May 10, 2011
Attention: I apologies for it being so short. Please be patient they will get longer.
Charles and I have been married for 6 months now. I can’t believe I let my parents persuade me to marry him. My life since getting married has been much the same as my wedding day; every night I am made to lie naked on the bed whilst Charles stares at me through those evil green eyes, while his normally slicked back dark blonde hair falls over his face.
As always he forces himself onto me, not caring if he hurts me. In fact, he seems to like it when he causes me pain, placing all of his weight on me so that I can barely breath. Almost like he’s trying to squeeze the life out of me.
By day I am expected to be up before him to make his breakfast: 1 sausage, browned (not burnt), 2 potatoes, chopped small (no skin) and slices of bread along with a pot of tea. Once he has eaten, I have to clean the house and dishes from breakfast. Then, because he doesn’t like me being alone, I am to go to my parents and assist on the farm there, returning home before Charles so that I am able to cook his dinner and that it’s ready for when he arrives back.
Charles doesn’t just hurt me in the bedroom, though. About 5 weeks after we married Charles hit me for the first time. He had just discovered that I hadn’t become pregnant. In his eyes I wasn’t a real woman unless I was able to bore him an heir. Personally I was grateful that I hadn’t become pregnant. This is not the kind of life to bring a child into. As soon as he found out he started shouting at me.
“WHAT KIND OF WOMAN ARE YOU IF YOU CANNOT EVEN PRODUCE AN HEIR?” he Screamed at me, turning bright red with anger.
“I’m sorry,” I cried, knowing that it was in my best interest to keep quiet and agree with him.
However, today he seemed to be nastier than usual and with that he grabbed my hair, pulling so hard that I could feel my hair separating away from my scalp. He dragged me up stairs, throwing me onto the bed and, well, continued much the same as the wedding. Although, he was a lot more aggressive this time, causing me immense pain.
Normally he liked it when he hurt me, but today he shouted at me to ‘SHUT UP,’ punching the side of my head. I laid there in shock until he had finished. Then grabbing me by the hair again, he dragged me off the bed, pulling me to the bath.
“Get yourself cleaned up and respectable. We are going to my parents for supper and I don’t want them thinking I married a tramp,” he spat at me.
I tried to scrub every last bit of him off of me, but I still felt dirty. My eyes were puffy and bloodshot from crying. I tried my best to make myself look respectable but it obviously wasn’t good enough by the look on Charles’ face.
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