Thicker than Blood (2 page)

I’d known this, and still I’d allowed my
emotions to get the better of me. Allowed my pain to cloud my
judgment. Allowed my fear to take control, to rear its ugly head
and end the source of my misery, my prison, once and for all.

Oh God, why? Why had I done this, and here in
our home of all places? There was no escape, no running and hiding
from this mess I’d made. Not within the confines of a walled town,
surrounded by armed men. The very same men who would be at our door
at the first sign of morning light, ready to escort my husband on
his daily duties, only to find him brutally murdered. And me, the
bloodstained and obvious culprit.

If they didn’t kill me outright, I would be
taken into custody immediately, not allowed to see or speak to
anyone. Within an hour of my apprehension, my crime would be known
to all. Word traveled fast in such a small community, especially
one with little in the way of modern entertainment. There was no
television to be watched, no cell phones to keep us busy, and what
little electricity that was harnessed from the nearby river was
used solely for communication purposes within Fredericksville,
lighting the community buildings, and providing a small amount of
refrigeration in the cookhouse. Face-to-face gossip was our only
source of entertainment, because it was all we had left.

I had a day left, maybe two, until everyone
would be gathered on the main drag, where justice would be swiftly
meted out. A public execution, a single bullet to my head, would
provide a warning to all who might at some point be inclined to
take the law into their own hands as I had so stupidly done.

The infection had efficiently ended society
as we’d known it. In the midst of the destruction, a new world had
arisen with a survival-of-the-fittest, better-him-than-me
philosophy, the sort of archaic thinking that asserted that men and
women were not equals. As for justice, it too was a thing of the
past. We simply survived.

I sank to the cold tile floor, dropping to my
knees with my arms outstretched in supplication. But who my
pleading was for, I didn’t know. Did we fall to our knees when we
knew we had nothing left, nowhere else to go but down? Was I
subconsciously asking God for mercy, for forgiveness, or for a
savior?

My thoughts were scrambled, the fear at the
forefront of my mind muddling everything else.

“Why?” I whispered to the floor. “Why…”

Confused, I was unable to finish my
question, not knowing what my question was. Or maybe I did know,
maybe I knew exactly what my question was. Maybe I wasn’t asking
why this particular and most recent tragedy had happened, but why
it had
all
happened.

All of it. Why any of this had happened.

But there were no answers to be found. There
never were.

Only emptiness. And consequences.

I wished with all my heart that I could have
been stronger. Able to endure this new world, this new reality,
with equanimity and grace.

As I stared off into nothing, I thought of
Evelyn, my beautiful and courageous friend. Evelyn had endured as
much as I had, been forced from her quiet, happy life as I had, had
also lost the man she loved, and alongside me had been thrust into
this cruel and cold world. Like me, she had been forced to marry a
man she hadn’t loved, forced to live a life she hadn’t wanted. She
had been forced to become a woman she wasn’t. Had never known how
to be.

But unlike me, she hadn’t crumpled. She’d
become an even stronger version of herself. Evelyn was capable of
taking on whatever misery life decided to throw her way, embracing
it even, utilizing it, molding it to her liking, and forever
persevering.

I had done the opposite. Grief had consumed
me, caused me to turn in on myself instead of facing my demons
head-on. They’d piled up inside and eaten away at me, rendered me
useless, unable to function properly, and created a whole new set
of hardships.

My demons were always growing, welling up
within me, until they were too many—too many to name or count, let
alone deal with.

And so I’d snapped, unable to take another
second of it. Of this life. Of his fist colliding with my face, of
his body crudely taking what I wasn’t offering, of his harsh words
often followed by laughter and scorn. I’d snapped.

And there my consequences lay. Bloody.
Mangled. Dead on our marriage bed. But even dead and finally
silent, I could still hear his laughter. It echoed loudly
throughout this old building, bouncing off the walls, coming at me
from every direction.

You’re worthless, Leisel. You’re nothing. No
one. Do you hear me? You’re nothing, Leisel, nothing! You’re a hole
to fuck, a pretty face and an empty head. A stupid,
good-for-nothing…

And his hand would crack across my face,
causing me to stumble, to cry out in pain and fall at his feet. He
would laugh again and again. Call me more names. Blame me for my
inability to produce a child. And then more tears would fall.

From those tears of pain and humiliation came
the worst consequence of all. My pain, my anguish, and my agony
made him feel his most powerful, victorious, and like all men who
succumbed to bloodlust, I was his prize to be taken.

Only tonight, there had been too many tears.
Too much pain. And while he’d continued to ravage me, hurting me,
suddenly I’d gone numb to it all. Numb and then…angry.

And as he slept, I’d paced. I’d mumbled,
crying, cradling the sore places on my body. I’d paced until the
anger had taken over, too many thoughts inside of me, too many
voices shouting at me, too much pain radiating from my skin and
from my broken heart, too many unanswered questions spiraling
around and around, and then all of a sudden I could no longer bear
it, bear another second of hearing him snore so peacefully, without
a care in the world, after my world had been destroyed and he’d
forced me into his world, his world of misery, of my misery, and
suddenly the knife he kept in his boot was glaring at me from
across the room, a shiny beacon in the fog that I’d become, and the
beacon was beckoning me, screaming at me until it was all I could
hear, all I could see, and so I took that knife from its sheath and
I held it above my husband’s body and as tears poured down my face,
angry and full of determination, regardless of the consequences, I
brought that knife down and drove it into his heart.

Again. And again. And again.

As I continued recalling the events that had
concluded mere moments ago, a strange sort of calm began to spread
across my goose-pebbled skin, soothing the burning nausea and
relieving the crippling fear that held me hostage.

With a silent breath, I stood up and again
surveyed the scene of my crime. Only this time, I wasn’t looking at
my consequence. Instead I was seeing something altogether
different, something utterly surprising.

Surprising because…after all, I’d wanted out
of this world, hadn’t I?

I’d wanted to be free from this fear, from
the pain, not just from that of my husband but from the world we
now lived in. I wasn’t built for it, wasn’t built to survive in
times of strife.

I was weak; I always had been. Only because
of Evelyn had I made it this far. Only because of her had I not
ended myself long ago.

And now I was free. I was finally blessedly
free of this man.

“You were a terrible man,” I whispered
fiercely. “Not a man at all.”

I’d known a good man, a true man. I’d loved
him with all of me, and in return he’d loved me with all of him.
Ours had been a partnership, a friendship, and a love affair all
rolled into one. What I had lacked, he’d had in spades, and what
he’d lacked, I’d made it my mission to make up for. And never once
had he touched me out of anger or perversion.

That had been a marriage, and this…this had
been a fallacy. A single-sided, self-serving game. This had been
torture masqueraded as a duty to the continuation of the human
race.

Killing him, that hadn’t been a mistake. It
hadn’t been born of fear, but of anger. Killing him had been a
necessity, a necessary evil. For the first time in my life, even if
it meant the end of it, I’d finally done something brave. I’d
finally saved myself.

With my bearings back, a steely resolve
firmly in place, I turned away from what was left of the man I’d
hated, from the life I’d detested. As I walked slowly toward my
dresser with the intention of dressing, Evelyn’s face once again
invaded my thoughts. Knowing I would be leaving her alone, a sliver
of guilt wormed its way into my newfound resolution. She was not
without friends, but they were all the same, fair-weather and
self-serving, survival their only concern. For so long all Evelyn
and I had had was each other; we trusted each other, depended on
each other, reminded each other of a life now long gone.

Shaking my head, I shoved those feelings
away. It was too late to do anything about it now. The damage was
done, and Evelyn…she would survive this too.

Fully clothed now in tattered jeans and a
threadbare thermal top, I turned toward my mirror and let out a
shaky breath. I didn’t recognize this woman, the blood-spattered,
bruised, and beaten-down woman. The same long dark hair fell past
my shoulders, the same wide brown eyes stared back at me, the same
pale, freckled skin shone white under the moonlight, yet I didn’t
know her. I didn’t even want to know her.

Turning away from my reflection, I surveyed
the room once again as my nails dug bloody half moons into my
palms. Then I took another deep breath.

“Help!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.
“Help me!”

A muffled shout sounded, followed by banging
on the door and then a loud crash.

They’d come now. They’d see what I’d done and
they’d take me away. Deliver me to my last stop on this long and
twisted road.

Evelyn

Jami pressed my back against the wall, the cold
bricks digging harshly into my heated skin. His kisses were
persistent, never ending, and I willingly took them, devoured them,
greedy for more. I was always greedy for more of him. The more of
him I had, the more he’d wash away the bitter and hollow taste my
so-called husband left behind. I needed Jami right now, needed him
like a drug that could take me away to somewhere new, to somewhere
else other than here with a man who repulsed me, in a life I
hated.

Jami’s mouth moved from my lips, traveling
down my chin and neck, pushing my thin cotton blouse to one side
and exposing more of my flesh to his voracious kisses. His hot
breath danced across my skin, lighting my nerves to his every
touch. My hands dragged through his hair, my leg wrapping around
one of his, pulling him closer. He groaned deep in the back of his
throat while his hands palmed my breasts in hunger. It was a sound
that I loved to hear. A sound that ignited a fire in me, driving me
onward to hear it again. Lowering his mouth to my chest, he pulled
free my breast, sucking and biting on the hard nub of my nipple. I
groaned again, wriggling beneath his weight, feeling as if I
couldn’t take another second of his teasing.

“
Jami…” I said his name, loving the rough
sound that followed from him, a satisfied rumble from deep inside
his chest.

“Again,” he murmured, his mouth resistant to
leaving my nipple.

“Jami,” I repeated breathlessly. He didn’t
need to ask, I would have said it anyway, would have screamed it
over and over again. His name was an aphrodisiac to me, the lone
word having so much incomprehensible power over me. It controlled
me, controlled my body, and I felt myself melting more, succumbing
entirely to his every touch, growing increasingly impatient for
more of him.

Yet, even as hypnotized as I was by this man,
my thoughts still turned often to Mason, my husband. His touch was
still fresh on my body, his smell still potent in my nose. I could
almost feel his fat fingers still pressing against me, intruding
and eager, and it made my stomach heave. This was when I needed
Jami the most, to replace Mason’s taste and Mason’s touches with
his own.

Whereas Mason wasn’t attractive, Jami was
sinfully so. Whereas Mason was a good ten years older than me, Jami
was thirty-three, only two years older than I was. No bath had ever
done the trick quite like Jami’s rough and zealous hands and his
amazing mouth, always eager to please.

“Eve.”

My eyes opened slowly and I found Jami
watching me with hooded eyes, a grin dimpling his face. Reaching
for me, he rubbed his thumb across my bottom lip, pulling my mouth
open for him.

“Where’d you go?” he asked.

Calmer now, I smiled at him. “Nowhere. I’m
right here.”

His grin grew, and then he claimed my mouth
once more, his hands deftly moving toward the hem of my skirt,
pulling it up and dragging my panties down in a move both
proficient and explicit. My own hands moved to his belt buckle,
unfastening it quickly. With practiced fingers I undid his button,
excited to free him from his clothing. Excited to feel him pressed
up against me, pressing up inside of me.

My breath shuddered free from my lungs. I
wanted him. God, I wanted him, needed him…

And then he was there, hard and ready for me.
I whimpered as he gripped my thigh, lifted my leg, and eagerly
pressed himself inside me. I sighed, my head lolling to one side,
granting him access to the tender skin on my throat. He whispered
sweet nothings into my ear as he moved inside me, his hips finding
a perfect rhythm against mine.

Biting down on my lower lip, stifling my cry
of pleasure, I allowed Jami to override Mason’s touch, the ugly
memories floating away with each pounding thrust that Jami gave me.
He breathed heavily, a rumble stirring low in his chest, almost
sending me over the edge.