That was my mistake. Motherhood before reason I suppose. He kicked me heavily, with no remorse. My face bled, and I felt the thread keeping me in this world thin. But all I could see, with my bruised and swollen eyes, was Spence wailing at the top step.
I crawled. The singing tenderness was distinct. I crawled like a slug to my son, and time stopped. He stopped crying. He stopped kicking me. They stopped cheering him on. I stood up, and in the pain settling comfortably in my womb, back, and everywhere else that my skin snuggled, walked with him hand in hand all those steps downstairs, to our quaint home by the fireplace.
The one time I had gone to the hospital to get Spence checked, I had to feign my injuries from a ladder accident. It was the nurse who, while checking on Spence’s temperature, had notice my slight discomfort as I moved my sides. Turns out I had three broken ribs and a few unchecked bruises.
One might ask the infamous question of course. It stares at me every time I walk around the house, getting ready to wash myself or ask Henrietta to cook us a meal. Every time I wear a scarf and go out with his friends, who make me feel a little better, the question begs the answer. Why am I still here?
Dad died. It’s as simple as that. The smoking had finally gotten to his lungs, but it wasn’t the thing that killed the bastard; he had gotten himself into one of those mega deals he was talking to himself about when we were planning the wedding. By then, he was worried about my huge belly, but I told him no one would ask questions. As long as I’m getting married, there’s no problem.
Then one night as he hobbled down a street back home, after the wedding was over, he waltzed into an alley or something. He was knifed for not handing his wallet over, but it was just a cut. Dad tried to run, and he was hit by a truck that sent him spiraling into a ditch a few steps away. That’s where he broke his neck and bled out.
I never cried. No one expected me to. Spence was new to my life, and two years into his I had only him to think about. A huge part of me was glad that he would never grow up knowing the monster his grandfather was, and that I could start anew with him. But even as the days grew colder, and the nights even longer, I could see it in Carl’s eyes; the hate he silently bred in his heart for us. He was only in it for one thing; the money.
Dad had always said that the Glenn family was the richest on our side of the seaboard, but truth was they had been bankrupt for years. It just wasn’t in the public domain. All of dad’s wealth had been their target all along. He was suckered like a little bitch after all, but it gave me the slightest reasons to smile.
In his will, I came to find out that nothing was left to my name. All of it was to go to Carl, as long as he fulfilled one condition; he remains married to me for the rest of his life. He didn’t like that, and I didn’t either. I cried myself to sleep for months because of that. He brought women after women to fuck because of it.
Spence grew up in a household with the oddest of complexities. His mom was always beaten up but smiled to him to keep his young mind at bay from the inequities of the world. His nanny, Henrietta, who came to me as a gift from whatever is good in the universe, was always there, even now, to care for him when my heart couldn’t hold its own with Spence asking questions about his daddy.
Once, he was curious about his blue hair, and his chiseled chin. He always spent the time we had coloring his books to ask me the deep whys. And I tried my best, and made sure Henrietta was close by in case Carl walked in and found us.
“Mommy, is Carl my daddy?” he asked, grabbing his crayon and doodling in the book Henrietta snuck in for us. The dinosaur was pink, and I laughed lovingly at that, but he enjoyed the sparkling on the book.
“No he isn’t Spence. Your daddy is far away from here,” I would say, and Henrietta’s look, pursed lips and a questioning eye, would let me stop the answers for that time.
Spence is a truly shy boy. Even at school, which was a miracle for Carl to even agree to, he socializes a bit awkwardly. I suppose that could be my fault. I try to protect him from all of it, even the good things. These eight years have been painful teachers, with each one showing me that the magical place Spencer and I believed in long ago, when we shook hands under those floodlights ten years ago, was just a story.
Spencer, the father of my child. I miss him sometimes, if not always. Every time Spence laughs at a joke Henrietta made during dinner, I would remember his soft embraces, his laugh, and his care. Luckily for us, we knew when Carl would get back from ‘work’ and had perfect timing to make sure Henrietta had cleaned around, all apart from the third floor. No one ever goes there again.
Eight years, I’ve been wondering. All this time, not a phone call, nor a beep. There was just silence. Just like the day I brought Spence into this world. Dad was there, a day and a half later, and Carl never showed up.
The children’s wing was really cozy and chill. Being alone, waltzing through the delivery room with drips of my water sticking down my leg, I asked the nurse to kindly see if there was a room available. I had my insurance card, and Carl’s platinum, in case things would need some bribing. Hey, I was in labor. I’m allowed.
She was kind, and led me to a private room. I was lucky, it was a Sunday and not many births were on record that day. The nurse helped me set my weight down, and when asking me if anyone would come…
“No. It’s just me today.”
“Oh. It’s okay,’ she smiled, slightly out of pity.
“But I might get visitors. My dad and husband might be here a bit later OWWWW!”
They had started.
“I’ll get you the doctor we have.” And gone she was, rushing away like the savior all nurses prove countless times to be.
I was in labor for hours, so they told me. It felt like eternity. And there was no one to hold my hand and urge me on. Maybe Dr. Pam’s. She had the aura of a schoolteacher, helping me out where the pain was surgically extra.
“Hold my hand Jasmine. Okay? Just like that…the contractions will be over soon. You’re doing great!”
She was in pain too. Strength springs eternal when a mother is about to be born. Her hand, in particular, was the main entrée on my list. Three more hours of coaxing and pleading to hold on, I was due.
And the most beautiful thing I could have ever hoped to create popped out of me like an M & M through the nose. All roads would have led to his tiny fingers, and blank mind, regardless of whether it was then or ten years later.
“Where’s my meat woman? You think they are going to be happy when they see what a whorish wife you are?” he yells, to my disdain. Henrietta got home hours ago, leaving me with the mess that is Carl to deal with all night. The pantry is not stocked with meat, well, the only thing we could think of as a team with my nanny was to buy canned stuff and hide it all over the house. Just for times like this when I would get beaten down like a rag doll. But at least, when Carl would outlaw food for us, Spence and I would still share some stewed beans and beef away from his practices at night.
“We don’t have any husband,” I timidly walk back, kneeling in an effort to please and coax his ego. Tonight I am not in the mood to get another black eye. The excuses are getting too odd, and old. He has a glance at me, waiting to see my reaction when he uses his limbs, or belt. The pair in his skull carefully lingers on my face, and slowly turn closed. Fingers caress his face, his own for now, as he wonders what he should do. It was a planned night to go out with friends, his friends, to celebrate something that one of them got or the other. I always just wanted to hang back and enjoy the company of others. It is always better than the house. And at least Henrietta could come any time I called.
“No meat, huh? And you expect me to…what?”
“I didn’t know we were out husband. I only eat when you tell me to.”
“Oh, so it’s my fault,” he defiantly throws back. I fidget a little. I really don’t want to get hurt.
“No Carl. It’s not. Please, let’s just go out and have a good time with your friends.”
That gets him off his chair, laughing till he drools on himself. I don’t see the humor.
“You think,” after settling himself, “that we are going out? What gave you that idea?”
“But, the dress you laid out for me tonight. You said we were going out…I even arranged for Henrietta to come along and watch over Spence as he slept” I ask, getting confused. He was sober this morning when he made the promise. I don’t see how this can be funny. The stars are really the attraction I want to sleep with in my heart tonight. Not…him.
“Oh dear me, no wonder that boy of yours is so retarded. He must get it from you and his father.”
“What did you just say?”
My feet are under pressure. My legs are awake, and my motherhood spiked. I don’t care, not now anyway. He rises too, and comes close to my face, puffing away through his chest and flabby belly. Ugliness must seriously consider a new standard.
“I said, and you can read my lips if it’s too hard, that your son is as stupid as both his parents.”
“I see.”
“You’re not going to do anything about it, ey? Such a waste of money, talent and time. Do you know how much of a whore you are? Seriously, have you ever considered doing it for work? I might find myself paying-”
“ENOUGH!”
That was not me. That can’t be me. But a quick sweep around the dining room, with all the expensive cutlery and perfectly designed mahogany table, through the unlatched window to the far east of my breast, and up on the mantle where dad’s ashes lie unperturbed, makes me recoil that it’s just the two of us. And that was a woman’s voice, my voice, shouting at him.
I let it go.
“You think that because I got a child so early in life, and in love, that you have the right to name-shame me in front of the one thing that makes sense in this house? You bastard! Oh go on. I dare you to lay a finger on me tonight you selfish boil! My Spence is proof that this world can be the brightest in the dark, even if people like you, stubborn, gluttonous and perfectly incapable of rising to the occasion dampen it with all your negative egos. Oh don’t you DARE talk back at me while I’m talking you, you blubbering idiot!”
Oh it is on now. He is on the wall, listening, silent and scared. I can see it in his eyes. I’ve started an engine that should not stop. I know where this will lead, but if it means my son gets a better life, worlds away from this creep, then so be it.
“You married me for money. That’s where it all started. You just thought ‘Hey, what if I go and nab this sweet squeeze from Turner for a wife and make my retirement dough?’ but you didn’t stop to think of me as a person, did you? Carl Glenn, the man who can’t even consummate his marriage on the wedding night of his life, just because his belly flops harder than his dick. Fuck you ingrate! My son is my son, stupid or otherwise. And just so you know, he is brighter than all your generation combined, and that’s saying something.
Oh, you want to fight now, huh? Where are those fists? Go on, put them up. You’ve used them long enough on me boy. Eight years! Nohohohooo, bring it. I’ve been patient, giving you time to breathe and yank out that devil that blackens your heart. I thought that maybe you could change you bastard.
No I know you can’t. Just like my father, you think you are better than all of us here. You believe that your bank speaks for who you are, and unfortunately, it does. You’re worthless Carl Glenn. And I don’t want you to be a part of my life anymore. I’m calling my dad’s lawyer right now, and I dare you to follow me. You can go out with those friends of yours if that is what you’d want.”
I realize my breath is short, and my face blood red from all the bile that has just spewed out of me. I need this; I need this more than I ever could. Poison can stay in the body for as long as it can, but this needs to be cut off completely. I need my peace. I need-
“Why…why would you need a lawyer?” he asks, with a nature that is only like him when he drinks himself to a stupor and gets laid so good he comes and poops on himself. Yeah, he gets there eventually.
“But my love, why else? I want a divorce.”
I know that this feeling of power will come to pass. This energy that is seeping through my veins, the blight upon my innocence as a wife, a woman, who has constantly taken it hard and strong for years on end, with no stop in sight. All for the love of a boulder to its urchins; protecting them from the storms that rise in and out of the reef.
The walk downstairs is long. I like it. For my first time, Carl is silent. The house has no whores. Henrietta is here with Spence, watching over him as he sleeps in his spacesuit bedding. I linger at the doorframe a little, watching him glow in the pale lighting of the room from the antique squatting on the rickety bedside. I took my father’s lamp before the house was sold, and used it for my own. It’s the same lamp I remember knocking over in dad’s study all those years back, right after Spencer broke up with me.
Right now, I don’t feel hate. How could I? Spence looks so much like him, and even naming him was easy. I needed a memory that could never fade from what we were. At heat, I suppose that’s what makes a true mother; forgiveness.
“He’s asleep madam. Is he…” Henrietta gestures with her lips upstairs. I nod. She sighs a bale of relief. “Well, I’m glad. I heard the wording you gave him madam.” Her face, plump and caring, searches mine for answers. I give her none. She smiles still. “Good for you madam.”
She is the one person I can only call ‘friend’. Henrietta Marquez, the woman with a tale so simple it’s practically textbook. Her family moved through the border years ago to look for something better than the heat and love of Panama. Her husband died a few years later from a work-related injury, and her two sons and daughter are now in their own kinds of business. In the streets. She swears it’s all legit. A mother’s love, huh?
I met her when doing grocery with Spence on my back in his carrier. Glasses on to hide the bruising on my cheek, I bumped into her and dropped all her groceries. I must have been tired and groggy, for she was the one who told me the story afterwards.
“Miss, are you okay?” she asked.
“Not today please. I’m sorry about your groceries,” I curtly snapped.
I must have walked out of there with zero bags in my hand. If I’m not wrong, I was looking for a way to escape reality. Carl had been away for a business trip, and I needed to find food for Spence. We had no money, and I was desperate. Long story short, Henrietta spent her last dime on us, and walked me home. There, she tended my wounds with water and honey compress, and this part I remember, I cried out in front of her as she held Spence. Ever since, she’s been here, with no pay, with no reward, with no witness.
“Are you going to be okay, madam? You’re not saying a word. It’s a bit creepy,” she squares, packing up her bag. I laugh.
“Henrietta, don’t you worry. I’ll be fine. I promise. I just need to think about what to do next.”
True, the idea of divorce scares the crap out of my nose. I have no job, no money, and yet the resolve to leave does not wane. I still stick to the doorway, and wait for her to leave.
“Okay, madam,” she crosses over and huddles her scarf over her really well fed body, “I’ll leave you to rest. If you need anything-”
“I’ll call you. Thank you Henrietta. Someday I know I’ll pay you back for everything,” I say, pinching my arm behind my back. The weight is light, yet heavy.
“Madam Jasmine,” she whispers into my ear, careful to keep her words short in the breath of nuts on her, “you can pay me by leaving this hell, and finally telling that sweet boy who his father is. It’s almost time.”
She is the mother bear I never had, or the strong-willed aunt that would shout down any uncle that misbehaved on family occasions. Her large body swings away, and I can’t help but smile. This is what life brings when you expect it the least. Guardian angels do exist, but in the oddest of forms and shapes imaginable.
Finally, I come clean and let the bottle of wine rest on the floor for a change. I sw
iped it from the pantry as I left Carl to stew in his own. I had to hide it behind my back so that she couldn’t see. Henrietta hates it when I drink myself to sleep. But this night, I need it. My head still hurts from the grabbing he did on my hair.
I would be in such a different place with Winters right now. Even my name sound wrong; Jasmine Glenn-Turner. I fucking hate it. Sip. If he could be here, I would be Jasmine Winters. Oh the classiness in that, yeah? How cool would that be? Being married to the one person that makes your heart skip a beat after all this time, and having a son with him. Sip. All that would be epic…just epic.
Sip. This stuff is good. I can feel my body tingle, remembering what it was like with his shaft deep and slow inside me. He was so good at it. Sip. Damn, eight years with no tuning fork to tickle my insides. Carl couldn’t, and I never wanted his. It always grossed me out, looking like a pickle. And besides, I never know where he’s come from. Sip.
Right now, wherever you are my love, I pray you are as good as I remember. That beach…sip…was the best sex I could possibly ever want. I wish we could just…maybe if I touch myself…no, Spence is asleep a few paces from me. It wouldn’t be right.
Maybe someday Spencer Winters. But for now, let me kiss you in my dreams…
Chapter 11 - Spencer
Life is good. I suppose that’s the phrase of the century. We all use it when stuff gets better, and there’s no way that the dial is turning down. I like it. I love it. I hate it on particular Mondays, but appreciate it by the end of the day.
The years have been swift, and I have loved every moment of it. Graduating with high honors, I made my mom the proudest of them all. She came with flowers and a big pizza, just the way we bet when I was 15. She cried, and so did Bryce, Nicole and I, as we parted ways to make the world our oyster. I miss those two.
Eight long and solitary years I’ve tried my best. I never went back home during my college happy times, and made myself a home in the nearby town. Carol, my manager, made a point to watch over me like her little cub. I loved the attention, especially when it got me deals on the weekends to see who could grab her ass and not pay for it. I won every time of course, and Carol and I would split the cash fairly. I miss her too. She moved to own her own cafeteria that specializes in burgers and ass smoothies. I didn’t place the name, so no need for those quizzical looks.
Triple Pass: An MFMM Reverse Harem Romance Page 44