CHAPTER18
Shelaine
Groaning, I force my eyes open and stare over at the bright light streaming through the window. If Luke continues to keep to his schedule, he should be out on his run by now. I pull the sheets down and hear the crackling sound of his cum before I see it. How many mornings will I wake up covered in this stuff?
Irritation ripples along my skin, but underneath, there’s a slight feeling of satisfaction. Despite the antagonism between us, he still finds me desirable enough to mark. Deep down, I hate how things are between us, but I can’t be the one to make the first move. To do so would be to tell him that no matter what he does, I’ll be the first to make amends.
I don’t want that. I want a partnership where we both own up to our shit. What happened at the forced wedding was not my fault. It was all Luke’s and his insane need to own me, control me. As hard as it is, I still try to play the role of the doting wife, terrified that if I mess up, he’ll ship me off to Malum.
Deep down, way deep down, I hope that it’s all just a ruse, like he’s using Malum to call my bluff, but I can’t take that chance. I don’t know him well enough to know what he’s willing and not willing to do. That’s one of the main reasons I didn’t want to marry him in the first place. But now, I have no choice.
That’s no way to live. It’s exhausting keeping up this charade. Even Dean Anderson has commented on how tired I look. But what can I tell him? Even if I talk to him, convincing him to break Luke’s claim, what will that really do? I’m tied to Luke in a far more intrusive way than just a simple band that says I’m off the market.
Besides, even if I can get Dean Anderson to break the claim, that might only push Luke over the edge, making him follow through with his threat to send me to Malum. And so, just like with everyone else, I force a smile and say that we’re still in the honeymoon phase and let him draw his own conclusions. But how can we be in that phase when we never even had a honeymoon?
After saying I do, he took me home, and that was that. Perhaps if he even tried to make the marriage something a bit more romantic and less a show of force, I could have gotten behind it. But no. Just like every night when he comes in for sex, I truly don’t have a say.
It’s not that he’s forcing me. Not exactly. The beginning stages, the part where he initiates, that’s where I struggle and try to say no, but when his fingers slide into me, I’m boneless, helpless, unable to resist. If only sex with him was horrible, then I could find the will to just run away. But I can’t. I’m locked into this crazy farce with nowhere to go. Luke’s ruined me for any other man.
As with the last few days, just thinking about leaving sends a horrid churning in my stomach. Clutching at my midsection, I race into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before my insides rebel against me. Perhaps it’s some weird bug going around? Perhaps it’s the stress? Either way, waking up with the need to hurl is not indicative of a marriage that will last. It just can’t be.
Resting my cheek on the cool rim, I wait for the next wave that’s sure to come, and it does. Each time I empty what little food is in my stomach, things feel a bit better, but I never feel okay. Something’s not right, but I have no clue what it is.
I don’t dare tell Luke. There’s no way to predict what he’ll do. Besides, if it’s just a stomach virus, I don’t want him worrying and fussing over me, using my sickness as an excuse to “dote” on me in hopes of getting back into my good graces. Bracing once more, I throw up again and lie down next to the toilet.
Ever since the forced marriage, nothing has felt right. Perhaps it is just the stress. Maybe if I can talk to him, get through to him, somehow make him understand exactly why I’m upset, this daily illness will go away. Closing my eyes, I force myself to breathe deep and even as I curl my knees up to my chest.
Perhaps if I just lie here for a few more minutes, everything can stop feeling so fucking bad. Deep down, I know that no matter how much sleep I get, it’s still not going to fix things between Luke and me. But at least I’ll be better rested for the fight.
If I can just get some good sleep and not be so damned tired all the time, I can probably fight back and actually hold my ground, refuse his sexual advances, but I’m just so weak. I’m so fucking weak.
Wrapping my hands back around my midsection, my brain begins to drift off into areas it really shouldn’t. For a moment, my heart stutters at the very real fear that it might be pregnancy. But then, that’s impossible. Doctor Bradley has all the Loftry submissives on regular birth control.
I’ve never missed a shot. I could understand getting pregnant if I was the one administering it because I know how scattered I am. I’d definitely forget something. But he’s the one in charge. He’s the one that assured me that I wouldn’t get pregnant.
So… there’s no way. Right? I just can’t be pregnant. Not when we’re trying to fix this fractured marriage. A baby would just make things worse. Would Luke even want me to keep it? Terror slams into me as I ponder the what-ifs. If he forces me to give it up, could I actually fight him? Do I have the strength?
Once more, nausea wells up, forcing me to make one more heave into the toilet. It’s just stress. That’s all. It has to be. Since being on the shot, I’ve not once gotten my period. No period means no ovulation, right? And that means no way of getting pregnant.
Dropping back down on the floor, I lie there, my brain swirling as I force myself back up. But it’s no use. I’m far too tired. Maybe after a quick nap, I’ll be able to think straight. It’s not pregnancy. It just can’t be.
If only I could leave him. But it’s not that simple. Even when we’re at each other’s throats, I find that I can’t walk away. There’s a pull there, a toxic energy that keeps me coming back for more. Even though I’ll tell everyone it’s the sex, I know it’s something more than that.
I have no clue what it is, but it’s the one thing that’s keeping me from walking out that door. If I am indeed pregnant, maybe this is the way we can start to heal and grow? It wouldn’t be ideal, but if he could accept a baby, then maybe we can accept each other.
Absently, I stroke my stomach with my hands, both wishing for a baby and dreading the thought all at the same time. I’m only nineteen. It doesn’t matter if I’m mature for my age; I don’t know the first thing about raising a child. And with no way of contacting my parents….
I never thought I’d be so alone. Tears drip down my face and fall to the floor. Can I trust Luke with the knowledge of my parents? Can I even face them after all the grief I’d put them through? Right now, all I want is my mommy, someone who’s done this before, but even that feels impossible.
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