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.