Secrets of a Marriage

A/N: Never tried writing one from this particular perspective, in present tense. Hope it works. Also, mature content!!!!

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"We have plenty of time, Darius." Her pink tongue licks her dry lips as she sighs in exasperation with her husband. Her black matte nails click away at her keyboard as she tries to ignore the all too familiar conversation, praying it doesn't turn into a fight again. "We have the rest of our lives with each other. What's the rush?"

"Because we're both getting older. Soon, we'll be too old to have kids." His dark brown eyes stare at her, pleading. "We both wanted kids when we got married. What changed?" She bites her lip, playing with the jewel on the matching necklace he gave her when he gave her the promise ring their senior year. "What changed your mind?"

"Nothing." She furiously click away at the report she's typing for her client. "I don't know, Darius." She can't tell him, not after this long. It would break him, crush his soul. She's honestly surprised that her mother hasn't told him before now. Ten years of marriage, and he still doesn't know the deepest secret of her past. She can't tell him. Her mind whirs with excuses ranging from "I just changed my mind" to "My doctor told me I was infertile and I didn't know how to tell you."

"It's something, Baby. Please, I can't help you unless you tell me." She shakes her head, loose brown locks falling from her previously tight bun. "Come on."

"I said it's nothing!" She growls in a low tone as she swivels around to face him. Her scar from her left temple to her right eyebrow seems to glow in the lighting, reminding him of a past she rarely talk about. "And I mean it. It's nothing!"

"Fine." She watches as he stands up. The fight hadn't been in his eyes, eyes that she once loved so much, for months now. A marriage of secrets would do that to people, make them fall out of love. "If you don't want to talk, fine." He throws his hands up. "But don't blame it on me when you turn fifty and suddenly wish you had kids." He walks away from her, and for a moment, she wonders what it would be like if he walked away for real, if he walked away from their fruitless marriage. The words are out before she can think of the consequences.

"If you want kids so bad, why don't you divorce me and marry somebody else?" Her voice is soft and low, almost scared even. She watch as he comes to a dead stop in the wooden living room. Pictures of happier days fill the walls. A honeymoon in Costa Rica. A first anniversary in the Scottish countryside. A fifth anniversary in Greece. Their senior prom photos with each-other. Their degrees and diplomas. The signs of their success surrounds her, but she doesn't feel very successful in that moment. She watches as he turns around and strides back towards her, his brown eyes on fire, a fight that she hasn't seen in months.

"How could you even suggest that?" The anger is clear in his voice as he drops to her level, making contact with her eyes. His hand takes hers in his. "Why would you say that?" He places her hand over his thudding heart. "You feel that? My heart has only ever beat for you since the day I first laid eyes on you." He points to the wedding photo by her computer. "You see that?" She looks at the photo, a constant reminder of what once was. "I made a promise that day to give you everything I had. My secrets. My past. My present. My future. My undying love til the day I die. I'm a man of my word, Chenoa."

He moves his hands from hers and caresses her face, surprisingly gentle in his anger and hurt. "You don't have to hide from me. I'm yours til the day I die." He closes the distance between them as her breath hitches a notch when his lips seal on hers. His tongue pushes for entrance, which she grants and it mates with hers. He pulls away, leaving her breathless. "And you're mine. When you're ready to talk, I'll be waiting." With that, he stands up and walks away from her, but she notices that he stands straighter, his shoulders aren't hunched as they had been for months. She knows that her words have revived the fight in him that she long thought was dead. She knows she have to tell him before her mother finally does. But how?

Two days later, she walks into the old style kitchen. She fiddles with the white curtains, wishing they were darker. She wonders if the trim, that she painted blue, should be a different color. More woodsy maybe? She looks at the clock on the wall, each tick of the second hand seeming an eternity. She pulls food out of the black refrigerator. She turns on the wood-stove and pulls out the pots and pans she needs. She begins prepping the first meal she's made in months. After all, the way to a man's heart is his stomach, right? Spaghetti with home-made sauce, home-made garlic toast, shredded parmesan, and a pitcher of sweet iced tea sit on the table. Perfect timing. He walks in the front door.

"Darius, there's something you need to know." She bites her bottom lip as he sits at the oak table. She sees the worry in his eyes.

"Are you leaving me?"

"Not unless you want me to after you hear this." His brow furrows in confusion. He pulls her to him, despite her attempts to pull away.

"What is it, Darlin'?" She looks away from his concern-filled face, her soul filled with guilt for not telling him before now, but filled with fear that sbe wouldn't have had the years with him if she had. "You can tell me anything. Or nothing at all." He's giving her a way out, and a huge part of her wants to take hold of that life-line.

"I." She takes a deep breath in. "I was raped when I was twenty." His grip tightens on her as she continues in quivering whispered breaths. "When we broke up for a year. Right before we got back together and I married you two months later." A tear slides from under a shut eyelid. He gently wipes it away. Memories come rushing back, an old wound reopens as she let the words out that she'd so long bottled up. "He was supposed to be my friend, my soul-brother, if that's a thing. We were swimming in my pool. I went to get out. He yanked me back down into the water." She stops as a sob erupts from her chest and her husband pulls her closer to him.

"Take your time, Baby." He rubs her back, unsure how to console his wife. "I'm sorry for pressing you. I didn't know. You don't have to continue if you don't want to."

"I...I...I have to." She continues through sobs and consolation that her husband isn't leaving her over this. "He yanked me back into the water. I couldn't think. My head went under. He held it there until I stopped fighting. I couldn't breath, Darius. I couldn't breathe."

She stops, her voice having gone distant and her eyes becoming lost to Time's grip. "When he pulled my head out, he tied my hands together with something from the side of the pool. I couldn't fight him. I wanted to. So bad. He yanked my bottoms down." Her breathing almost stills as she fights the onslaught of emotions and memories.

She grits her teeth and continues. "He pushed me against the side of the pool wall. He forced his hand inside of me. Again and again."

She shudders with the memory, the pain, and the sheer terror she recalls. "I cried. Begged him to stop. He told me to shut up and forced me back under until my body went still. I wanted to die." Her grip tightens on her husband, clinging to him like a life line thrown out by a lifeguard. "I begged for Death to take me. He laughed. Dragged me out. Carried me to his bed in the guest room, and forced his fingers into me again. I cried. He hit me. Told me I was a weak whore. He bit my thighs. Put his tongue inside of me, and licked his way to my breast." She heard the dog barking somewhere in the distance.

"He pulled a knife out from his night stand. He cut me." She points to under her breasts and the scar on her face. "Here. And here. He licked the blood and made me taste it on him." She shivers in repulsion. "He drew on my body in my blood. Made his way back, and made small cuts on my thighs before entering his empty hand back inside of me." She feels the anger and rage radiating off of her husband, knows he wants to hear no more, but knows she must finish for him to understand. "Every time I cried out, he hit or recut me. Finally, he put his dick in me. He took pleasure in my blood and pain. In my humiliation. He came inside of me." She lowers her voice so he can barely hear. "Got me pregnant."

"What happened?" She knows he has to know, but that's another part she doesn't want to tell him. "Another day?" She shakes her head, takes a deep breath, and continues.

"I miscarried three months after we married. That's how I knew I was pregnant. I bled each month, didn't get bigger. I went to the ER because I started bleeding two weeks early with a lot of pain. They told me I miscarried. Shortly after, I got my tubes tied."

"I'm so sorry, Baby." He holds her tighter and rocks her back and forth, the supper on the table forgotten. She breathes a sigh of relief and ache as she lets him comfort her with soothing words of love and sorrow. About a week later, they sat on the couch.

"We were never going to make it as parents anyway. I've got too many health problems that I'd pass onto my kids." She was tries to make light of her memories, and for her sake, he laughs before pulling her into a tight embrace.