Author's Note: This isn't meant to be a pleasant, happy little read. This was inspired by the yahoo group discussion about Scarlett's sex life, and I just thought what was she thinking and this came to me. I think it is valid look into how it could have been. Thanks for reading.
She was terrified. There were no other words to describe it. She knew no one else would understand why she had chosen this, why she had subjected herself to this misery. But it had been the only way to save Tara.
And so she sat quietly sitting at the vanity in the room where Charles had spent the majority of his life. And she waited for the inevitable. She had refused Charles advances on their wedding night, but she knew that eventually she must give in to Frank's marital rights no matter how much she did not welcome them.
Her hands trembled as she brushed out her hair before quickly plaiting into a single fat braid that hung down her back. She was trying to be brave, trying to act as if it wasn't bothering her. In fact she had carefully ignored the prospects of intimacy with her future husband until they returned home from the quiet ceremony before the justice of the peace. But now he would be ready to go to bed soon, and she would be expected to consent. She could refuse him tonight, but that would not last. And no matter what, eventually she would be forced to offer up her body to him. The thought caused bile to rise in her throat. She saw little difference between what this encounter would be and what would have happened to her if she hadn't shot the Yankee. But at least Frank was kind. He would not be trying to injure her. But the thought of his hands on her was unsettling.
It wasn't fair the things that a woman had to endure – that she had no power over her own life. It wasn't right that she would be expected to suffer in silence. All she remembered from those brief nights after her wedding night was the pain and discomfort that it caused her. And of course she could not forget the aftermath of those encounters. And there was nothing that she could do to prevent the same from occurring again. But at least if that were to happen, her duties would be temporarily reprieved.
She wanted nothing more than for life to return to the way it used to be. How she missed flirting and balls and parties. But that was all behind her now. She had no choice; she was only doing what had to be done. She couldn't think about it now. She didn't know if there would ever be a time when she would be able to think about and stand it.
She knew Suellen would hate her, not that she already didn't. But there would be no forgiveness for this. But it had been the only way to save Tara and keep a roof over her families heads. She took no enjoyment from this; this would be a nightmare. And she steeled herself against the emotions, and readied herself to face her new husband.
Even now she could hear the heavy tread of his steps on the stairs. She wanted to run – flee from this horror. But she did not move other than to more tightly wrap her robe around her body – knowing that the wrapper would not deter him. But no matter what he would never know how much the thought of his body disgusted her. There was nothing pleasant about this.
The door shut quietly as he came into the room. "Sugar?" He questioned.
She didn't turn, she couldn't look at him. This was a nightmare, a nightmare that had begun the night that Atlanta fell. She couldn't show emotion, wouldn't show emotion. If she ever started to cry, if she ever began to let go of her control, she knew that she would never stop. And then who would take care of her family. There was no one else.
"Sugar, Aren't you coming to bed?" Frank prodded.
And Scarlett knew that there was no use avoiding this. She just wanted it to be over. So she rose from her seat at the vanity, still clutching the wrapper tightly to her body. She walked past Frank and climbed into the bed without speaking. She lay there in silence, her body stiff as a board as he awkwardly climbed on top of her. She knew that he must feel the bones jutting from her hips and her collarbone. She knew that she was too thin, that the starvation and want at Tara had done this to her. He opened her wrapper, and now the only thing separating their bodies were his nightshirt and the thin material of her worn out nightgown.
His whiskers scratched against her face as he kissed her in a manner that evoked no response in her other than disgust and revulsion. She closed her eyes, knowing what was coming. Her nightgown's hem was raised so that it bunched at her hips. She retreated into her mind reciting times tables and adding figures for the household while he took her. She couldn't think about what was happening to her, she had to think of something, anything else. It was humiliating and degrading to be used like this. But she could bear it as she had born all of the trials in her life. This would not master her. She continued adding and counting as he moved above her. And she hoped that this encounter would be blessedly brief. And she knew that she was no better than a common whore. She had sold herself for the price of the taxes on Tara to a man that she did not love, who she felt little for other than revulsion. But Tara was safe for a moment.
When he was finished, he rolled off of her and went to sleep. She rolled away from him, as far as the small bed would allow. Tears of humiliation sparkled on her eyelashes, but he would never know. No would ever know just how much this marriage was costing her. No one would ever know.