by Tina Martin
“Hi,” he says, and the smile hasn’t left his face.
“Hi.”
“You have some beautiful, brown eyes,” he tells me.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He takes my hand and says, “Now that I have your undivided attention, I want to tell you a story. It’s the story about a woman who married the man she thought she would love the rest of her life. They had a beautiful wedding, and in public, he treated her like a queen, but behind closed doors, she was being tortured, beaten and she was scared to tell anyone for fear her husband would find out. That woman was my sister.”
“Your sister?”
“Yes. My sister married a man who was abusive to her. It went on for years before she finally told me what was going on.”
“What did you do?”
“First, I beat the crap out of her husband. Then I moved her in with me until she was able to get back on her feet and year ago, she moved out, has her own place in Charlotte and is doing just fine. She filed charges against her husband and a restraining order. I say that to say this...if you’re being abused, Gabrielle, you need to tell me.”
“Why? So you can go right back and tell Dilvan.”
“No. Why would I do that?”
“Because he’s your family.”
“He’s my cousin and honestly, I can’t stand him.”
“Then why are you house sitting for him?”
He blows a breath and after a long pause, he finally says, “This was Padma’s idea.”
My eyes grow big. “What do you mean?”
“She wanted me to stay with you to find out what was going on with you and Dilvan.”
“What made her think something was going on?”
“She told me she saw bruises on your neck one day...said you were trying to cover them with your shirt collar. Is that true?”
“Um...”
“Gabrielle, what happened to you this morning? You’re lying in a hospital for goodness sakes...there’s no need for you to keep trying to protect Dilvan. Now tell me what happened.”
“I can’t.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Because the money Padma gave me is already spent. My family needed it and I can’t pay her back.”
“You really think Padma gives a flip about that money? That’s a drop in the bucket to her. She cares about you, Gabrielle, which is why I’m here.”
“Why’d she send you?”
“Well, Dilvan’s brothers, Heshan and Prasad won’t step a foot in his house. Padma has her hand in so many different businesses and between that and her community events, she can’t be here every day. So she told me to come...find out what’s going on straight from you, especially since Dilvan was going to be away for a few days. So I need you to tell me...what happened last night?”
“Well, um...I was taking a shower around nine last night and he walked in the bathroom, slid the shower door open and just stood there, watching me. He likes to intimidate me that way.”
“Okay. Then what?”
“He told me to get out of the shower and he wouldn’t give me my towel, then he just stared me up and down before telling me to turn around. I didn’t want to turn around and I think I told him no, so he grabbed my arm, spun me around and pushed me against the wall. Then he had sex with me.”
“Wait...what do you mean he had sex with you?”
“Just what I said. He had sex with me.”
“Did you want to have sex with him?”
“No.”
“So he raped you.”
I knew that’s what it was – rape. I just never wanted to say the word or think I was being raped by my own husband. However, that is precisely what was happening every Tuesday and Thursday.
“I guess so.”
“No need to guess. By definition, that’s what rape is.” Tyson grimaces and says, “Continue.”
“Um...when he was done,” I say with a shaky voice, feeling tears slide down my face. “When he was done, he pushed me to the floor and told me to never tell him no again. I must’ve blacked out or something after that. I didn’t wake up until you came in this morning.”
“Did you know you were pregnant?”
I shake my head. “No. I didn’t know the first time, either.”
“First time?” Tyson frowns again, harder this time. “This isn’t your first miscarriage?”
“No...second.”
Tyson stands, appears angry and agitated as he pace the floor, the area right beside my hospital bed. “We have to get you out of that house.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I told you...Padma paid me to—”
“Padma could care less about that money. I told you that. She cares about you. She loves you like a daughter.”
“Then where am I supposed to go?”
“With me. I live thirty minutes away from here and Dilvan won’t come to my house looking for you.”
“Okay,” I say, though I’m confused by all of this. Is it really happening? Am I finally free from the tyranny?
“You look puzzled.”
“I am. I can’t believe this is happening.”
“It is. I won’t allow him to mistreat you anymore. As soon as we get out of this hospital, we’re going to his house to get your stuff and we’re outta there. Okay?”
“Okay.” I close my eyes, squeezing tears out of them. Dilvan had treated me badly, that was obvious, but the truth of the matter was, I wanted him to love me so much that I tried to convince myself that his mistreatment of me was somehow his way of expressing his love. And therefore, through all the abuse, the name-calling, the rape, the disrespect, I still wanted our marriage to work.
When I married, I never dreamed of getting a divorce. So what we met via an arranged marriage website? It was still a union, was it not? And while women who weren’t in my position would judge me and say I’m stupid for caring about a man who did nothing but torture me day in and day out, I’m the only one, besides God, who knows my heart.
I remember seeing women in similar situations on Dr. Phil. Their husbands beat them, made them do housework like slaves, forced them to rub their feet, have sex with them anytime they wanted and these poor, innocent women were so hopelessly in love, they didn’t want to leave their men. They wanted to stay, not for the abuse, but for the man they fell in love with.
I found myself in a similar situation. But even though I had love for Dilvan, I knew it was time to go. I would never lose another baby over his nonsense.
CHAPTER 7
Dilvan
- - -
Dilvan was surprised when he pulled up at the Shore Hotel and saw Isabella Torres emerge from the back seat of a yellow taxi cab. A feeling of elation swept over him. He was thrilled that he was staying in the same hotel as her and without wasting any time, he adjusted his dark shades and walked in her direction, for no other reason but to strike up a conversation.
“Isabella, right?”
“Yes,” she said, all smiles.
“I remember you from the Nags Head shoot.”
“Oh, yes,” she smiled. “Of course.”
“I’m Dilvan Alexander,” he said, extending his hand to her.
“Isabella Torres,” she responded, her hot pink lips forming to a wide smile. “So we’re both staying here, huh?”
“Looks that way.”
“Hey, maybe we can have a cocktail later or something,” she suggested.
“Yeah...that sounds good, actually.” Dilvan whipped out his cell. “What’s your number?”
She rattled off her number to him and afterwards, he tucked his phone back into the front right pocket of his jeans.
“I’ll ring you a little later...how does eight sound?”
Isabella checked her phone. The time was 5:42 p.m. “I should be good and settled by then. I’ll look forward to your call, Dilvan.”
She walked away with a strut, swaying her hips in a tight, white pencil skir
t, a see-through, royal blue blouse that showed her black bra underneath. She completed her outfit with a pair of black Jimmy Choo stilettos.
Dilvan folded his bottom lip underneath his teeth, watching her walk away. He imagined having a deeper one-on-one conversation with her at dinner tonight, wanting to desperately know every single detail about her. He wouldn’t come across as pushy, however. He had to keep his cool, pretend like he didn’t want her, like men usually did when they knew they’d found the woman of their dreams.
* * *
After unpacking his bags, he walked to the bathroom, took a shower, then standing naked in front of the mirror, he looked his body over for any blemishes that might need to be addressed before the shoot. He flexed his muscles, ran his fingers through his wet hair and shaved again, even though he’s just had a shadow of hair that couldn’t possibly be seen by anyone. But he’d be sitting close Isabella tonight. He had to make a good impression.
He slipped into a pair of shorts and a button-up, short-sleeved purple shirt, then taking his phone from the nightstand, he stepped out into the balcony, feeling the breeze on his smooth skin, seeing the tall palm trees swaying while taking in the beauty of the ocean. He dialed his home number. Beatrice would answer the phone, he knew, because that was the order of things. Only she was allowed to answer the phone.
“Good evening. How may I help you?” Beatrice answered.
“Hi Beatrice. It’s Dilvan.”
She wanted to hang up, but then again, Dilvan was still her boss. So instead, she said, “Hello, Suh. I see you made it to California.”
“Yes. It was a smooth flight all the way here. How are things going there?”
Beatrice rolled her eyes. He couldn’t be calling to inquire about Gabrielle could he? A woman he hated so much...
“Things are going just fine and dandy.”
“How’s Tyson treating you? He’s not any trouble, is he?”
Beatrice frowned. You’re the trouble, she thought. “No. Tyson is a perfect gentleman. As a matter of fact, he done a lil’ work ‘round the house today.”
“Good. I don’t need my Mother paying him for nothing. Make sure he has something to do every single day.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes again. He’s busy already...taking care of your wife. “Will do, Suh.”
“How is everything else?”
“By everything else, are you referring to your wife?”
“Not really, but since you brought her up, what has she been up to?”
“Nothing much,” Beatrice muttered. She wouldn’t tell him that Gabrielle had to go to the hospital today. He wouldn’t care anyway. “She’s been stowed ‘way in her room most of the day.” For added irritation for him, she continued, “I think she misses you already, and it ain’t even been a full day yet.”
Dilvan grimaced. The idea of someone missing him was a mysterious thing, because he’d never been with a woman any length of time, well besides Gabrielle, but he didn’t want her or their arrangement. Still, it baffled him at the thought that Gabrielle could miss him after the way he’d been treating her.
“You still there, Suh?”
“Yes. I have to go, but give me a call if you need me.”
“Aw’right. Hope you have a good night.”
“Same to you.”
Dilvan walked back into the room and placed his phone on the nightstand, then laid back on the bed, his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. Could it really be possible that Gabrielle could miss him after he treated her so badly?
Why had he treated her so harshly? Because his Mother set them up...forced him to marry her? That was part of it, but he truly hated Gabrielle. He couldn’t stand to look at her, let alone be in her presence. She was the opposite of everything he wanted in a woman. He read her profile from the arranged marriage website, and after doing his own investigation of her, he knew she came from a poor family. How could he, as a man, grow his empire – his family – with a woman of her poor background. Money married money, not a woman who had nothing, was nothing and didn’t have the educational background to ever be nothing.
Isabella was different. She was a go-getter, a woman with drive, a nice body, a career and best of all, a career in the same field as him. He smiled thinking about her. He couldn’t wait to finally have his time alone with her tonight.
CHAPTER 8
Gabrielle
- - -
“Are you okay to walk?” Tyson asks as we pull up at Dilvan’s house.
“Yes. I can walk. It doesn’t hurt.”
“Okay. Instead of worrying about packing tonight, I’m going to let you rest. We can start packing in the morning.”
I reach for the door handle and he says, “No, I’ll come around to get you.”
Come around and get me? I frown. This is foreign to me. Dilvan never opened a door for me. If anything, he’d let doors slam in my face.
Tyson opens the door, reaches for my hand and helps me out of the car. Even though I’ve already told him I could walk just fine, he throws his arm around me and helps me up the stairs.
Dilvan has never given me a key to the house, because he said I didn’t belong here, so Tyson rings the doorbell. Beatrice opens the door, moments later. She has tears in her eyes.
“Are you okay, sugar?” she asks, then takes me into her embrace.
“Yes, I’m okay, Beatrice. Why are you crying?”
“Honey, I was so worried.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry anymore,” Tyson says. “Tonight is her last night here. Tomorrow, Gabrielle is moving into her new residence.”
“Thank goodness,” Beatrice says, elated. She was happy, even though she was sad that I would be leaving.
I continue walking towards the stairs, because I wanted to do nothing but lie down, get some meaningful rest, but instead of letting me ascend the stairs, Tyson led me to his guest bedroom downstairs.
“You can sleep here,” he told me. “I’m sure there are a lot of bad memories in your room.”
He was right about that. I had plenty of bad memories there – like Tuesday morning for instance, when my dictator snatched all the covers from the bed while I was sleeping and forced himself on me.
Standing at Tyson’s bedroom door, Beatrice says, “Gabrielle, are you hungry, dear?”
“A little.”
“Good. I made some clam chowder and a few other things. Let me fix you both a tray. I’ll be right back.”
I made myself comfortable on the bed while Tyson adjusted the pillows behind my back.
“Is that good?” he asks.
I nod, and then just sit there, staring straight ahead at the TV. It wasn’t turned on, but my eyes migrated to it. Why? I felt weird being in Tyson’s room. Even though he was helping me, sent here by Padma herself, he was still a man that wasn’t my husband.
“Are you okay?” he asks, touching my arm.
I tremble and snatch my arm away from him. His touch was a combination of being touched by someone who was a stranger and that of feeling like I was about to be assaulted somehow. Besides, that’s the only time Dilvan ever touched me.
“Here you are, shug,” Beatrice says. She had a bed tray filled with food, a bowl of soup, some fruit, as well as crackers and rolls. “Enjoy, my dear. Tyson, honey, I’ll be right back wit’ your tray.”
As she walks away, I pick up a spoon and begin eating. Beatrice makes the best clam chowder. I heard it was better than all the restaurants around here.
“How is it?” Tyson inquires.
“It’s very good.”
Beatrice comes back in the room with Tyson’s food tray, an identical one to mine and says, “Now y’all eat up. I’ll be back to check on ya.”
“Thanks Beatrice,” I say in unison with Tyson.
Beatrice smiles and closes the door behind her.
I resume eating, and as I dip a roll in my soup, I hear Tyson say, “Goodness. This is fantastic.”
“Beatrice makes the best clam chowder.
She’s a really good cook. If she had her own restaurant, she’d sell out of this stuff on a daily basis.”
“Yeah....sure will. This is some of the best clam chowder I’ve ever eaten. I’m going to have to get her recipe.”
A brow furrowed, I ask, “Recipe? You cook?”
“I dabble here and there...”
For the next few minutes, we’re quietly eating. Tyson, I see, is not ashamed to straight chow down on a good home cooked meal. He’s almost finished with everything on his tray while I’m just finishing up the soup and starting on the fruit.
“That was delicious,” he says, dropping the spoon in the empty ceramic bowl.
“I’m sure she has more if you’re still hungry.”
“I could stand another bowl of that soup.”
I smile and bite into a strawberry.
“So how is it that a girl like you ended up on an arranged marriage website?” he asks.
“Um...well, when I graduated high school, I didn’t have money for college, so—”
“So you decided to marry somebody instead.”
“No, not quite like that. It was my Father’s idea. He found out there was money in it so—”
“So he pimped you out to a website?”
Though one could take his remark as an insult, I laugh because it is funny, and a little sad, how I ended up on the website. So I tell him, “They say desperate times calls for desperate measures, and if giving me away in marriage would ensure my family lived in sanitary conditions, then I was willing to do it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I was poor. In many ways, I still am. But anyway, growing up, myself, my Father and two sisters lived in very old, houses...houses that should’ve probably been abandoned, but that’s all we could afford. These houses didn’t even have bathrooms and running water.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Really. We were dirt poor. So my Father found the website, and he thought the man I was being placed with was a stand-up guy. He doesn’t know how bad Dilvan treats me. I never told him. Actually, Dilvan doesn’t allow me to call them. I can only talk to my family when I visit Padma.”