Page 37 of Property of Necro
The air thickens between us. Either I’m imagining it, because my heart is racing a million miles an hour, or it’s a real thing. I guess I’ll never know.
Another minute passes, and I finally gather the courage to peek at Mama out of the corner of my eye. He’s staring intently at me, urging me to go on with his kind, mature gaze.
“His name was… well, I guess it doesn’t matter what his name is… was.” I wave off the thought with the flick of my wrist and huff an awkward laugh. “He bought me from my uncle. I thought I had it made. Even though he sometimes scared me, I loved the idea of not having to share my bed with other men anymore.” At least Ted liked me enough not to share me with others. I was his, and he made it known.
I let the truth settle over us like a blanket before peeking at Mama again. His jaw is set, and his eyes are ablaze, but he nods for me to continue.
Very well.
I power through.
It pours out of me, and I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s Mama’s compassion or the belly full of bread. But I share Ted with him, the only person I’ve ever told. Not even the sisters know I’m married. How could they? I never told Blimp, the biker who saved me… and I changed my name when I joined the sisterhood, like many of us do. My past is a mystery to everyone. Sure, they know I was abused. That’s a given. The details only go as far as I’ve divulged to them, which isn’t all that much.
Fingering the edge of the blanket, I flash Mama a soft, watery smile. “He only hit me sometimes. Whenever he felt bad, he bought me things. Little things to make me smile again. But he never made me anything. Thank God I couldn’t get pregnant. My uncle did me a favor there.” I pat my stomach right above the faded scar.
“You can’t have kids?”
“No. When I started my cycle, my uncle paid a doctor to give me a hysterectomy. I got to keep my ovaries, so I’ve got a while before I hit menopause yet, but my uterus is gone.” I shrug, barely remembering that long ago. I’m sure there were drugs involved. Whenever I got out of line, there were always tranquilizers to settle me. That’s probably why I don’t remember most of the stuff that happened in the bedroom.
When I married Ted, the drugging stopped. He wanted me awake to remember every horrible moment with him.
“Is your uncle still alive?” Mama asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. Once Ted moved us away, I never heard from my uncle again.
“And your husband?”
“I’m sure he’s still alive. Unless someone braver than me got sick of his shit and finally slit his throat. I thought about it a lot. But he’s a cop, and I didn’t want to go to prison for the rest of my life. Then again, that would have been better than living with him.” I imagine in bigger parts of the country, cops marrying children is illegal or at least frowned upon. In Kentucky, childhood brides are common. Nobody batted an eyelash at Ted’s underage wife. Most of them put him on a pedestal as a small-town hero for loving a poor girl who lost her family and had mental health issues. That’s how he framed it. I was the problem one. I can’t remember what imaginary mental illnesses he sold them, but it kept them from asking why I never visited town. I only know that from the few who came by. Most of them were wives of his cop friends, dropping by under the guise of neighborly kindness when what they really wanted was something new to gossip about.
“He had a God complex like most cops do,” Mama comments.
“For sure. Small-dick energy with the small dick to match.” I snort at my stupid joke.
When I peek at Mama again, he isn’t smiling. “So that’s why you’re tied to the Sacred Sinners,” he deduces.
I nod sharply. “Yep. After I escaped, they got me off the streets.”
“Now you’re here.”
“Yes. Now I’m here.” I draw the blanket up to my throat. “Cuddling with the nicest gift anyone has given me.”
“Sola,” Mama’s tone is grim when he says my name.
“What?” I chew my bottom lip.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know, I shouldn’t. But I am. I know I’ll probably end up like the rest of the women, buried in the yard out back. I understand.” It’s taken me days to come to terms withthat, but I’m a firm believer that everything happens for a reason.
“You’re a good person.”
Not even close, but it’s sweet he thinks so.
“Good people don’t sleep with as many men as I have for the reasons I have.” They also haven’t liked it as much as I have.
“People use sex to cope all the time. You’re not so different from most of the men here.”
“Except I’ve never killed a person.” Not by my own hands, at least. Sleeping with bad men to get close to said bad men, to help get bad men killed… Oh. I’ve done that a lot.
