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I’m a pawn, a piece of chattel, a toy--used and forgotten.
When you’re done with me, you can walk away with no regrets. That’s how my husband sees me. I try to be the best wife possible for him. After all, he took me on when no one else would. Now--he’s in debt and owes more money to the loan shark than we can possibly repay.
But, don’t worry, he’s come up with a solution, it’s just not one I was expecting.
...I’ve been TRADED.
“You sent her home
with him, right?” My eyes dropped to my shoes and he growled. “Tell me you
didn’t, Ashton. Tell me you didn’t take the girl in lieu of payment.” I lifted
my chin and he got his answer. “Jesus, fuck.”
with him, right?” My eyes dropped to my shoes and he growled. “Tell me you
didn’t, Ashton. Tell me you didn’t take the girl in lieu of payment.” I lifted
my chin and he got his answer. “Jesus, fuck.”
“I made him a deal,”
I said. “I get Elena for three months, and he pays back half of what he owes.”
I said. “I get Elena for three months, and he pays back half of what he owes.”
“Half? Are you
crazy? Does she have a golden pussy or something? She must have. There must be
a good reason for this . . . insanity.”
crazy? Does she have a golden pussy or something? She must have. There must be
a good reason for this . . . insanity.”
By this point my dad
had rounded the table, grabbing handfuls of my shirt, pulling me flush against
him, his face was millimeters from mine as he shouted his displeasure. My fists
clenched at my sides. At six-one I was a big bastard but Dad was bigger. He
could take me without breaking sweat. Even so, my voice was tight when I looked
him straight in the eye and replied, “He abuses her, Dad,” the volume dropping
slightly when I continued, “I don't know to what extent but she won't even look
me in the fucking eyes when I talk to her. Can't make a decision on her own.
Swear to Christ, she jumped six fuckin' feet in the air when I touched her
hand. I have no intention of fucking her, but I couldn’t let her leave with
him. If I shot him down and let Brock rough him up a little, imagine what that
would have meant for her. You know.”
had rounded the table, grabbing handfuls of my shirt, pulling me flush against
him, his face was millimeters from mine as he shouted his displeasure. My fists
clenched at my sides. At six-one I was a big bastard but Dad was bigger. He
could take me without breaking sweat. Even so, my voice was tight when I looked
him straight in the eye and replied, “He abuses her, Dad,” the volume dropping
slightly when I continued, “I don't know to what extent but she won't even look
me in the fucking eyes when I talk to her. Can't make a decision on her own.
Swear to Christ, she jumped six fuckin' feet in the air when I touched her
hand. I have no intention of fucking her, but I couldn’t let her leave with
him. If I shot him down and let Brock rough him up a little, imagine what that
would have meant for her. You know.”
Understanding washed
through his features and he lowered me to the ground, releasing my shirt from
his grip, smoothing out the crumpled material. "She's staying with
you?"
through his features and he lowered me to the ground, releasing my shirt from
his grip, smoothing out the crumpled material. "She's staying with
you?"
"Yes." I
made the split-second decision to share my plan with him. "I've only got three
months to repair what he broke. It'll be tough but I'll be damned if I don't
give it a try.
made the split-second decision to share my plan with him. "I've only got three
months to repair what he broke. It'll be tough but I'll be damned if I don't
give it a try.
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Rebecca lives near the shore towns of New Jersey, with her husband and two kids. When she's not writing she loves reading and watching SOA and TrueBlood.
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