The new year started and I started back to school. Those first few weeks were wonderful. I was a happily married young woman who stayed on top of all her school work and felt like she was on top of the world. I was doing GREAT in school and hoped that the morning sickness would soon be getting better. We might have made love as often as we wanted and where we wanted but I really do not remember much about those first few weeks of being married. That's sad because that was probably our happiest times and I can't even recall it.
I was so sure that this was all going to work and my parents had been so mistaken to warn me off marrying The Bouncer. I was determined to show them that they had been wrong and that I had made a good choice for the father of my child(ren) and my husband. Sometime before the end of January, for reasons that I wasn't sure of at the time, we lost our lease to the apartment and The Bouncer announced that we were going to be moving in with his parents for a few weeks until we could get another place. I was so much in love and wanted to believe that he was my knight in shining armor that I never questioned anything. Those choices would bring many different unpleasant consequences and set a precedence that was not nurturing to me personally or emotionally.
I remember standing in our apartment while being instructed to pack as quick as I could. I felt betrayed but wasn't willing to admit it because in my mind, loving someone meant trusting them and trusting meant not questioning. This was so sick now that I look back but I bought the whole thing hook, line, and sinker. Even though, I kept thinking that this wasn't turning out like it was supposed to be. Not only did I not learn to listen to that small voice but I learned to silence her. What a shame. We packed the boxes into his father's pick up truck and I watched as he closed the door to what was supposed to be the place we were going to make into our home and where we would bring our newborn home to.
Living with his parents proved to be more challenging than informing my parents that I was pregnant and we were getting married. Being young and pregnant and in the middle of a house that is emotionally defunct does not make for a good mix. I wanted to be happy, I wanted to feel wonderful being pregnant and awaiting the birth of a baby that I so wanted. I can recall going back and forth to school talking to my baby that was growing inside me...I played all kinds of music for him, I sang to him, I talked about how much I loved his daddy (despite what others were saying) and I grew closer and closer to him every. single. day. This was my "escape" away from the hellhole that I was living in. I had never been exposed to hollering or such openly displayed anger or verbal abuse as this house seemed to thrive upon. My mother's way of dealing with something was to cry for days and be the victim and my father's way of dealing with his anger was to walk away and sulk in silence for a few days. I really can't remember a time in my life where I heard my parents in a shouting match. That doesn't mean they didn't do it - it just means that we weren't exposed to it. We also weren't exposed to healthy examples of ways to work things out with someone that we loved. I lived in a constant state of arousal (not the sexual kind) but the fight or flight kind living in that house. It had such negative energy and I kept hoping to just keep my head low and not cause a disturbance.
I don't remember the circumstances surrounding the incidence but I do remember it being sometime after the first of the year when my FIL openly called me a "wench" in front of several other people in the room. He made references to my round breast and the fullness of my growing belly. He said the I reminded him of a wench "who was good for nothing but fucking her master." I remember my head swimming and wondering if I had heard him right. No one spoke. He went right on and kept speaking as if his most recent words were similar to that of telling someone to grab a beer from the fridge and make themselves at home. I recall the room with its dark wood paneling, orange bicentennial furniture and massive wall unit where the TV and other grossly ugly knickknacks lived. I was immediately reduced to tears and my husband, who I believed would protect and love me, stood right there and didn't say a word. Not one word. I couldn't understand why he wouldn't defend me. More so, I couldn't understand why a man would say that about the wife of his son. I was going to have his grandchild and he was supposed to be nice to me. That sounds so naive to look at that sentence now. I was so unprepared for the life and dynamics of that disturbed family. Families just don't treat others like that. I cried for the rest of the evening and refused to come out of that tiny back bedroom in that tiny horrible house. They all laughed at me and called me "too sensitive" and wanted to laugh it all off to me being hormonal and pregnant. A few days later when I asked The Bouncer about why he let his father talk to me like that, he laughed and dismissed it as a joke. He wanted to know why I was holding on to that and still pouting about it. I felt the hole in my heart grow bigger.
The thing about that hole is that when the sides of that hole began to collapse, it took with it the remnants of clinging bricks and supports whose mortar had already been dissolved. So, it wasn't just the construction demolition of that single incident but it was the failure of structures that had already been weakened by secrets and realizations that would set out to destroy my spirit. That hole was just the beginning of 22 years of demolition. They say that the first cut is the deepest and whoever they is...they are right.
Because I wasn't ready or willing to face the reality staring me square in the face, I had to seek refuge and solace somewhere. I found it in my growing baby. I loved going to the OB visits. I was the center of attention there and looking back, realize that I was so totally clueless as to what was happening. I was so being groomed to be the most cooperative patient that this OB ever had. I was a self pay, without any insurance, yet every visit would bring another test to make sure the baby was ok. It was only after the birth that I realized how very poor of a choice I had made based on a simple recommendation and no investigation or base of knowledge when choosing someone to help me become a mother for the first time.
Every day I grew closer and closer to my unborn baby. I experienced all those feelings of emotions that women experience - wanting a son to present to my husband thinking that it would solidify feelings of commitment and adoration for giving him what he so wanted. I was constantly reminded that I wasn't really welcome in that home with his parents and let me tell you - living in an 800 sq. ft home with only one toilet and 4 adults - with one being a pregnant women - and a 5 year old little boy (another long story) isn't fun. I was still naive enough to think that everything would work out.
I tried to laugh and move beyond how miserable I was in that home. I kept asking when we were going to be able to move out into our own place. The Bouncer kept telling me that he "was saving" money so we could get something really nice for us and our baby. I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I had no idea what kind of income he had from his job or what he was doing with his money. Learning the truth many years later would prove destructive to my soul and risk what mental solidity that I ever possessed.
I chose to focus on school and how wonderful I felt being pregnant now that the morning sickness had gone. The second trimester brought a sex drive for me that could not be satiated. I practically begged for physical affection and sometimes he would respond and oftimes he wouldn't. I learned quickly that the way to his erection was through lingerie. That was the only way that he would pay attention to me. So, doing what any good wife would do who wants to please her husband, I found a way to make him happy. I found a way to get what I wanted. Try being broke with no personal spending money of your own and trying to figure out how to purchase lingerie that you know nothing about and using it in a way that you don't have a clue doing. I was prime and ripe for the picking.
Sometime after Easter that spring, my belly was really beautiful and sort of getting in the way. I was still going to school and trying to stay clear of The FIL. I was desperate for physical affection and I don't know how he sensed what was going on - but he asked me one day if he could treat me to "a shopping trip" for some "things to please my husband and keep the spark in our marriage." I realize today that I led such a sheltered life and I didn't see what was coming. I feel so foolish when I think back to how manipulative that Bastard was in the way that he treated me with such disrespect. He continues to this day to be one of the sickest fucked up people that ever walked the face of the earth.
Yes, I took him up on his offer....because I didn't know what he had in mind.