Here is chapter 3 of my novella. This will be the last chapter I'm posting. Those hungry for the ending can clickety-click that book cover to the left, and get it on Amazon. Happy reading!
It was no secret that Gavin wasn’t happy about the pregnancy. I gave him the exciting news over a candlelit dinner of roasted red potatoes, green beans, corn on the cob, and a succulent steak, cooked medium rare, all items perfectly catered to his liking. He drooled over the menu but scoffed at the news. He got offended and accused me of using trickery to tell him what he was already entitled to know. He slammed down his eating utensils the second he heard the word “pregnant,” and his eyebrows quickly narrowed. My stomach would always churn when those unhappy wrinkles formed across his forehead.
“What! That’s what this fancy dinner was all about? Just to tell me you’re knocked up! I shoulda known. I shoulda known I couldn’t get a decent meal without strings attached! Great! Just great! Another expense! Just what I need.”
His reaction murdered the pleasant-surprise factor I was going for, and he stomped out of the house in a rampage. He returned six hours later around 1 a.m. I was awakened with a phony apology and kisses all over my face. He said he had an awful day at work, admitted that he unfairly took it out on me and that he was glad to hear I was having his baby. Lies, no less. This scene was a common occurrence since high school. After his pathetic apologies and placing the blame on his bad day, he would always insist on having sex. If I said no, I’d be forced, so I just complied. Noncompliance is what normally got me bruised. Inevitably, bruised and pregnant.
My baby was conceived one evening after I tried to refuse Gavin’s demand for sex. I had a nauseating migraine and didn’t feel like being intimate. He told me he didn’t need my participation, just my body. His belief was that the bonds of marriage lost me my rights to my own body. I didn’t care about his beliefs that day. I felt horribly sick, and I pushed him away.
“NO, Gavin! Please, this time I’m serious. I really don’t want to. Please, understand, okay? Please. This headache is killing me, Gavin, really,” I pleaded.
He squeezed my throat until my eyes watered, and pushed my head into the wall. I could feel his putrid breath in my face as he lectured me. I nearly vomited but managed to hold it back out of fear.
“Your headache is killing you? You should be more afraid of me killing you! I could do it right now, you know. I’m the man in this relationship, and I decide what’s gonna happen. I had a shitty day at work … in a hot garage … sweating my ass off in dirt and grease while you get to relax your sweet ass in the a/c all day. So I expect my wife to give a damn and help me relax after a hard day’s work!”
He dragged his tongue across my face from my jawline to my cheek while keeping a firm grip on my throat. The face licking was Gavin’s trademark. It was his way of proving my inferiority, belittling me, showing me who’s the boss. The closed airway increased the intensity of the migraine and made me feel like my head would explode. I stayed expressionless and cursed him only in my mind.
“Look at you. Just staring at me like you don’t even care. Like you don’t feel anything … I’ll make you feel something.”
He finally let go of my throat, but I didn’t get a second to recover before getting a hard smack across the face by his angry hand. I hunched over with my hands on my knees, coughing my way back to regular breathing. He humored me for a few seconds then pulled me to the bedroom by my hair. I was pinned down for the next half hour while my body was invaded against my wishes. He pounded himself into me as he kept my wrists locked down above my head and ordered me to look at him the entire time. I pictured Grandma Edan’s white canvas of hope instead of his greedy expression. The bright side was that my aching head was on a soft surface, and I convinced myself this act was acceptable since he was my husband. Not exactly the way I dreamed of entering parenthood.
Despite the six years’ worth of roundtrips to hell, I still loved him, as crazy as that sounds. I couldn’t even explain why. Perhaps I still loved the man he pretended to be in the beginning and for the sporadic good moments we had. He didn’t hit me every day, just every couple weeks or so. Once, he went a whole two months without a single swat. His job was very frustrating, so he had a tendency to bring it home. I’m sure lots of people behave this way … right?
I looked forward to the evenings when we’d go out to dinner like a normal couple. It happened about once a week. Gavin’s favorite seafood restaurant was Seashells. I tried not to notice the way he undressed the waitress, Mariella, with his eyes. I figured that’s why we always ended up at Seashells. Mariella was always there when we went. I hated her for being so graceful and alluring, not to mention heavy in the chest. I ran into her at a book store one day, and she seemed disappointed to see me, almost like I ruined her day by existing. I was just as perturbed about seeing her, because I feared she’d mention having seen me at the book store next time Gavin and I went to Seashells. Unless it was the grocery store, shopping of any kind, namely for books, was not on my approved list of activities sans Gavin. She gave me a superficial hello, wished me a great day and dashed away. Her behavior was weird, but I wasn’t exactly the epitome of cheer myself. I didn’t see her again at Seashells either, and I wasn’t surprised when Gavin stopped wanting to eat there after he realized his eye candy was no longer a member of the staff.
I looked forward to our occasional Sunday brunches by the beachside, and every now and then, I’d get flowers for no specific reason. Last year, I even got a nice necklace with a heart locket for Valentine’s Day. It mysteriously went missing from my jewelry box, but I dared not ask if he had anything to do with it. I noticed some of my things would go missing sometimes after big fights. He bought me a gold bracelet as one of his spontaneous surprises a few years ago. At a family get-together in the park soon after, he ripped it off my wrist and tossed it into a lake. Gavin said it was punishment for flirting with my cousin John and that I didn’t deserve such a nice gift. It was just an innocent conversation with my cousin while tossing a Frisbee around, but Gavin swore he detected a hidden meaning in our dialogue.
Watching TV together on the couch in complete silence was our most common form of quality time these days. Once he wasn’t angered, I considered it a good day.
Deep down, I felt like I was destined to be with him, like it was my calling to try and change him into a better person. I prayed that he would adopt my good nature so we could enjoy a long, happy life together. Have a big family. Take a vacation. Retire. Grow old. Breathe easy.
As the clock struck “Gavin-time,” I snapped out of my daydreams, startled by the sound of his heavy footsteps outside the door. It had the same effect on me as thunder. He walked in with a sigh and grimaced in my direction. I was still on the couch clenching my belly. Just as he walked in, an untimely contraction had hit me. I groaned as I struggled to sit upright to greet him. Gavin paced around complaining the house was dirty and untidy. Not a single mention of my apparent condition … or my birthday.
Dr. Hassan put me on complete bed rest until the baby’s arrival, because I was in pre-term labor and deemed a high-risk pregnancy. I was only allowed on my feet about 1-2 hours per day. “Shower, pee and eat. That’s it, because you’re already dilated,” the doctor warned me.
“Damn, Kira! Look at this floor! Pushing a vacuum isn’t strenuous! You’re pregnant, not helpless! Women in Africa climb trees while they’re pregnant! Then they’re back to normal a day after giving birth, working the fields with the baby strapped to their back!”
Gavin’s preposterous logic generated more nausea than my morning sickness ever did. It was hard to keep from rolling my eyes at him every time he spoke.
He made an executive decision that it was okay for him to have opposite-sex friends while I was not permitted to be friendly with any males, not even the mailman or store clerks, not even my own relatives. He didn’t even like that I had female friends.
My co-worker, Ally, from the dental office, became my second best friend, after Celia, of course. I was grateful for the way she always showed concern for me and enjoyed making me laugh. She came by to visit me one day after she’d learned that I was put on complete bed rest for the remainder of my pregnancy. Gavin was so cold to her she could hardly speak in his presence without stuttering. He didn’t like her after he’d eavesdropped on one of our phone calls and discovered that she was a lesbian and then outlawed our friendship. I told her the truth about his ruling, and she swore she wouldn’t allow Gavin to dictate the fate of our friendship. So after that, we’d secretly meet for a quick lunch sometimes after I finished grocery shopping. To him, her “way of life” was cause for automatic banishment. He couldn’t fathom that a woman didn’t need or want the touch of a man.
“Don’t even try to tell me how nice she is, Kira. Or that she’s a human being. I don’t care. Her way of life is pure filth. What kinda woman writes off men! And from what I seen, even gay people take on either male or female personas! One of ‘em is always the man, and I bet she’s the man in her relationship with those broad shoulders! Felt like I was lookin’ in a mirror the first time I met her.” He bellowed in laughter at his own senseless joke.
I still found myself attracted to him, although his points of view disgusted me. It didn’t matter that he made a sport of hurting me. For me, it had become a way of life, a normal day. At times, I hated him. And other times, I just tolerated him. I developed the ability to put myself on mental cruise control. I’d focus on his perfectly-carved face, fleshy lips and hazel eyes. On the outside, he looked like the perfect man. His deep voice and broad shoulders were also convenient distractions from all his ridiculous banter.
“You’re a woman. I’m a man. I can handle myself out there. You can easily get taken advantage of and ruined. When a man talks to you, whether a stranger or a relative or whatever, he is secretly lusting for you, Kira. That’s what men do. Women are after relationships, building bonds, friendships, coffee talk, and shit like that. Not men. Men just want to get between those thighs. You know, in other cultures, women have to stay all covered up and out of sight, because it’s understood that they’re the fragile and vulnerable sex. You think I want anything to happen to you, Kira? That’s why I protect you. You may not see it that way, but that’s what it is. You don’t ever hear about a man getting raped by a woman. When a man enters a woman (he stood up and did pelvic thrusts into the air as he described this), she’s never the same; she’s broken. But for a man, it’s totally different. That’s why you can tell if a girl is a virgin or not. But a dude? He can screw all day, and you can’t tell by looking at his junk what he’s done.”
I would just purse my lips and nod during these lectures to act like I was agreeing. It was simpler than trying to argue. I never won. That was the law of the land.
“And as far as opposite-sex friends … Kira, you need to understand one thing. I have pride. I come from a long line of Dowling men who ruled with an iron fist and made a name for themselves defending their own and proving their manhood. I don’t love anybody but you; you should know that. At the end of the day, I come home to you. It’s just that, I always have an urge to prove that I still got that charm. That I still got the magic that pulled you in. That’s why I talk to these girls, okay. It’s a joke. It’s just for my ego. I don’t care about them. They’re just friends. That’s something you just gotta accept about me. I would never cheat on you. I’d leave you before I did that. That’s a promise.”
I gagged every time Gavin uttered the words charm or promise in reference to himself. Even though he wasn’t happy about being a daddy, he promised to go with me to all my doctor visits. That was one promise I wish he had broken.
The day we learned the sex of the baby was both exciting and humiliating. My regular doctor was a lady, Dr. Sheila Davenport. Gavin actually liked her because she made him feel welcomed during my check-ups. She honored his questions and opinions and made him feel important. He didn’t hate women who kissed his ass. But sadly, she took a leave of absence because her husband passed away. We didn’t find out until we arrived and checked in for our appointment. Gavin and I were equally sympathetic when the receptionist told us the news and alerted us that Dr. Davenport’s replacement was Dr. Hassan.
It’s safe to say we found out the sex of the new doctor and our baby on the same day. Dr. Altaf Hassan was a tall and handsome, middle-aged Indian man. He was about 5-foot-9 and had a thick head of halfway-grayed hair. Dr. Hassan was very friendly and loved to crack jokes and laugh loudly. I didn’t mind having a male doctor, but Gavin was appalled that another man would be touching my body. I could read his mind by watching the slideshow of his facial expressions as Dr. Hassan walked in and introduced himself and the agenda.
“Kira Persad-Dowling. Persad … hmm, you must be of Indian origin, is that correct?” Dr. Hassan inquired.
“Yes, my family is from the Caribbean island of St. Croix, and I have relatives in Trinidad, too. We’re of East Indian decent. I’ve never been to India, but I know some of its culture and traditions. My great, great grandparents on both sides were from India. I’m not too sure, but I was told my family originally came to the Caribbean as indentured laborers, and, well, here I am.” I smiled as I proudly explained my heritage.
“Ahhh, yes. I know that history very well. As you can tell by my accent, I am from India. I’m sure we cook a lot of the same foods despite our different origins! Indians will be Indians, no matter where we end up!” He roared with laughter and proceeded with the business at hand. “Now, let’s get you all checked out and see what this baby is up to! I’ve reviewed your records and Dr. Davenport’s notes. I understand you’d like to find out the sex today, correct?”
“Yes! We would!” I said excitedly. Gavin looked at me, stone-faced.
I couldn’t stop smiling. Since the day I found out I was pregnant, I couldn’t wait to find out if I was to expect a son or a daughter. My smile halfway faded when I turned and saw the scowl on Gavin’s face as the doctor did a bimanual exam first. Despite my unyielding devotion to our marriage and his strict rules, Gavin always suspected infidelity.
I had my first well-woman exam at 18 when I tried to get on birth control pills shortly after we got married. It was my mom’s idea. She made the appointment with her doctor and went along with me. Gavin was furious. This gave him one more reason to hate my mom.
“You said you were going to the doctor to get birth control pills! You never told me the bitch was taking you to get screwed by a speculum! I thought you would just go, get some pills and be done with it!” He yelled. He swung at me for the first time that day but missed and grazed the edge of my nose with his fingernail. It hurt a lot, a whole lot. Kind of like that nagging paper cut that stings and causes your entire hand to throb, only it was my face.
Gavin ranted about the well woman exam for months afterward. He accused me of “liking it” and asked me if I preferred the speculum better than him inside me. He was so revolted by this event that I never went back. After the one-year prescription of birth control ran out, we winged it on pure luck and tactics since then. It’s a wonder it took this long for me to get pregnant. Gavin considered any medically-necessary pelvic procedure a form of diplomatic cheating, even with a female doctor. He was dead wrong to ever suspect me. I remained faithful, despite my deep-rooted misery.
I was very eager about the ultrasound results, so I tried not to pay too much attention to Gavin’s sour attitude. Whether a boy or a girl, I was intoxicated by the sheer excitement of finding out what I was having! My baby meant everything to me. I planned to be a true supermom and shower my baby with nonstop love and attention. I imagined I would be so busy with the baby’s needs that I wouldn’t be as affected by Gavin’s mental and physical abuse.
As Dr. Hassan ran the Doppler device across my gelled-up tummy, the amazing ultrasound images of our daughter appeared on the monitor. I was elated.
“A baby girl!” cheered Dr. Hassan. “Look, you can see the proof right there. These are her feet, and if you look up at this curved line, you will see there’s no doubt you have a baby girl.” He touched the monitor right in the area between her legs. Gavin jumped up from his chair at my bedside and started yelling at the doctor.
“What the hell! That’s it! I had enough of this shit. Dude, you’re sick!” Gavin said while pointing at Dr. Hassan. “How can you make a living doing this sick shit, molesting people’s wives and enjoying this … this … child porn!” Gavin pointed at our daughter on the monitor. Dr. Hassan still had the device on my abdomen. He turned toward Gavin with a look of astonishment and slowly stood up. I was impressed by his professionalism.
Dr. Hassan urged Gavin to calm down in respect of the patients in neighboring rooms. He held up an open palm and spoke to Gavin in a low tone.
“Mr. Dowling, I fully understand that you may be uncomfortable with these procedures, but this is not the way to express your dissatisfaction. Dr. Davenport and I are business partners in this office, and I am the attending physician in her absence. If you’re not happy with this arrangement, you will need to seek another physician for your prenatal care and delivery. I assure you, Mr. and Mrs. Dowling, I exercise the utmost respect and professionalism to my patients and their families. I urge you to make your decision about your medical care very soon as you are already four months into your pregnancy. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
With that said, the good doctor quickly ended the ultrasound, gave me a sympathetic look and said he’d send in his nurse, Theresa, to clean me up and give me further instructions.
Theresa came in and wiped off my stomach. I watched helplessly through the doorway, as Gavin scolded Dr. Hassan about his “filthy job” all the way down the hall. I was sure he’d get arrested!
“Don’t worry, honey. Dr. Hassan is a pretty laid-back kinda guy. I’m sure he can handle it. Got yourself a jealous one there, huh,” said Theresa.
“You don’t even know the half of it,” I said, still peering out the doorway at Gavin who was then following Dr. Hassan into the elevator with his lips moving nonstop.
“Well, I wish you the best of luck, sweetheart. I know that’s a tough thing to handle. I had me a jealous man once. But I’m a vixen, so he didn’t stand a chance!” She winked at me and giggled, but I wasn’t in a joking mood.
After I got cleaned up and discussed my directives with Theresa, I sat in a chair next to the nurses’ station, feeling a cold sweat of embarrassment as I waited for Gavin to come back from his rant. My chest tightened when I saw the elevator door open and Gavin’s angry expression as he walked briskly toward me. Before I could stand up all the way, he grabbed my elbow and said “Let’s go! We’re gettin’ the hell outa here.” As I was hustled to the elevator, I noticed several people staring at us.
In the elevator, Gavin went on a tirade about my behavior. “You loved that shit, didn’t you? Cheesin’ all over him about your Indian connection. Him touching you all over and sticking stuff up inside you, rubbin’ his pudgy hands all over your big, fat belly. I noticed your face in there! You never stopped smiling! Did it feel good, Kira? You want some more of that? Huh? You’re a whore. I can’t even look at you right now.”
“Gavin, I … I was just happy to see our baby. Our … our daughter … th … that’s why I was smiling and looking happy … I …”
“Shut up!! Just shut the hell up. Don’t talk to me right now, Kira!”
The rest of that day was miserable. I went from a few seconds of serenity after seeing my daughter into a depression after my husband made me feel like a tramp. Gavin acted like he caught me in bed with another man. He kept pacing around sulking and mumbling things under his breath. That same evening, Gavin claimed he needed to go for a drive to relieve the stress I’d caused him. He left around 9 p.m. His car peeled out of the driveway with music booming, and I heard his tires screech as he pulled onto the main road.
The constant episodes with Gavin started to take a toll on me mentally. I felt suffocated and depressed. I didn’t have anyone to confide in except Celia, but she would make constant sighs and distress noises while I talked, so it didn’t feel like she was truly listening. My stories were always the same, anyway. Bottom line – Gavin hurt me somehow, and Celia hated him since high school. I desperately needed a release, an unbiased ear. My natural instinct as a persistent daydreamer and hopeful writer was to turn my frustration into written words. I decided to start a journal. My storytelling wouldn’t be associated with the local newspaper or TV station like I’d hoped for but in the meantime, I decided to purge my anxieties on the pages of a journal.
Almost every day and every chance I got following any incidents with Gavin, I’d scribe my life away in grave detail. I was obsessive about logging dates and times. The purging felt good. I kept my journal hidden in a place I knew Gavin would never check – inside an almost-empty maxi pad box in my closet. I always left a few pads on top of it, just in case. The journal was small enough and easy to conceal with a few super absorbent maxis. Gavin banned the use of tampons since they were invasive, so the pads ended up being a better disguise for my journal. The sight of feminine hygiene products grossed out Gavin, so I knew he wouldn’t go searching there. That book became my substitute best friend. It almost reminded me of when I used to pour my thoughts out to Grandma Edan, and all she’d do was nod and listen until she got a small opportunity to inject a word or two of wisdom in the conversation.
At 3:31 a.m., I heard the front door slowly creak open. He showered before coming to bed, the normal routine after his frequent disappearing acts.
“Kira?” he whispered in my ear. “Kira, I’m sorry about today, okay. I just had a bad day at work. Right before I came home to go to the appointment with you, a customer verbally attacked me and tried to accuse me of keying his car. I was so pissed. I guess I just took it out on you. Kira? Are you mad at me?”
I stayed eyes-shut and motionless, because I loathed hearing his lame excuses for coming home in the middle of the night as well as his fake affection and concern about my feelings. His broken-record excuses made me daydream about knocking him out with a blunt object. Gavin was a master at rebuilding car engines, drawing, hacking my emails, gardening and music trivia, but telling believable lies wasn’t his forte. It was almost as bad as his deranged logic about life and marriage.
Being pregnant eventually saved me from unwanted penis invasions. Gavin was a bit turned off by my pregnant body. I didn’t miss him forcing himself on me all the time.
The disappearing acts became more frequent during my pregnancy. He often used “the guys” as his alibi. It was always an all-night fishing trip or an evening at a bar, drinking and watching a game. Odd, since I never knew Gavin to be a sports fan.
I was almost six months pregnant on Valentine’s Day this year. I had my hopes high that he would do something special for me. Last year, I got the beautiful heart locket. This year wasn’t just any Valentine’s Day. I was carrying a living token of our love, for goodness’ sake. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t sacrifice an opportunity to crush my hopes. I noticed his periodic attempts at niceness mostly happened when I wasn’t expecting it. He told me Valentine’s Day was a stupid man-made publicity stunt to pressure people into wasting money, and it made men look bad if they didn’t live up to the doctored, societal expectations. Instead of spending Love Day with me, he decided to go play pool with his friend Kenny. I cried, but he didn’t care. He laughed at my “silliness,” as he called it, licked my face like a St. Bernard and said he’d be back soon to give me a nice Valentine’s “baby poke.” That’s what he called our occasional moments of intimacy while I was pregnant.
I called Celia to vent about it, but she didn’t answer, so I wrote in my journal. Around 2 a.m. Celia called me back saying she was at a night club celebrating Valentine’s Day with some girlfriends and wished I was there, mainly because she had just seen my husband at the same club with a girl on his arm. I told her it couldn’t be him because he was out playing pool with Kenny.
“Oh, Kenny’s here too! But they ain’t playin’ pool, Kira! Pocket pool, maybe! Haha! They were on the dance floor with two hot Latina chicks, and I’m sorry Kira, but one of them had her tongue down your husband’s throat! I walked up to them, and the psycho almost died when he saw me! I pointed at the chick and said ‘Hey, that’s not Kira!’ That bastard had the nerve to pull me aside to sweet talk me into not telling you. He asked me to keep it hush-hush, because he didn’t want to upset you in your condition. Loser! Kira, when are you gonna come to your senses and kick that dumbass out of your life!? Anyway, don’t get me started, because I’ve been drinking … a LOT … (giggles) and I’m not so innocent myself right now. I grabbed Kenny’s balls right in front of his chick and kissed him, hahaha! You should’ve seen his face!”
The hyperventilating started. Celia kept apologizing for the shocking news but didn’t want to leave me in the dark as a pawn to Gavin’s lies. I appreciated her bluntness, as usual. She was a friend I could always count on to tell me the bare bones of a story. Celia’s phone cut off and when I tried to call back, it went straight to voice mail. I gave up and sat around restless, waiting for my knight in rusty armor to get home.
I paced the house with a racing pulse until I heard the car pull up. The minute he stepped through the doorway, I launched a big phonebook at him out of anger. I didn’t even realize I had done it until the book nearly nailed him in the head. He batted it away just in time to avoid being knocked out by six cities worth of directory information.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Kira! DAMN!”
“I know you didn’t go to play pool, Gavin! How could you! It’s Valentine’s Day, and you’re out on a … on a … date!? I can’t believe you could do this to me! I’m pregnant, home alone, and my husband is out on Valentine’s night with some slut!?”
“Listen, Kira. Let me explain before you overreact and end up looking stupid later on!”
Gavin had a talent for turning his wrongdoings into my fault. The story was that they were going to play pool, but Kenny got a call from this girl he was after. She asked him to go hang out with her and her sister at a club. Supposedly, Kenny wanted this girl all for himself and needed Gavin to tag along to keep her sister busy. So Gavin portrayed himself as the innocent fourth wheel, just doing his friend a favor.
“Is that why you had her tongue in your mouth, Gavin!? I guess that was all part of the favor, right! Keeping her occupied and all.” I was yelling and pacing at this point.
I couldn’t hold back my rage this time! I was furious that I was the woman who had to put up with all the abuse and meanness while he had the audacity to go wine and dine some other woman who does nothing for him. Our marriage was a wreck, but it was still a marriage, no less. The least I deserved was a baseline of loyalty.
“Kira, calm your ass down before you hurt my daughter with your craziness. You forget you have a baby in there?!”
“NO! I didn’t forget! But you seemed to forget because your ass wasn’t home with your baby! You were out prancing around having a ball while your baby, who you suddenly remember, was right here with me, your wife, you jerk!”
The slap stung my face so badly that my eyes started burning as though I got soap splashed in them. I cupped my hand over my left cheek and tried to blink away the sensation. That cheek always seemed to bear the burden of his anger. I stood there aghast that he had just hit pregnant me. I thought I was safe from battery at least while I was showing. As usual, I was wrong.
He hastily grabbed me by the shoulders and started apologizing, saying I made him do it because of what I said to him.
“You shouldn’t have said that to me, Kira. God … I’m sorry, okay. I just reacted out of self-defense. Your words really hurt, you know. I wasn’t even doing anything wrong. I was trying to explain, and you kept yelling at me. You know how I get. You should know by now what makes me tick. God … sometimes I think you provoke me on purpose just so you’ll have something to hold against me later. It’s like you want me to lash out or something.”
He held me as he blamed me for his palm’s collision with my face. He cradled me and walked me to the bedroom. For some reason, I was comforted by his embrace. It was the only embrace I had, after all. We got in bed together, and he groped me as he repeatedly explained his way through the events of the evening. He told me Celia was a drunk whore and that I shouldn’t listen to what she was saying, because she was fondling Kenny and tried to kiss him in her drunkenness. I couldn’t even defend her as that was a true statement, confirmed by Celia herself. In between words, he kissed my neck. Then he rolled me on my side with my back against him. He made good on his promise to give me a baby poke.
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