MarriageDebt_MichaelAragunde_AUDITION

I used to dream of this day long ago. Now all I can think of is all the ways I'll make her beg. The air is thick with tension as I inch closer and drape my arm over her shoulder, but she swiftly moves aside and swats my hand off. My nostrils flare from the blatant show of disobedience. I grab her chin and make her look at me. Stop resisting. It's already too late for that. Just because you married me doesn't make me yours, she says with a look of disdain in her eyes, and it makes me want to grab her and pin her down right here in this goddamn car, but I don't like people snooping in my business and the driver is watching us from his rearview mirror. So I release her again and look the other way. She'll come to her senses sooner rather than later. You wouldn't even let me say goodbye, she says after a while. I look at her as the light cascading into the window hits her bare neckline, making me all the more aware of the fact that I've wanted nothing more than to ravish her since the second I saw her, but she doesn't want me in that way. Fuck. In all these years nothing has changed about my desire to own her, and she, she hasn't changed a bit. With those rose-colored cheeks, those full heart-shaped lips, and that shoulder-length blonde bob and bangs, still the same pretty little bunny hopping right back into my fucked-up life. But some of her is different. Distant. Bitter. Like she's lost her will to care. As the teardrops roll down her cheeks, I slide aside her hair. I never thought I'd care, but it stirs something inside me that I can't ignore. Is she crying because of what I've done to her? Because I stole her freedom? Or because I never allowed her to say goodbye? My hand balls into a fist, my nails digging into my palm. I shouldn't feel guilty. She deserves this. She deserves every ounce of pain, every ounce of misery, and every ounce of guilt she feels. So then why am I the one with a stinging heart? Suddenly she turns her face to me, her wide innocent-looking eyes boring into my soul as if she knows exactly what I'm thinking. Fuck. I retract my hand and look out the window. Maybe I'll let you see her again, I say through gritted teeth. Her breathing grows more rapid. I can hear it. I don't believe you. You're still a vicious monster. You haven't changed one bit. You're just like when we were kids. Rage becomes me, but I swallow all the anger and hatred back down. Yet, I still made you my wife. A proud smug tugs at my lips, but it's only brief. Maid. Exactly. But I didn't choose you, she retorts. I stare her down so hard she retreats further into the corner of the car. You chose to come to the church and save your sister. You chose to take her place and marry me. What other choice did I have, she replies, cocking her head. I would never, ever let you put your depraved hands on her. I snort. Depraved? I grab her throat. You haven't even seen the worst yet. My fingers squeeze and she sucks in a breath, but it hitches halfway down. You only prove my point. You think it hurts to hear you say that? Wrong. I know what I am and what I like. I shove her back in her seat. It's about fucking time you learn, too. After she's regained her composure, she says, learned what? I'm not the one forcing marriage onto girls just because of a vendetta. I grab her wrist and push her against the window, leaning in so close I can smell her fear. What you and I have goes beyond a vendetta, Jill. Or did you forget that night I came into your room? Her cheeks flush and I know she remembers how I touched her, how I made her yield to the feel of my fingers on her little clit, how she muled with delight from the handle of my knife, shoved up her goddamn pussy.