But all of it is tolerable. It’s what’s supposed to happen.
And I’m not going to fail in this even though I’ve messed up two other times today.
He reaches his own finish, spurting out fluid inside me. Then he falls down on top of me, sated and worn out.
I’m relieved when he pulls out and off me at last. I limp to the bathroom to clean up and recover. Then return to get my gown from the floor.
Mason is sprawled out on his back, but he must have been watching me. “Did I hurt you?” he asks, sounding urgent.
“No. I’m just a little sore.”
“Shit, you gotta tell me.”
“I did tell you. It was all fine.”
“I was too rough. It looks like you’re hurt.”
“I’m not hurt. I’m a little sore. It’s nothing to worry about.”
But I should have hidden it better. Heisworrying. I sense him brooding, growing upset. And there’s nothing I can say to change it. So I tell him good night quickly and return to my room.
I cry a little when I get under the covers. Not because anything hurts that bad, but because this is the third time I messed up today.
9
I wakeup heavy and still upset the next morning.
In fact, I feel so bad about all my failures yesterday that I don’t even go out to help Mason with morning chores. He’s said repeatedly that he doesn’t need my help, and doing nothing but Genevieve and Vera this morning would remind me of yesterday’s embarrassment.
So I putter around the kitchen until it’s time to start fixing breakfast. I’m careful as I break the eggs and chop the ham, onions, and mushrooms for the omelets. As I cook, I plan out some sort of apology to Mason about yesterday.
All it takes to end a marriage in the Central Cities is to turn in more paperwork to the government. Mason can end our arrangement anytime he wants.
Everyone needs to earn their keep in this world,including me. And the more comforts we’re given, the more work we owe.
I’ve been given so much since I became his wife. That means I owe a lot.
If I become more of a hassle to him than a help, there’s every chance he’ll change his mind about us.
Maybe he’s already considering it.
He’s never been a talker, but he’s even quieter than normal when he comes in for breakfast. He washes up at the sink and then takes his seat at the table, watching as I plate up the omelets and toast.
His silence feels heavier than it should. Tense. Like he’s thinking a lot of things he hasn’t gotten said yet.
I gulp and steel myself as I bring his plate and glass of milk to the table and then return for mine. When I sit down, I meet his eyes.
He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Stares down at his plate.
The food looks perfect. Even better than normal. Surely he doesn’t see anything wrong with it.
“You okay?” he finally mumbles.
Oh no. Maybe he believes I’m so feeble I can’t even do my basic duties without falling apart. “Yes. I’m fine.”
“You didn’t come out to do Genevieve and Vera.”
“You said you didn’t need me to.”
