don't want to do this anymore."

She sat back on him, moving around anyway. "Too bad," she adjusted herself, figuring out what felt best to her." A tear fell down his face but she ignored it. He shook, and he felt as though he couldn't breath. This wasn't what he wanted. This wasn't what he agreed to.

It wasn't like she was forcing him, no. At least that's what he told himself. If he really wanted, he could stop her. He just didn't want to stop her. She was miserable when mad, and he wouldn't do that. He couldn't handle the stress of having the tiny woman disappointed in him.

This wasn't like the last time.

"Why can't Alexander tell me this story? I'm so tired of him not having the balls to do it," John complained. He had lost even more weight in the weeks prior. The cuts had stopped, but that's because they found what he had been using.

Maria twirled her hair in between her fingers, pursing her lips and acting as though this were an easy story to tell. It was in all actuality nearly impossible. It was the tale of how she lost the best thing in the world.

"Why the fuck did you try to stop me?" she asked, speaking for the first time that night. Alexander just picked at the food before him, unable to make small talk or really have any sort of discussion up until this point in time.

He sighed, his stomach tying into knots. "After what happened to me, I don't enjoy having sex. It scares me, a lot. I just need time."

"Two months, Alexander," she hissed. "Two months with no sex, with you flinching at my touch, with you scared of loud noises. Two months of therapy and police reports. There is nothing left to do."

Maria didn't understand. She couldn't. She couldn't understand what it felt like to have a stranger's hands touch you. Every movement she made reminded him of what was done to him.

"It's not like I picked this, like I wanted it to happen." His voice was barely audible. He began to shake again, the fork in his hand clattering against the full plate of food.

Maria glared at him, unable to comprehend why he hadn't been fixed yet, as though there was a magical cure to being raped in an alley.

"I was all alone. And I was scared. I don't mean to press this on you, I don't."

She rose, throwing her napkin down on the table. "That's it. I'm done."

She grabbed her purse and a pair of shoes, heading for the door. He chased after her, scared to be left alone.

"Maria this isn't your fault. Please don't leave me. You have to understand that-"