I'm late for my monthly. That is the first thing I notice when I look at the calendar. I try to remember a time when I didn't use the spell on myself, and the only time that comes up is the time two weeks ago when he came home drunk. It was the only time he'd ever been anything but gentle with me. When I realize that I could be two weeks pregnant, I curl up on my bed and, for the first time in almost thirteen years, I want to cry.
He knocks on the door and comes in. He wants to know why I'm crying, and I just shake my head in reply.
He demands that I speak, and I find myself once again trying to obey him.
I finally get a word out, which is 'I' and it comes out cracked and broken. He nods his encouragement and I cry all the harder.
He does the most surprising thing. He gathers me up in his arms and holds me. I think that he wants to have sex, and I try to push away, wondering how he could even want to when I'm in such a state, but he holds me tighter and rests his chin atop my head.
My hands curl around his shirt and I have it in a death grip. I'm getting his shirt wet, too, with my tears, but he doesn't seem to mind.
How can he be so caring and yet so heartless at the same time, I wonder.
In my bathroom chambers I'm sitting in front of the toilet, trying to keep my hair out of my face, when he comes in. I look up at the door before vomiting, and I feel drops of toilet water splash my face.
He sits beside me and holds my hair while doing what any husband would do. He rubs my back reassuringly, says it will be all right, but he's not my husband and I wonder why he's acting like this.
I've been puking every day for a week now, though this is the first time he's seen me vomit and he probably thinks I'm just ill.
"Are you alright?" he asks after a few moments go by that I've not been retching.
I nod before standing up and going to the sink to clean off any food remains and the toilet water. I see the tears in my eyes but quickly brush them away.