Sequel to Road to Heartbreak
All the usual disclaimers!
She remembered his smell more than anything else. His body held a mixture of odours, sweat, tobacco, and a strong stench of whisky that caught in her throat and made her want to vomit. She wasn't used to it. Her husband had his own unique scent, once which she had held her breath against the first time he had made love to her, but which she had grown to love over the years. Now, she was being forced to accept a new smell.
At first, she hadn't known exactly what his intentions were. He had been there the whole evening, sitting drinking and joking with the other men. He had cast his eye lasciviously over the working girls, allowing them to sit on his knee and fondle his hair. But he hadn't taken any of them up on their offers of pleasure. Instead, he had drunk more, until his gait was unsteady as he crossed the room to the bar to order more.
Perhaps she should have refused to serve him, but her husband had always told her never to refuse a paying customer, no matter how many he'd already had. So she had poured him more and more whisky and prayed to God he would soon leave. But he had remained, right until the very end, one of the remaining stragglers who seemed reluctant to go home. Eventually, along with one of the other girls, she had managed to get him outside long enough to be able to lock up. He had lurched away up the street and she had breathed a sigh of relief.
Locking the doors, she had leaned against them briefly, glad another long day was over. It was hard running the saloon alone, but her husband had been called away on business and, faced with her expression of dubiety at being able to handle the saloon by herself, had flashed her his trademark grin, pushed her hair behind her ear and told her if there was anyone he could trust to do it right, it was her.
As she had been about to go upstairs, she had realised that the trash was still sitting behind the bar, an oversight by one of the girls. Sighing, she had lifted the box, walked through the kitchen and opened the back door of the saloon to place it outside. That had been when it had happened. Rough hands had grabbed her from behind, one clamped over her mouth preventing her from screaming, from even breathing. She had felt herself being pulled backwards away from the saloon and over towards the stables. He had thrown her down onto the hard ground and landed on top of her. She had tried to cry out, to fight back, but his body was too strong, his will too insistent.
She had felt his hands pulling up her skirts, trying to get at the soft flesh beneath. She had kicked him, which only seemed to spur him on more. He entered her forcefully, momentarily taking her breath away. In the ten years since she had opened herself up to a man's pleasure, it had only ever been with the one man and had given her more enjoyment than she would ever have dreamed of admitting to anyone. Now, it was all lost in one moment.
When he was done, he didn't say anything to her. He stood up, pulled his pants back up and stumbled away from the stable, leaving her lying, exposed and terrified on the ground. It took her a long time before she could even find the strength to sit up, to pull her skirts back down, to even realise the magnitude of what had just happened to her. Slowly, she got to her feet, holding onto the wall for support. As she hobbled out of the stable back towards the saloon, she was struck by just how silent the town was. There were no voices, no animal noises, no hoof beats, nothing.
She reached the back door of the saloon and pushed it open, putting herself back in the kitchen. The building was silent, everything as it had been before she had gone outside. With trembling fingers, she locked the door, doubly checking it to ensure there was no way he could get it. Then, she walked through the kitchen and slowly pulled herself up the stairs, wanting the comfort and sanctity of her bedroom.
The girls were all in bed, none of them challenged her as she made her way along the hallway to her room. She paused at the door of her daughter's room and peered in. She was lying, her blonde curls fanned out on the pillow under her head. Innocent. She stepped back and hurried back down to her own room. Closing the door behind her, she caught sight of herself in the mirror, parts of her hair pulled out from her hairclip, her face pale and drawn, tears she didn't even know she had shed lying on her cheeks. She moved forward to the basin next to the bed, poured from the jug until it was almost full and then splashed her face, scrubbing it viciously as if wanting to wash away the memory.
Her dress seemed to cling to her, reminding her of his body. Grappling with the buttons, she wrenched it from her, tossing it on the floor and kicking it across the room. She pulled her slip up and, taking the cloth, washed between her legs. It hurt, and when she pulled the cloth back there was blood on it. Shakily, she sat down on the edge of the bed. In the space of a few short moments, her life had changed forever. This thing that had happened to her…she knew she couldn't ever tell her husband. He would never understand, would never want to touch her again and his sense of honour would mean he would be determined to track down her attacker and kill him. She didn't know if she could stand that.
Pulling the covers out from under her, she slid into bed, covering her body right up to her neck, shielding herself from nothing and everything. For hours, she lay awake, her mind reliving the whole horrible experience, her body shaking at the thought of his hands, his mouth, his body…
As the sky lightened, and the night gave way to morning, Emma Jane Lawson wept.
TBC
