She moves to the other end of the sofa and we take simultaneous swigs on our wine. The sun is coming up, the birds are singing and Sophie and I are drinking wine.
“I don’t know what happened. He won the fraud case and came home around three, blind drunk.” I wipe my eyes and nose on the sleeve of my hoodie and continue, “He must’ve fallen into the hall table or up the stairs or something because I heard a noise, then Duchess started barking.” My dog's ears twitch at the mention of her name, she opens one eye then closes it again, her head still in my lap.
“I got up and went to the top of the stairs and he was just sitting at the bottom, his head in his hands… he looked, I don’t know... He turned around and looked at me, he could barely focus, but he looked at me and told me that he was sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Sophie asks, frowning in confusion.
“I don’t know. He said he was sorry and held his hand out to me.”
“Hang on, hang on a sec. Let me get you some ice, your face is swelling up as you’re talking. Looks like you’re hiding a roast potato in there and it’s not attractive, babe.”
“Cheers Soph,” I reply sarcastically. She rolls her eyes at me and then heads to the kitchen to pull an ice pack from the freezer. She wraps it in a tea towel and hands it to me, before sitting back at the opposite end of the sofa.
“He held out his hand and I went to him,” I continue, shuddering as I put the ice pack to my jaw. “He pulled me into his lap and told me that he loves me.” I look across at my best friend… my best friend, whom I should be able to tell everything to, but suddenly, I feel ashamed. I feel so ashamed of what my husband did to me. Ashamed that I didn’t fight harder. Ashamed that I haven’t left him sooner.
“What, Neen? What happened then?” My mouth is watering and for a few seconds I worry that I’m going to vomit. I shake my head at Sophie, trying to find the words. I’m struggling to explain what happened next because, in all honesty, I have no fucking idea.
“I don’t know, Soph. I don’t understand what happened. He was fine. He was all over me. We went upstairs and he collapsed on the bed and I started to undress him.”
I know I’m pulling an ugly cry face as I lose control of my emotions and, to be honest, I don’t really care. “He lost it Soph, he just lost it and went for me.”
“I don’t understand, babe. What d’ya mean he went for you? He just hit you? What? What d’ya mean?”
“No, no, no.” I let go of a loud sob. “No, he threw me onto my back. He called me a slut and a whore. He said… he said he knew I liked it rough. He told me not to make out. He pulled my hair and squeezed my face in his hand really hard.” She’s shaking her head in disbelief as I explain what happened. “He was saying things like, ‘Is this how he fucked you,’ ‘Did your rough rock star, fuck you like this?’ He was spitting and frothing at the mouth. I told him to stop. I screamed Soph. I screamed and I cried and I clawed, but he was too strong and I just couldn’t… I just couldn’t get away from him. I tried so hard,” my voice is high pitched as I recall the panic that I felt, the disbelief that I still feel.
Sophie has moved up the sofa and is sitting next to me, holding my hand in both of hers. She’s crying as hard as I am.
“I bit him. I bit him, Soph. I bit his shoulder.”
“Good, the fucker, I hope you bit a lump out of him. Fuck! That fucker. I’m gonna kill him when I see him. What the fuck is wrong with him? Why the…”
“That was when he punched me,” I interrupt her. “He punched me almost unconscious and then he fucked me.”
“Oh my God, Nina. Oh my fucking God. That’s rape! He fucking raped you. Your husband that cunt you married, fucking raped you?”
“No, he didn’t, it wasn’t… We were about to have sex anyway and he just flipped out. It’s not the same.” I know what Marcus did was wrong, but it wasn’t rape.
“Stop Nina. Stop fucking defending him,” Sophie shouts and I flinch away from her. “I’m sorry, but just stop. Stop and think about it. He forced himself on you. You asked him to stop. You said, ‘no.’ You tried to fight him off and he hit you, Neen. When you said ‘no,’ when you struggled and fought back, he fucking hit you and took what he wanted. If you were a total stranger, that would be classed as rape. Why should the fact that you’re his wife make any difference?”
“Nobody’s ever hit me before,” was all that I could think of to say.
“You should go to the police.”
“What? No. No fucking way. He’ll lose his job. Get struck off, even. No.”