Chapter 35: Chapter 35

And at last, the sounds of laughter and music drifting in through the shutters, she stands there, with him, their first night together in their new home.

Tiny as it is, a single bedroom upstairs, a single large kitchen and living area downstairs with a tiny bathroom off the back, it is theirs.

Jenny’s first real home.

She's so lovely, standing there, lips a little parted, waiting for her handsome husband, with his wheaten hair and cornflower blue eyes. Tall…. Broad-shouldered and well-muscled from hard work….

.... and hers....

Jenny has never had anything to call her own before. Raised with nothing, arriving with nothing, living on charity for years….

But this, this moment, this man, is hers.

He looks down into her eyes. Wide-pupiled, green as young leaves, green as spring grass, set against skin as pale and fragrant as almonds and hair which billows and flows like amber fire in the slight breeze.

And in her turn, she looks up at him…. The sheen to his tanned skin, pupils pin-pointed in their azure setting.

“Are you alright, Chad?”

When he speaks, his voice is a little high. “Sure, fine. Just…. nervous.” He shifts on his feet. “You know, first time and everything.” He strokes her cheek. “You’re so beautiful.”

“You too.” She bites her lower lip, then reaches for his mouth with hers.

Their lips brush and arousal, sweet and unfamiliar, pierces her. Her breath snatches and Chad jerks back. “Sorry, didn’t mean to….” he stutters, then once more, slants his mouth to hers, this time a hand on her shoulder, pulling her a little closer.

She moves to him, her fingers slipping into his hair, the hair she wants to touch. But now, touching him, she feels the tremble under his skin.

One hand around her waist, the other slides from her shoulder, riding her contours. It glides down a slender arm, presses flat against her stomach then slips upwards to the lower curve of a breast….

…. And he freezes.

“Chad?”

His forehead drops to hers, his voice shaky. “I can't do this. I thought I could, but I can't.”

She doesn’t understand. Her beautiful husband. Her first friend. Brow furrowed, “What do you mean?”

He is trembling violently now. “Jenny, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but I can't do this. I just can't.”

Agitated now, still trying to understand, “Chad, have I done something to upset you? Was it because I danced with everyone else? It was only dancing.”

“No. No, it’s not the dancing Jenny. You can dance with anyone you want to. They’re your friends.”

“What then?”

“It’s me….” He pulls away from her entirely, slumps down on to the bed and sits holding his head in his hands. “Oh, God, Oh, God, what have I done?”

Jenny’s eyes fill. “What have you done, Chad? Tell me. What’s so wrong? Why don’t you want to….

touch me? We’re married now. I know you wanted to wait, but we’re married. It’s alright now surely?”

She sits next to him, takes his hand in hers. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’ve done something awful, Jenny.”

She shakes her head, baffled. “But what?”

“I’ve married you. I made you marry me and I shouldn’t have.”

Her throat tightening, “Why not? Chad, you said you wanted to marry me. You asked me.”

“Jenny…. I…. When I think of…. that…. It’s not you I’m thinking about it with.”

“Not me? You’re in love with someone else?” Something clutches inside her, her heart beginning to pound. “Who then? I never see you with any other girl.”

“Jenny, it’s not a girl. It’s…. Oh, God….”

And finally, she understands. A kind of stillness falls over her. “It’s Josh isn’t it?”

He nods.

They sit in silence for long seconds before, miserably he says, “Do you understand what I'm telling you?”

In a kind of shock, she is quite calm. This isn’t real.

It can’t possibly be real.

“Yes, I understand,” she says. “At the home where I came from, sometimes they showed us movies of....” She baulks at finishing the sentence. “Yes, I understand,” she finishes.

She sits, winding her fingers together. “Does Josh know?”

His answer is short and curt. “No.”

“Does anyone else know?”

He shakes his head. “No,” he breathes. “I thought if I went through with the wedding, that when it came to it…. Jenny… I do love you….”

“…. But not like that.” Her voice is flat. Just now, the pain is too sharp for emotion. Dead inside, she doesn’t know how to respond. But the bitterness is beginning to flow, to bite.

“My parents,” he says. “They wouldn’t understand. I wanted to do right by everyone.” Chad shudders.

“What will you say? Will you tell everyone?”

Reality is taking hold, but she doesn’t know how to respond. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. It's not your fault how you are. You didn't choose it.”

“I chose to marry you. This is my fault, marrying you.”

“Yes.” The tears start to flow, tears of grief and disappointment; of humiliation and bitter injustice. Her voice and heart breaking, “Yes, it is,” she weeps, her face dropping into her hands.

“Oh, God, Jenny. Please don’t cry. Please don’t. I never meant….”

Awkwardly, he puts an arm around her shoulder. “I’ll sleep on the couch. You can have the bed.”

She stiffens, nods dully, but doesn’t move.

He tries to talk to her, to comfort her….

…. to assuage the guilt…

… but she won’t speak.

After a while, he takes a pillow, stretching out, still fully clothed on the small bedroom settee, curling his knees to fit. And he watches her….

…. His wife.

Jenny sits, numb and unspeaking, an endless trickle of tears dripping-dropping from her chin to stain the perfect whiteness of her dress.

“Jenny, you should sleep. It…. It’ll feel better in the morning. We’ll talk about what to do then.”

And the anger flares in her, bright, sharp and hot. “What to do?” She stands, looming over him, her eyes cat-green. “What to do? You play with my life like this and have the nerve to say we can talk about what to do?”

He swings, stands, “Jenny, I know you must be angry with me….” He sees it coming but doesn’t try to avoid it. Her hand swings, palm open, flashing across his face hard enough to bring the blood to his skin to leave a bright red mark on the cheek. Chad simply takes it. And the second one.

When she raises her hand for a third strike, he seizes her wrist. “Is it helping make you feel any better?

I deserve it. If it is making you feel better, I’ll just stand here and let you. If it isn’t, then you’re just hurting yourself. You’ve had enough hurt for one day.”

And the anger flickers away, leaving only a dull grey hole.

“No, it isn’t helping. Nothing will.”

*****