“The most drinking I do is a glass of wine here and there at dinner or a shot of tequila once in a blue moon. How can you compare that to an illegal narcotic?”
“Alcohol is as much of a drug as coke or marijuana or any other drug. Alcohol happens to be legal, but that doesn’t mean it can’t cause as much damage as any other drug. The fact that alcohol is legal and other drugs aren’t is a governmental decision, not one of science. It’s all about revenue and taxation. That’s what really influences the decisions about which substances to regulate or outlaw.”
Damita had heard similar arguments about cigarettes versus marijuana and as far as she was concerned it was the excuse people made to justify their addiction. “I’m going to bed. I have a lot I have to do tomorrow before I go back to work.”
“Yeah, go to bed. It’s no secret that your job has always been more important anyway.”
Damita went back to bed, but she wasn’t asleep for long. An hour or so later she could feel her pajamas being pulled down. The stale whiff of alcohol was on Neal’s breath as he tried to force her lips open with his tongue. He pawed at her breasts and she could feel him semi-hard between her legs.
“Neal, stop it!”
“But, I’m your husband. I want you. I want you now.”
“Stop it!”
“I love you so much.” He was sweaty and grunting like an animal, trying to shove himself inside of her.
Damita was repulsed. “Get off of me!”
She pushed him so hard he rolled off of her and onto the floor. When he got up he was clearly angry. He whipped back the comforter from the bed and jumped on top of Damita. She tried to get away, but he was much too strong and this time he was prepared for her resistance. The more she struggled, the angrier he got. He hit her again and again until she eventually gave up fighting and lay there, limp.
Damita sensed that he was having some difficulty staying erect. Every now and then she could feel him jerking off to get harder. The lack of lubrication and Neal’s relentless pounding and thrusting caused her to scream out in pain. He clasped his hand over her mouth to keep her from being heard. Neal mistook her muffled screams of pain for passion and it encouraged him even more. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, the coke or her lack of participation, but he didn’t last long and soon it was over.
Neal rolled off of her and quickly fell asleep, while Damita lay there, crying.
Listening to him snore, the smell of him making her ill, she thought about what she would do if a stranger invaded her home, raped and beat her. There was no doubt about the answer; she would kill him. How then was this any different? She considered going into the kitchen, grabbing a knife from the attaché case for the Forschner cutlery set Neal had bragged about spending six hundred dollars on, and plunging it deep into his heart. She laughed at what poetic justice it would be. As she lay there she thought about what knife she would choose; maybe the boning knife or the butcher knife. No, she would gut him with the fillet knife. Suddenly she was laughing uncontrollably and it occurred to Damita that she was losing her mind, Damita continued to laugh until she dissolved into a fresh set of tears. Once she was all cried out, she fell asleep.
The next morning Neal kissed her, waking her up. As soon as memories of the previous night came flooding back, she ran to the bathroom and threw up.
“Are you okay?” Neal asked, outside the door.
Damita locked the door and moved the heavy wood hamper seat in front of the door.
“Are you okay?” he repeated.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
When she came out of the bathroom, he was waiting with orange juice, coffee and toast.
He smiled. “I made some scrambled eggs if you want, but I figured you wouldn’t want it now. I heard you throwing up.”
There was an unmistakable look of agitation on her face. “You were right. I definitely don’t want any scrambled eggs. Why did you make scrambled eggs? I thought you said they were so unhealthy.”
“I made them for you. That’s what you like. Eat the toast. It will help settle your stomach. Do you want some water?”
“Yes.”
She sat down and took a sip of the coffee, drumming her fingers on the kitchen table. Neal sat across from her and ate the same scrambled eggs he had complained about when she prepared them. As she watched him eat, she hoped the food would get lodged in his windpipe and kill him.
Damita went into the bathroom to take a shower and when she looked into the mirror the evidence of what Neal had done to her was readily apparent. Her lip was split. She wasn’t sure if it was from him covering her mouth to keep her from screaming, or if it was from when he hit her. There were bruises on her arms and legs, her breasts, her stomach, even her back. She was also acutely aware of the pain between her legs. As a female, she had grown up fully aware of the dangers a woman could be subjected to. Yet, she had always avoided being a victim. Now, somehow, she had been violated in her own home by the very same man who had taken a vow to love, honor and protect her.