“Come here,” he says. I straddle him as his legs hang over the side of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor. He pulls my vest up and takes my nipple in his mouth and bites it, hard, too hard.
“Oww,” I protest. Suddenly his hand has wrapped around my hair and he pulls at it roughly while flipping me over onto my back. He grabs my face between his thumb and fingers and forces me to look at him.
“Don’t make out. You like it rough. I know you like it rough.”
What the fuck? He’s never said things like this to me before and he’s never behaved like this either. He lets go of my hair and my face. Despite his drunken state, he manages to free himself from his boxers and pull my knickers to one side. Without any kind of foreplay, he tries to push inside me. He’s not fully hard and because I’m not wet, it’s painful and I let out a little yelp.
“Don’t Nina, just don’t. I know you like it rough. I know it,” he says through gritted teeth. He grabs my face again and stares angrily into my eyes.
“Is this how he fucked you? Is it?”
I don’t know this person, I’ve never seen Marcus like this. My heart is racing now, but for all the wrong reasons. His mouth smashes down on mine and he bites down on my bottom lip. I start to panic and dig my heels into the mattress, trying to push my way up the bed, trying to escape. He grabs me by the throat and squeezes, hard.
“Don’t you fucking dare, don’t you ever try and run away from me. You fucking stay here and you take it. You take what I’m giving you, you little slut.”
He’s fully hard now and has no trouble forcing himself inside me. I cry out in pain at the stinging and burning sensation. Marcus isn’t that big, but my muscles are clenched tight and the intrusion unwelcome. I start to cry. I’m angry more than anything, but also humiliated.
“Marcus, please, what are…? Why are you doing this?”
“Don’t Nina. Just stop pretending you don’t love this. Is this how he fucked you? Is this how you got fucked by your rock star bit of rough?”
“Oh my God, why are you saying this? What the fuck is wrong with you, Marcus?”
“Shut up! Shut up! Just shut the fuck up and take it,” he shouts. Spit is frothing at the corners of his mouth and hanging from the middle of his lip. I try desperately to get away from him, but start to see stars as he squeezes my throat tighter. I make one last ditch attempt to buck him off me and push him away. I give it everything, pulling at his hair, trying to claw at his face. He grips my wrists in his hands, holding them still at the side of my head. I try to roll from side to side. Panic kicking in. This isn’t happening, my husband wouldn’t do this to me. I lean forward and bite down on his shoulder. He stops his brutal thrusts, that drive him deeper inside of me and I think it’s all over until his fist comes down viciously and he punches me in the jaw.
My head spins, but I don’t pass out. I stop fighting and lay completely still apart from the heaving of my chest. He thrusts a few more times, grunts, then stills.
I can taste blood in my mouth where I must’ve bit my tongue or my cheek. I remain motionless for a few more moments, trying to gather my thoughts. I open my eyes when I hear Marcus start to snore, his weight pressing down on me. I move my hand to cover my mouth before a sob can escape and wake him.
It takes a few attempts, but I eventually manage to manoeuvre myself out from underneath him. I leave him, snoring, face down on the bed and head for the bathroom down the hallway. I turn on the shower, step inside and cry like I’ve never cried before. I cry not for what happened, but for every day I’ve spent wasting away in this miserable marriage.
My mind is racing. I just can’t make sense of what’s just happened. What would force him to behave like that? What could’ve happened? And whatever it was, nothing justifies him treating me like that.
He hit me.
He fucking hit me.
I start to cry again, the full realisation of what my husband just did, suddenly overwhelming me.
I stay in the shower for ages, letting my tears flow while I scrub the smell and all traces of him from my body. I try to think straight. What should I do? Should I leave? Now, or in the morning? Should I give him a chance to explain, to apologise? What if he wakes up and does it again?
I suddenly panic that the sound of the shower might wake him up. I jump out and wrap myself in a towel, still shaking uncontrollably. I go down to the laundry and pull out a hoodie and my hammer style yoga pants from the dryer. I head back upstairs and get my phone from beside the bed. Marcus is still face down snoring. I stand and watch him for a few seconds. He looks like an angel in his sleep. His blond curls need cutting, He never usually lets it get this long, but he’s been in court every weekday and on the golf course most weekends.
I wipe my tears away on the back of my hand and walk out of the room. I call Duchess from the kitchen and grab my keys. I jump in my car and drive straight to Sophie’s.