Chapter 7
Thealina
The hunger pangs exacerbate the more I behold the seasoned steak oozing with succulent juices.
Steak was one of my favourite foods, until I experienced how difficult it was to chew and move around my mouth.
His mother must know this; she requests steak dinners more often these days.
I won’t give them satisfaction of witnessing me push my food to the back of my throat to help swallow, so I focus on the small helping of mashed spuds instead.
I made them extra creamy so I can pretty much drink it down.
“I’m so proud of you my boy, achieving that promotion.”
I fight against the urge to roll my eyes.
I saw the missive, her precious boy didn’t get a promotion, he got notice to move to another department within the warehouse—something about the needs of the business and requiring a speedier output on the production line.
So, they replaced him with someone hastier and shoved him in a stale office to file papers.
“Thank you, Mother. A lot of blood, sweat and tears.”
Liar.
His mother thinks his new suit makes him appear authoritative. I guess from the waist up it does, but with how tight he wears his braces, his trousers hike up, looking three sizes too small.
He looks stupid. And not my problem. Not anymore.
The shift of seeing my husband as the most handsome male I had ever seen, to now being one I can’t look at without my skin itching came quick, and many years ago.
I once looked at him with such awe and respect, always wanting to give him my everything, all my smiles and laughter. Does he miss that? Miss me?
Does he remember when things shifted between us too? Sometimes I grieve for the marriage I’ve lost, sometimes I celebrate waking up to his abuse.
“You get your intelligence and drive from me.”
That he does, dear mother-in-law. That he does. He’s inherited weaponised incompetence too.
How could he not see how much irreparable damage his mother caused.
How she split apart the smallest of cracks in us and created deep-rotted canyons.
All because she no longer had her own husband to control, so she made a beeline for mine.
I lost the fight many moons ago. Now I can’t help the butterflies, albeit nervous butterflies, when I think of my future and how I’ll re-build myself back up.
“Your wife is very lucky to have you as her husband. If only I could have been so lucky.”
“Mother, you didn’t deserve my father’s absence. That’s why I’m here, taking care of you, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” she sniffles. “You do such a good job taking care of me and your wife.”
No one takes care of me. Not even me; soon to be rectified.
“And now with the promotion, its important she steps up. Lightening your burden where possible.”
How much more could I lighten for him. All he has to do is get up and go to work. Am I to dress him too, spoon him meals. Wipe his arse? Wash his balls? I’m sure his mother would prefer that job.
“Agreed.”
‘Why didn’t you leave’ they would say, but it’s always easier saying something than doing it. Takes a while for your soul to harden enough to walk away from something you didn’t want to fail.
“Is there a reason she’s stuck in the same job, with the same monthly coin?”
She talks like I’m not sat in the dinner room, eating, or trying to, at the same damn table.
Is there a reason your mother questions my coin when she does not work nor contribute to this household?
“I’d actually like Thealina to stop working and focus on raising our family.”
Yes, darling husband, the family I keep smothering when I sneak the contraception tonic each month.
Little does my husband know I get paid an extra four coin a month. And two of those four coins keeps me barren, free from mothering his brats. The other two I’ve saved up, and over time I now have a pouch full of small silver.
A long time ago I envisioned making a family with him. But I no longer choose this man for my children. For my children deserve the greatest of fathers, and the best husband for their mother too. If I had a daughter, she could meet my same fate and if I had a son I could have two abusers.
“Think you might want to consider a second wife to fulfil that need,” she snorts, chewing a bite of steak. “What? Don’t you think it should have happened by now?” She continues when my husband pauses mid-chew.
His scrunched brows surprise me. Is this when I’ll finally witness him sticking up for me and scold his mother?
“Hm, no. I don’t have the patience for a second wife.”
I guess not.
“Agreed. I don’t have the patience for another Thealina too.”
What’s the worst that’ll happen right now if I were to shove up from my seat, grab my slab of steak and slap it across her face?
He’d reprimand me no doubt, perhaps put his hands on me again.
Maybe I’ll fight harder this time. I’d pack a small case, my pouch of coins and my damn romance novel.
I’d go to the nearest inn, even stay in one of the servants’ quarters on the royal grounds. Just temporary until I get on my feet.
“Slap her.”
A searing pain engulfs my cheek, my hair falls in front of my face, and I struggle to draw in a breath.
“Sweetpea!”
I glance up, shocked and dazed, cradling my stinging flesh. My heart pounding a dozen.
“What happened? You zoned out, I kept calling you, but you were lifeless.”
So, you hit me…
He pushes my hand away from my face to stroke my cheek. Playing my part well, I give him a small smile and nod my appreciation.
Every day he makes my choice to walk away that much easier. I stand, gathering plates and cutlery, swift and emotionless. It’s only when I get to the kitchen sink I draw in a breath, letting a tear slip as I graze my tender skin with the pads of my fingers.
Just go now. Go now. JUST FUCKING GO NOW.
WHERE!
ANYWHERE!
Violent and abusive men are seen as men. Always the saying of ‘boys will be boys’ or ‘what did she do for him to react like that?’
Abusive women, however, are seen as crazy, bitches, insane, emotional, unstable, dramatic. A man’s rage has plagued our Kingdom with war and greed, corruption and bloodshed, yet our women are seen as the emotional and hysterical ones.
“Oh, it was for your own good, you were staring into nothing. Ignoring the man of the house. Extremely rude, Thealina.”
My mother-in-law appears behind me noting my quiet sobs. Sobs I wanted to hide but sobs she’s now witnessed.
“Son, your wife is being hysterical again.”
And this is why I don’t let them see me react.
“Sweetpea…” my husband sighs, entering the kitchen.
“… enough now, come on, how do you think this makes me feel, huh?” His tone is tender, just like his brush of his fingers across my face.
“Go bathe. Finish the cleaning tomorrow morning. I’ll be up soon,” he says, wiping the wetness beneath my eyes.
Why did I do that! Why couldn’t I hold it in for a little longer. All that progress of not giving them satisfaction gone up in smoke. Poof. Gone.
All that hard work vanished with one stupid fucking tear.