Historia was anticipating his arrival. Every night it was the same. The same fear. The same looks. The same smell. The same words. He was on a loop. Functioning like a computer system that was programmed to do so.
It was incredibly a burden to have on her shoulders. A great tension that never leaves until he finally steps foot out of the house and drives off to "work".
The blond also knew that the man was not working. Proof within the mail that was crowding on their dining table. A table which was gaining dust. Layers of neglect piling up and never to be wiped off. She had no intent on doing so.
She will wipe the scum off the dishes. Historia will sweep and vacuum. She will wash her and her husband's clothes. But never will she be bothered to demolish the dirt that had made its home on the kitchen's table.
Historia sat quietly on the loveseat. A maroon color that darkened in the dim light of the lamp. Silence an enemy and a friend all at the same time. She shook hands with daylight and they both agreed safety would remain until darkness arrives and floods her with every negative emotion possible.
The ancient grandfather clock ticked. The sharp noise echoing through the house and seeping into the walls. He was coming home. The clock warned her.
Blue eyes cast to the window. Looking through the blinds and waiting for a stumbling man to stomp up the stairs and into their home. The neighbors' lights had gone to sleep a long time ago. Telling their owners to rest and flick them on in the early morning.
Historia bit her lip and she fiddled with her sleeve. Concealing scars and bruises of abuse. Both her husband's and her own.
Time was slow and she thanked it more than anything. She cherished the daylight. She feared the night. The night was unpredictable. Nighttime was the time when a monster arose from the void and beat her till she was numb and expected her to get better by morning. She felt a like a helpless child who no one would believe that the boogeyman was right underneath her bed. The thing was, it wasn't that no one believed her, it was because there was no one to make believe.
Historia was trapped inside the house ever since they got married. The only times she was allowed out was for a grocery run or to pick up her own husband from the pub.
The lingering question of escape always hung in front of her when her feet grazed the outside world. Escape was a beautiful word that could not be grasped. Not by her at least. When she is pushing the rickety shopping cart not the aisles and she sees the other shoppers of the store, she is tempted to act out. To grab them. To startled them. To shake them and show them everything he did to her. But she never could do that.
It was impossible.
To rattle strangers. That would be so undignified and startling, she would definitely be put into a mental hospital because of her actions.
Well, why not drive away?
Another answer that had been flopping in her mind for awhile.
The question is:
Where to?
She had no money. No one to go to ever since she was disowned.
Life was utterly so fucked up thing that Historia had no way to reply other than shrivel up on the bathroom floor and weep till her heart's content. Something she was bound to do when her husband gets home.
Speak of the devil.
His figure was outlined by the glow of the porch light. His usually slicked back hair was a mess. Her husband's face was demented into anger. He struggled up the stairs. Almost tripping, and making Historia admit that it was a new record that he did not fully fall down the stairs once in his drunk lifetime.
The blond bounced off the loveseat with hurry. Her breaths already coming in-and-out quickly. She rushed to the door and unlocked all the locks that protected them from strangers from cruel intent. Keyword: Strangers.
She opened the door gingerly and met his ablaze eyes with a forced smile.
"Porco," She breathed. "Welcome back, honey." Historia felt her insides start to shiver and she fought back a visible sign of her fear.
He huffed. The dirty blond pushed her aside roughly and tumbled into the living room and onto the same exact loveseat she was previously sitting it. Porco placed a hand on his head. A deep rough groan left his lips.
Historia carefully approached Porco. Her hands placed behind her back. "Did you enjoy your time with Colt?" She spoke as sweet as she could be.
His eyelids retracted and aqua eyes gazed at her with a ferocity. "What does it matter to you," Porco spat, his lips curing in disgust. "How about you make me some supper instead?"
Historia fought back a sharp reply and bent down slightly. "Of course, dear."
The blond strode in a rush to the kitchen and pulled out leftovers from the fridge. Knowing how he preferred his meals, she placed some steak and potatoes in the oven and turned it on. Setting a timer for when it was done. After she washed her hands, Historia headed back to the living room to cater to her husband.
Porco was upright now and he was flicking through the tv. Grumbling to himself at each channel that passed by. His eyes drifted away from the screen for a moment and he stared blankly at Historia for a moment. His aqua eyes were empty as if his mind was just a fog. The blond woman swallowed quietly in fear of his numb state.
A few more seconds of her heart pounding frightfully passed and then he growled at her. "Didn't I tell you to go retrieve a beer?! Useless bitch!"
"You did not say so, dear," Historia replied as kindly as she could.
"I did too!" He argued in a childlike manner. It was shameful at the most. A grown man who could only respond like a defeated child. Porco wiped at his face and shook his head. His blond hair shifting at the movement. "Nevermind." He muttered and his gaze drifted from Historia's face to her chest area.
She knew that look. The hungry look of lust. She felt chills crawl up at her spine as she predicted what was going to happen. Historia tried to stay calm. Did her best not fidget.
Porco parted his mouth. His tongue sliding out and tracing along his dry lips.
"Come here." He commanded roughly.
Historia obeyed. Inwardly cringing at the touch of his rough swampy hands. Once there was a time when she enjoyed the contact. When she loved the man. When she trusted him. Now it was different. He had turned into a monster. Porco had expected wealth out Historia when he married her. The blond not knowing that until one of his first drunk outbursts after a few months they were married. He should have known.
There was whore blood that ran through her.
Her father was not supposed to make love to a slut and gift her with pregnancy. He was not allowed to unless it was with his own wife from a family of wealth.
A Reiss was forbidden from sharing their wealth with a nobody. Only with another person who had money also.
Historia was disowned way before she was born. She did not know her father until she was six years old. Shortly after her mother died. Historia had been in her father's clutches for a good month before his mother and father found out. Her grandmother and grandfather chased her out. She was put into foster care for a good year until someone stepped up and claimed that they were related to her. That they were kin. It was her mother's sister.
Historia lived with her aunt till she was old enough to move out. When she did, she had met Porco and that was when they slowly started to fall in love with each other. She remembered the day when that might have changed Porco.
The blond had received a phone call from her father. Something about how her grandmother had died from a heart attack and a few days later, the same thing happened to her grandfather. An apology was given to Historia by her father. She never heard him after that call. Explaining was soon followed. She had to tell Porco everything. And somehow in his mind, he thought that Historia had money. A few weeks passed and he purposed. Then her life went downhill.
"You like that..?" Porco mumbled in her ear as his hand slid beneath her bra and caressed her sensitive areas.
The wife did not reply to her husband. Stretching her head away from his breath as he messed with her. His touch disturbed her. But she did not fight back.
Porco moaned softly as his he forced her to sit on top of him. His crotch rubbing against her bottom. The free hand that belonged to him was gliding up her thigh, sliding beneath her nightgown.
The sensitivity was a torture. Her teeth sinking with force on her bottom lip. Historia would not give him the pleasure of her sound.
Her mind started to falter as his hands played on her. As he finished with her chest and started to unbuckle his pants. It was a slow progression and even a slower pain for Historia.
Porco grunted as he slid into her. As he thrusted upright, to satisfy his desperation. Historia was in haze when he did this. She did not feel a gratification in his movements. What she felt was his hips hitting against her and hurting her at the strength and aggressiveness. The insides her worked but it was numb in a way. She felt them move but nothing else was achieved from it.
Out of everything, she only heard his pants and then the oven.
Beeping.
Telling her the food was done.
His meal is done. I need to get it before it burns. Her voice was emotionless.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Historia felt Porco release inside her. She felt it leak and she felt him throw her away like trash. He was done with what he needed to do. Porco left Historia laying on the seat. She saw at the corner of her eye, him leaving to the kitchen.
She then stared at the ceiling.
The mist formed around her.
The setting around slowing fading away and leaving her in the grey mist. It wavered at her. Crawled on her and consumed her.
Historia did not know if Porco left to their room. She started not to care. It did not matter. Nothing matter.
Her purpose was only for her husband. Was that not something they vowed to each other at the altar? They would both care for each other till the day they were deceased.
Historia was stuck with him until she died.
And she could either make that sooner or later.
She could.
And she would.