Page 12 of Prohibited
Slowly, he dipped a hand inside his jacket and pulled out a carefully folded linen handkerchief. He wiped the spittle away with so much delicate grace that one might have thought he was wiping perspiration from his face on a pleasant summer day. Then, as fast as a snake, he shovedthe handkerchief in her mouth, plunging it so far into her throat that it made her gag.
“You’re going to regret that, so help me god,” he said. He grabbed her by the hair this time and yanked her so hard that she fell to her knees. Instead of letting her get back to her feet, he dragged her across the floor, causing her to scream through the handkerchief he’d shoved in her mouth. She gripped his wrist with both hands to try to relieve some of the agony in her scalp. She couldn’t stand the pain long enough to let go and pull the handkerchief back out of her mouth.
He dragged her up the stairs by her hair, causing her back and her hips to slam painfully against every step as he went. She tried to scream at him, to demand that he stop. To beg him to stop, but he kept marching forward, determined to make her suffer.
One explosion of pain after another. She let loose her fury and her terror into the handkerchief stuffed in her throat, but it did no good. The wad of linen choking her made her feel like she was suffocating, drowning her in her own spit and the bile that kept surging to the back of her throat. She could have suffocated for all Linus cared and he wouldn’t have given a good goddamn. Her fingers scrabbled at the stairs, trying to catch them, to hold herself in place, but he was relentless.
When they reached the upper landing, he dragged her down the long strip of carpet that bisected the neatly polished wooden floor. The rug dragged up her skirt and ripped holes in her silk stockings, burned the flesh itexposed, soft from rich oils and expensive ointments. She turned this way and that, trying to shift the burn, but all she managed to do was set her body on fire in a greater variety of places.
Behind her, she heard her husband lift one of his polished shoes and kick their bedroom doors open, two huge double doors at the end of a long corridor. Blissfully cool and slick wooden floors met her ravaged skin. At last, in the privacy of their rooms, he released her hair and let her fall to the floor. With shaking fingers, she reached into her mouth and pulled the sticky, soaking wad of fabric out of her throat. Spit rushed down her chin along with tears and snot.
“Look at you.” Slowly, she looked up at Linus, looming over her like the spoiled little prince he was. Ruler of his own kingdom. Heedless of any will but his own.
The eyes that had once held love and affection raked over her with disgust. The very idea of marriage was a disaster. What had she been thinking, marrying a man she’d met only six months before? She was lonely in New York. And he’d reminded her of home. He was handsome, rich. A very sought after bachelor. And most importantly, he didn’t want children.
Both of their families had encouraged it with unprecedented enthusiasm.
One thing led to another and then they were getting married.
But she hadn’t counted on Linus being quite as petty and spoiled as he turned out to be. She hadn’t countedon hating how limited her life was, being someone’s wife instead of her own woman. And she certainly hadn’t counted on the fact that she didn’t grow to love him like she thought she would. Quite the opposite.
And he, for his part, made no effort to hide the fact that he was meeting with other women within a month of their marriage.
“The talk of the town,” he repeated. He started to pace a little. In a leisurely manner, as if he had all the time in the world to contemplate her treachery. She wanted to kick him in the groin, to watch him go down screaming. She wanted to paint her face with his blood and run screaming through the house. To throw herself off of the roof.
Crazy, she was going crazy.
Linus laughed at her now, an echo of Walter’s laugh. Cruel, relishing her suffering. A laugh that promised pain. The similarity made her shiver with revulsion and fear.
“All the tongues are wagging about you.” Linus crouched in front of her now. He pitched his voice high, like a silly society woman. “‘What’s she wearing these days? Where is she going? What’s she had for lunch?’” Linus’s button eyes glittered with hatred as he grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. “‘How many men have used her like a filthy rag while she wears the furs and the jewels that her husband buys for her? Walter Stanley, Walter Stanley.’ All I ever hear about these days is my wife’s name mixed up in a pile of shit with Walter Stanley.”
Evie just looked at him. She simply had nothing to say. In the face of this rage, this fury, she simply didn’t care about it. She looked at him and felt nothing except for hatred. She hated him so much that she had started to feel nothing for him at all. Nothing about his thoughts, his feelings, or his existence mattered to her.
“Well, my dear wife,” he said, giving her head a yank. She gave a squeak of pain and then clenched her teeth, resolving to give him no further reactions. “We are putting an end to that. Do you understand me? I frankly don’t care who you wish to use you like the trash that you are. I knew from the moment I touched you on our wedding night that I’d bought soiled goods, but I made the best of it. At least, I told myself, her father is the wealthiest man in Tulsa. At least I have some social credit for this arrangement. But you have tried to see fit to destroy every last shred of my good name in this town by making me a fucking fool!” His voice rose and he gave her head another yank. Her teeth ground together and her eyes watered. The urge to smash her fists into his face moved through her like a hot, sharp current of electricity but she held herself back. The look in his eye told her everything she needed to know about what he would do to her if she struck him just then.
“I didn’t make you a fool,” she said in a shaking voice. “You were already a fool when I married you.”
He snapped her head back and forth, his voice a hot, quiet breath against her face. “I would be very, very careful right now if I were you.”
He fumbled in his pocket for something, something heavy and dark that flashed into her vision.
Evie’s body went still, all concentration fixed on the small revolver that he pressed under her chin.
“I’m so upset right now,” he said, a mad gleam in his eye, “that I can’t promise that my finger won’t slip.”
For an instant, her soul surged toward the dark tear in reality that this pistol offered. The long sleep, silent and unknowing. Mortal sufferings ripped away and put to rest. But fear rose through her on a tide of bile and the courage she had to beg for this thing, this release, did not outweigh the fear.
They stared at each other, both breathing heavily with a potent mix of fear and fury. The alcohol on his breath and the smell of his sweat scented the air, causing her stomach to roil.
“Now, you will listen to me,” he said. He gave her head another yank and she almost screamed at him to stop. He was going to pull her head straight off of her body. “You will stop this. All of this nonsense. And if you don’t, I am going to have you committed to the mad house. I’ve already made the arrangements, should I require them. All I need to do is pick up the phone.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, furious. “My father–”
“I don’t care what your father has to say about it.” There wasn’t a trace of a bluff in him. His words hit like a heavy iron bell. “I don’t need him. I don’t need you. I have every fresh cunt I could ever want falling into my lap. I have my own fortune. I have my own social standing. Marrying hisworthless daughter has, in fact, only served to demean my social standing. With all the trouble you’ve caused, no one will be surprised when I lock you away. When I tell any old matron who asks about it that you just need some rest. That you are exhausted. That you are in a place where they are taking good care of you.” He stroked the muzzle of the revolver down the side of her face. “I’ve been considering this option for some time. But it’s a matter of the cost versus the benefit. It’s been a struggle. Is it better to have a whore of a wife, running around the city with dresses that are getting shorter by the day on the arm of any man she wants, without a care in the world who sees her? Gambling and drinking with my money? Or is it better to have her locked safely away, where she can do no more harm to my reputation?”
“You wouldn’t–” she said again, weakly. But he just smiled at her.
He meant it. The bastard meant every word.