Julia

I am not very hungry, even though the steak and potatoes Cindy has kindly brought to me taste wonderful. I make myself take a few bites as she sits on the sofa near me, making casual conversation. She has asked me about when I met Jeff and where we moved here from, and I have answered her between bites. Now, after four or five pieces of steak, I am nearing my limit. I’m nervous, and it’s difficult to eat something so heavy on a jittery stomach.

“Mr. Merriweather was very kind to provide dinner for me,” I say, thinking it might be time to set my fork aside. I look her in the eyes to see if she understands what I am getting at.

“He is very thoughtful,” she agrees. “Don’t feel obligated to eat all of it, though. If you’re finished, I’ll have it taken away.”

“Do you mind?” It seems so strange to me to have someone waiting on me. I’m not used to it at all. I can’t remember the last time anyone did anything for me.

“Not at all,” she says with a smile. Cindy stands and goes to the door she’d left earlier, not the one to the party but the other one. A moment later, a gentleman in the same outfit the other servers are wearing comes and takes away my plate. There’s still a lot of food on it, and I feel bad for wasting it, but being in Braxton Merriweather’s presence earlier has done this to me. The fact that I am still in his suite, that his bed is just on the other side of the room, has my pulse racing, though I know this is not his actual apartment, and I doubt he’s ever used that bed for anything.

But then, I can’t help but wonder if maybe he doesn’t sometimes bring a woman in here from a party. He has a bit of a reputation as a playboy and has been seen with all sorts of models, actresses, and famous singers. I look at the bed, and for a moment, I can imagine Braxton Merriweather naked on top of some woman, both of them grinding against one another, panting, groaning. My face goes red, and I have to look away.

If Cindy has noticed, she says nothing. “Would you care to rejoin the party?” she asks.

Remembering Jeff’s warning, that I needed to stay outside on the balcony, panic wells up inside of me again. What if he sees that I haven’t done what he asked. I check my phone and see that he is not looking for me. At least, he hasn’t sent a text or called. “Oh, uh….” I’m not sure what to say to Cindy.

“It’s fine, I assure you,” she says. “You can walk around with me. I can introduce you to some people. Mr. Merriweather has gone to let your husband know that he has invited you inside for dinner.”

My eyebrows shoot up. Jeff will be furious. Even though he will not let on to his boss that he is embarrassed by me, he will let me know the moment we are in private how disappointed he is in me. I hope that he will not strike me, but there’s no guarantee. Sometimes, he gets so angry… I know it is coming.

Cindy seems concerned. “Are you all right?” she asks me.

I nod. “I’m fine, thank you.” I take another drink of my champagne and end up draining the glass.

With a smile, Cindy offers her hand, and I take it. “It’ll be fine,” she says again, and I nod, even though I know that it won’t be. I can’t tell her that, though. I have my wrap now and I adjust it around my shoulders, remembering what Jeff said about showing too much cleavage.

“Such a lovely gown,” Cindy says, patting my arm. “You should show it off.”

I smile at her but can’t explain why I am wearing the shawl the way that I am. Someone like Cindy will never understand my situation.

We walk back out into the party, and across the expanse, I see Jeff. He looks angry. He’s standing with his friends, clearly drunk, swaying a bit as he speaks.

Then, my eyes fall on Braxton Merriweather, also standing with a group of people, but gentlemen and ladies. He also looks perturbed, though he is hiding it much better than my husband is.

Mr. Merriweather sees me staring at him, and I know I should look away, but I don’t. Cindy is introducing me to someone. I hear my name, but I don’t look away from Braxton’s eyes that seem to be peering into my soul, not until a man in a suit is standing between us, his hand offered for me to shake.

I have no idea who he is, but I shake it anyway and say, “It’s lovely to meet you.” He could be the King of Spain or the garbage collector, I have no idea. The only man I can pay any sort of attention to at all is Braxton Merriweather, and that makes my situation even more dangerous than it did before, when Jeff was the only man I was concerned with that might hurt me. Jeff could strike me, but Braxton had ways of hurting a person I couldn’t even register, especially a vulnerable woman like me in desperate need of attention from a strong, good looking man like him. He could ruin me in ways I hadn’t even thought of yet. And if I kept looking at him the way I had been a few minutes ago, before this person inserted his way into my line of vision, I had no doubt that Braxton Merriweather would do just that.

Julia

“Just get in the car, and don’t say a word,” Jeff tells me as we exit Merriweather Towers. He has me by the arm, and even though he’s not quite squeezing tightly enough to hurt me, it isn’t comfortable either.

I’m not exactly sure why he’s mad at me, though I can think of several reasons. I didn’t stay outside as he had ordered me to. I had interacted with Cindy and her friends as she’d taken me around the party. Though I had tried to keep to myself and be as quiet as possible, I had been forced to greet people, to shake their hands and be polite. I know Jeff doesn’t like it when I touch men, even to shake their hands, but I couldn’t be rude and ignore an outstretched hand, could I? Jeff doesn’t like it when I am rude either.

In the taxi, he tells the driver our address and mumbles under his breath about how this will cost a fortune. I feel bad. I know Merriweather doesn’t pay as much as a person would think, which I’ve always thought was odd considering the lavish parties Mr. Merriweather throws for his workers. But Jeff insists his check barely covers the rent and groceries. That’s why my allowance is so meager. I don’t know how much money he makes or how much rent is or anything about the amounts of the bills we pay because I am not allowed to see the money, but I know we don’t have excess money, and I feel so badly about two cab rides in one day. If Jeff had attended the party by himself, he would’ve taken the subway home and saved several dollars.

But he had been asked to bring me. I’m still not quite sure why. Mr. Merriweather made it seem as if he’d been wanting to meet me. I can’t understand that. He is a billionaire, the most eligible bachelor in our city, and I am literally no one. I think perhaps someone has said something nice about me, but I don’t know who it would’ve been. Surely not Jeff. I can’t remember the last nice thing Jeff said about me to anyone.

Once the cab is away from the tower, Jeff says, “Well, that was a disaster.”

I am not sure what to say, so I say nothing at all.

“Merriweather wants to speak to me in the morning. Damn asshole probably wants me to take on yet another account. I don’t know why he can’t do any of the fucking work himself.”

I keep my mouth quiet. My husband is drunk and even if I agree with him and call Mr. Merriweather names, it will get me nowhere. I sit perfectly still, as if my husband is a Tyrannosaurus Rex and can only see creatures when they move.

“You have fun in his bedroom?” Jeff asks, looking at me now, shaking his head. “You offer those giant tits of yours to him? That why they’re hanging out?”

The cab driver looks at me in the rearview mirror. I can’t tell if he is alarmed for my safety or actually thinks my breasts might be exposed. “No, Jeff,” I tell my husband, pulling my wrap more closely around my shoulders. “Mr. Merriweather was a polite host. Besides, he was only in the room for a moment. It was a sitting room. I was with his assistant, Cindy.”

“Cindy?” Jeff echoes. “That bitch. She’s nothing but a cocksucking bitch.”

I happen to have thought Cindy was quite nice but I do not provoke him. I have a feeling tonight is going to be rough.

Jeff mutters something I don’t understand and then slides across the seat when we go around a corner. He is not wearing his safety belt. He hits the window and swears but is so drunk it doesn’t actually hurt.

For the rest of the drive, I am silent, pretending I do not exist, and Jeff is on the other side of the cab. When we pull up to our building, the driver tells Jeff how much it will be. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his billfold, and pulls out the money, handing it over. I notice there is no tip and wish I could give the man one, but Jeff will be insulted. I tell him thank you, and Jeff gets out, staggering up the steps before I am even out of the car.

“You okay, lady?” the cab driver asks me, catching my eyes in the mirror. “You need me to call somebody?”

I hesitate, knowing he is right to be concerned. But there is no one to call. “I’m fine, thank you,” I say, and I get out of the car. As I am closing the door, I see a dark colored sedan pulling to the curb down the block. I think it is odd. It’s late, and that’s an awfully nice car to be in our neighborhood. But I don’t linger to see who gets out, if anyone. Instead, I follow Jeff up the steps, knowing the worst is yet to come, once the door to our apartment is closed and we are alone.

Julia

I hear Jeff’s alarm go off, but it only partially wakes me up. I’m so tired from being out late last night. And from the argument. When we got home, Jeff was so drunk…. He screamed at me for a long time, leaving me in tears. He passed out, and I cried myself to sleep. Despite his anger at me the night before, and the fact that he is clearly hung over, he curses at his phone, turns off the alarm, and promptly pulls his dick out of his briefs.

I know the routine. It is the same every morning. I push the blankets off and pull my panties off as he clumsily climbs on top of me. He pushes my nightgown up to my collar bone and sucks hard on my left nipple until it hurts as he presses inside of me. I find a spot on the ceiling to stare at and move my hips a little because he wants me to. I put my hands on his back. He’ll be done soon enough.

It takes a little longer this time than normal because Jeff still has alcohol in his system. His dick is small anyway, but when he is drunk or hungover, it is only about three inches long and spongy, so it takes a lot longer for him to climax. Finally, after about ten minutes, he grunts a few times, and I feel his seed spill inside of me. He rolls off of me and grabs a bottle of headache medicine off of the nightstand as he stumbles to the bathroom to shower and get ready for work.

Normally, I hop right out of bed and go make his breakfast while he is showering, but it is harder to hop today. I slowly find my panties and put them back on, finding a pair of pajama pants in the drawer, too, putting those on, and then sliding my robe on and tying it before I head to the kitchen to start his eggs. My cheek stings a little, even though it’s been hours since Jeff backhanded me. I have no tears left for him, so I press my palm to it and then start making the eggs.

Last night was different than other nights, not because Jeff was drunker or more angry but because I felt a little different. Being spoken to by other human beings, being valued by Cindy and some of the others I met, even my interaction with Mr. Merriweather, whom I am sure has forgotten all about me by now, made me feel a little bit more like a person that mattered, like maybe I shouldn’t take this sort of treatment from Jeff. But as he yelled at me last night when he was so angry and so drunk, I would have nothing without him. He pays all of the bills. He is the only one with a job. If I were to leave him, where would I even go? I don’t even have enough money to take the bus back home.

If I called my parents and told them that I wanted to come home, they would be so disappointed in me. I know this, but Jeff has reminded me time and again. My parents are under the impression that Jeff and I are doing very well for ourselves, and they are so proud of his job and the fact that I am the wife of a vice-president in an important company. If I asked them to send me money so that I can come home, they will know that it was all a lie. They will know that we are faking it, that we are not what we appear to be. They will know that I am nothing.

My parents are the last people on earth I want to have disappointed in me. So I am stuck here with a man who does not love me. He says he does, but actions speak louder than words, and it is clear that Jeff doesn’t love me one bit. I bet, if he could sell me, he would. If I were to ask him if he would sell me, he would laugh and say I’m not worth twenty dollars.

His breakfast is done before he gets in the kitchen. I start to get a little worried. He can’t be late today. He told me last night that Mr. Merriweather wanted to see him this morning. I am just about to go and check on him, even though I know I will be screamed at for doubting his ability to get out the door on time, when there is a knock at the door.

I draw in a deep breath. This is unusual, and I don’t like unusual things.

I go to the door and slowly pull it open. I recognize the man standing there. I met him at the party the night before. “Hello, Mr. Springer,” I say, trying to hide my confusion. “What brings you by this morning.”

“Mrs. Thompson,” he says with a nod. I see his eyes on my cheek and wish I could do something to hide the mark there, but there is nothing I can do. “Is your husband home?”

“Yes,” I say. “He’s just--”

“Springer?” Jeff says, coming into the kitchen. He looks at me, as if I have somehow summoned Mr. Springer to the kitchen. Then, back at the gentleman standing in the doorway, he asks, “What brings you by this morning?”

“I just came to follow up with what Mr. Merriweather told you last night,” Springer says with his eyes narrowed.

I have no idea what he is talking about, and when I look closely at Jeff’s face, I see that he doesn’t know either at first. But then that melts away, and his eyes are on me again. “It’s not what you think,” Jeff says.

Mr. Springer holds up a hand. “Save it,” he says. “I’m not a moron, Thompson. Are you ready to go? Mr. Merriweather is expecting you in his office in forty minutes, and traffic is heavy.”

“Shit,” Jeff mutters. I’m embarrassed as I look at Mr. Springer’s face and see his surprise at my husband swearing in such a manner, but there is nothing I can say. “I’ll be right there.”

Jeff rushes off to get his briefcase, I assume. He is back a few minutes later. Most mornings, he doesn’t say anything to me, but today, he pulls me close and kisses my cheek. “Goodbye, darling. I’ll see you this evening.”

“Goodbye… dear,” I say, trying to act natural. As Mr. Springer said, he is not a moron. I still have no idea what they are talking about, but as Mr. Springer turns and bids me good day, I do the same.

After they are gone, I put the chain on the door and go into the kitchen. I don’t like this situation. I have to wonder if Jeff will be extra angry when he comes home tonight over whatever this is. I will stew about it all day.

I walk into the kitchen and remember that Jeff hasn’t had time to eat his breakfast. Normally, I don’t eat anything for breakfast, but today, I decide that, since I will have to throw his eggs and bacon away if I don’t eat it, there’s no reason to let it go to waste and sit down at the table to enjoy it.