Slave For Him |M.B|

Chapter 8: When the Angels Softly Cry.

Present

"Why did he take you to the cabin?" Detective Newton questioned. I felt blush rosy my cheeks as I glanced over at my Granddaughter. She somehow knew it was time for her to leave the room because she didn't want to hear me tell the next story of her Grandfather. She got up from the wingback chair by the window, pulling her black purse over her shoulder. I swear, that girl has more handbags than I have wrinkles. She sounded her escape plan, and just like that, she left the room so it was just Detective Newton and me. Detective Newton looked a little bit baffled but he was intent on learning more about Matt and mine's relationship. I smiled faintly at him as the blush vacated my face.

"Why else would a 20 year old man take his 18 year old girlfriend to a cabin in the woods for a week?" I stated cheekily. If Detective Newton has a brain he'd know what we did most of the week. He seemed embarrassed a bit since he cheeks glowed red and he pursed his lips, looking down at his notepad for a moment before he knitted his eyebrows together.

"Mrs Busek, I know this is a personal question but I must know. Matt was a serial rapist, he got off on dominating women with your physical appearance. Has he . . . Has the se . . . ." Detective Newton appeared to be at a loss for words. But I knew what he was trying to spit out.

"Are you trying to ask if he's ever raped me?" I knew that was the right answer but it's best to ask if that's what they're trying to say before you assume what they mean. Detective Newton nodded his head slowly with an absent look in his eyes that was actually worry and sadness. I smiled softly at some thoughts but frowned at others. I never thought I'd be telling a complete stranger about my long dead sex life.

"For the most part Matt was one kinky sonofabitch; he had a kinky side that I had never seen before, being raised Catholic and all. He liked it rough and he liked it when I was loud. But . . . ." I trailed off slightly, losing myself in my memories. It was difficult to talk about the man I loved like he was a bad person. He was a good person who did bad things.

"Matt never meant it, but he has a couple times. I never thought of it as rape though, he was my boyfriend and then my husband after all. I only thought strangers could do that to you." I fell into the painful memories of the times I wouldn't want to have sex but Matt would force it on me. I never told anybody about it, ever. My family doesn't even know. The only person that's alive that knows the truth now is Detective Newton. And I'm sure if Matt were alive right now Detective Newton would have him black and blue, and red all over.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs Busek." Detective Newton was sincere with his words and his emotions. I could visually see the hurt on his face. It was obvious something personal happened to him in his life that made him detest rapists. But I dare to ask what. That's his business; he's the Detective, not me. I watched as he stole back his emotions and locked them away so he was able to do his job correctly without making it a personal matter.

"Mrs Busek, can you tell me about the first time Matt raped you?" He composed himself once again and went back to work. I pursed my lips and nodded at him softly.

"The first time Matt had raped me was the week we were at the cabin."

 

February 17th, 1944

The cabin Matt has brought me to spend the week at in the Santa Monica Mountains wasn't vastly big but it was luxurious, and it was lavishly beautiful. The cabin was surrounded by thick woodlands. We spent half an hour on a dirt trail off of the main road to get to the cabin. There was an upstairs loft area that was made to be the master bedroom; it looked over the entire cabin floor. There was a bathroom upstairs and downstairs. The kitchen, dining room and living room were all one room on the main floor. In the living room there was a wood stove and a fireplace. Matt and I spent our first night there on the floor in front of the fireplace, and we weren't sleeping.