I want a baby. I don't care if the baby is a boy or a girl, I just want a baby. It'll make me happy and it'll make Oliver overjoyed. Damn my barren womb. I want to name our child. Oliver II? Olivia? Oliver means 'olive tree,' and Olivia means 'symbol of peace.' God, hear my prayers. Give me the child I so desperately desire . . .
I was snapped out of my trance as I heard the timer ring from the shelf above the stove. It was then that I realized I had let a tear fall down my cheek, so I wiped it away quickly with the back of my palm, my hands taking the crocheted black-patch oven mitts to do the last preparations of the turkey dinner as my mind still thought about the child my husband Oliver and I desperately wanted. My husband and I are still in love after five years of marriage but being unable to bear children has taken a toll on us both. I don't know if Oliver blames me - he certainly hasn't said anything about it if he does - but I once suffered an accident as a young teenager when I was vacationing with my family in the mountains. I don't know for sure but maybe that's the point in time that caused me to be like this... That is, if I am the one who has the infertility problem.
I pulled my thoughts from the baby I desperately wanted to the turkey dinner that I prepared and placed on the dining room table. I cracked my neck from side to side and poured myself a glass of red wine, and poured in another glass some for Oliver when he gets home, which should be right about . . . now.
I heard the door lock click and I turned and left the dining room. I stood in the archway of the door leading to the foyer and watched as the front door swung open and in came my beloved husband whom I've been in love with ever since we first met. In the first moment I saw him, I knew he was the one. He wore glasses, his black hair slicked back, and the smile he had on was shy but different; intriguing, even, and something that made me weak in the knees just by looking at him.
"Hello, my love." Oliver smiled to me as he set his briefcase on the floor, closed the door behind him, and presented me with a deep kiss on the lips and a bouquet of several purple carnations.
"Oh, Oliver!" I exclaimed. "They're lovely!" I kissed Oliver again and felt myself grow hot all over. I wasn't planning on it before, but just now I decided to try again for another baby with Oliver after dinner. We'd been married five years now and still had morning love-making sessions and sometimes even exhausting ourselves again with more love sessions before going to bed. "I'll put them in a vase on the dining room table." I smiled and went back to the kitchen to grab a vase.
I didn't need eyes in the back of my head to know that as I belt over the dining room table, Oliver was staring at my backside. My white button-down top accentuated my breasts and my favorite black skirt - the one that reached my knees, the one that Oliver liked most - rose up as I bent over. I knew that drove Oliver crazy for me.
"Have I ever told you that you look beautiful?" Oliver asked me.
"All the time, darling." I turned to him but glanced back to the purple flowers, then looking to him with a blush in my cheeks. I looked him over. He looked so handsome, his glasses making him look so smart. "Wine?" I held a glass out to him and he took it before taking my wrist and pulling me close to him. He took a sip of the red wine, swallowed, and then kissed me harder on the lips. My hands trailed down over his chest and began to undo both his tie and his belt buckle.
When the kiss broke, Oliver let out a low chuckle. "Believe me, my dear, I want to. I would like to eat something first for a boost of energy. Does that sound alright?" I bit my lower lip and nodded slowly.
"Yeah, dinner would be cold if we did it right now." We shared a laugh as Oliver fixed his belt buckle as I pulled him into the dining room by his tie. I took Oliver's tie off before we seated ourselves at the table and inhaled the fragrances of the turkey and the mashed potatoes and vegetable stew. Oliver took another sip of wine before letting out a sigh and looking at me as he began carving the turkey. "So how was your day at Briarcliff?" I asked him.
"I had my first interview with the murderer known as Bloody Face. His name is Kit Walker." Oliver quirked an eyebrow as he watched my reaction. Instead of being fearful as other women would have been, I was only fascinated and intrigued. I looked to Oliver and my eyes pleaded with him to tell me more, asking him to give me the details of his interview. I knew all about doctor-patient privilege with psychiatrists but I was my husband's wife, and could keep a secret forever if I so chose to. "I am to assess his competency of whether or not he is fit to stand trial. If he is, he is to go to the chair; and if not, he is to spend the rest of his days at Briarcliff manor."
"What do you think of this Kit Walker so far?" I asked my husband.
"I do not know yet, though it is said he murdered his wife Alma, and removed-" Oliver stopped and looked to me. I was leaning forward in my chair with a forkful of turkey in my mouth. Whereas others would become squeamish and lose their appetite, I did not. Oliver liked that about me and yet he still didn't give me every gory detail of his work. "-her skin." My eyes widened and I took another sip of the red wine in my glass. "He is also said to have murdered multiple women, including two of his friends, though he claims they were not friends of his, having insulted his wife and calling her the maid. Enough about me, how was your day?"
My eyes met Oliver's brown orbs and he looked me over. I took in a breath and knew Oliver was staring at my breasts, knowing he'd want those clothes off of me soon as we'd make love. "Because the house was already spick and span, I decided to catch up on my reading." Oliver quirked an eyebrow and I knew he wanted to know the book I was reading. In our home, we have an office room with a large desk and tons of books on bookshelves, ranging from my romance novels to Oliver's psychiatry thesauruses. "I was reading To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. I'm almost finished with it."
"You seem to read that book every few months or so. What other books do you read?" Oliver smirked, looked to his plate of food and then back to me. He stood from his chair and came around the dining room table to stand behind me. Leaning over, he wrapped his arms around me, from the small of my back to my stomach. "Do you read any books that give you any ideas?" Oliver spoke in a hushed baritone voice that I knew meant he was finished with dinner and wanted sex. I wanted that, too, so we were on the same page. I smiled as he kissed the nape of my neck and moved to my jaw line and lips. "How about we reheat this meal at a later time? Try for a baby again?" I turned to look to Oliver and smiled broadly.
"Yeah." I whispered. "I love that idea, Oliver. Oh!" Oliver's strong but gentle hands came around me and he lifted me from my chair and carried me bridal-style out of the dining room, into the hall, and then kicked open the door to our master bedroom.
Oliver placed me ceremoniously on our king-sized bed and climbed atop me on his hands and knees. My hands traveled up his chest and to his face and cheeks, then taking off his black glasses so I could get a better look at his gorgeous face. He was my everything. Oliver leaned down so our lips could meet and I smiled through our kiss as my hands removed his tie and began to undo the buttons of his shirt, his own hands moving up and down my body. I felt hot all over again and let out a small moan as I felt Oliver's heat against my skin.
"Get out of those clothes." I grinned, and Oliver pulled back on his heels to take off his shirt and unbuckle his belt again. Soon enough, he was nude above me and I took in the sight of him, the dark hair on his chest, the muscles beneath the skin in his abdomen and on his arms; he was my vision of perfection, and I was so in love with him. In my mind, he could do no wrong. I felt that now my clothes were restricting my movements. "Now get these clothes off me." I gazed up at Oliver as he quickly ran his hands down my shirt to undo the buttons, nearly tearing a few of them off. And within moments, I was in my lace bra and panties and Oliver looked me over, his eyes deep and mysterious with what he wanted to do next. Sex with my beloved husband was always interesting because he could be the loving husband with no desire to hurt, and then he could be the insatiable lover with ideas in mind for both dominance and submission, though I liked to be dominated most of the time. Oliver kissed my pink lips and moved his hands over my breasts before unhooking the clasp of my bra and then sliding my panties down my legs and tossing them across the bedroom. He ran his heated hands over my body, starting with my breasts and then moving to my stomach, and then moving to my inner thighs. I let out a moan as Oliver touched me, my arms snaking around his neck to pull him close to me again so I could kiss him deeper and longer than before.
As Oliver and I made love, I let out a few low moans here and there and felt a twinge of pain in my nether regions as Oliver pressed into me harder and harder. Oliver always made me blush by saying I was still as tight as a virgin whenever we made love. It never got old to me. Oliver soon then let out a moan as my French manicured nails scratched at his back. He told me to scratch harder, and I did, but still he was not satisfied.
"Harder!" Oliver told me, and so I scratched at his back harder, leaving trails of faint red blood. I could tell he was not yet satisfied. "Harder!" He yelled, and I scratched at his back and he lifted me from the bed and slammed me down hard, his heated member going into the very depths of my core and my soul. I let out a cry and Oliver did, too, collapsing atop me with his head resting on my breasts.
I was left panting and so was Oliver. I ran my fingers through his once slicked-back hair, now in a spiked mess. Oliver came above me again and kissed my lips. "I love you." Oliver said to me.
When the kiss broke, our eyes locked again, and I said, "I love you, Oliver. Forever and always. No matter what. For richer, for poorer; for better, for worse. There is nothing you could do which would cause me to stop loving you." Oliver looked me over and kissed me again on the lips, firmer this time and longer, too.
. . . Little did I know the true monster that I married . . .