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Pen Your Pride

I shake my head vigorously, passing a smoldering stare over to Michael. "I may not remember a lot, but I remember the feeling of being bound and shackled to the ground, the chair, and I'll be damned if I have to go back to that evil place. I'm not doing it." I bellow.

Michael's expression turns from excitement to empathy and he drops his head. "Right. I'm sorry darling, we were so excited about finding the location... we weren't thinking about your feelings and we should have." He apologizes, running his hand down my arm and interlocking fingers with me. "Let's just go home. We can always deal with this tomorrow." He beckons me, hoping he didn't offend me with his request.

"My home." I correct, monotone.

"Right. We will come back tomorrow." Michael tries to catch my eyes, but I ignore him, fiddling with my wedding ring. "We'll just let you know. Keep us updated." He says, ending the conversation.

I sit on the end of my bed, trying to make sense of all of this. I glide my fingers over the satin sheets that Michael switched out with my usual cotton set, I suppose to lighten the mood. It is tucked in the bed and smoothed to perfection, just like him, a true perfectionist. As much as he loathed my former profession, he was a stickler for certain things, he likes to have things in a certain way. He seems borderline OCD to me, but it's not a big deal. My gaze lingers to the window pane. The new windows don't creak or sway with the breeze like the trees outside do, but the last thing I need right now is to hear any unwelcome noises in my house. I am already filled with unwelcome thoughts, memories, and dreams. I close my eyes, shutting down my senses so I can put myself in this moment, enjoying the satin underneath my fingertips, the baby moving around inside of my body, and my own breathing. It's calming.

"Talk to me." Michael breaks my zen with his alarmed voice.

I open my eyes slowly, taking in his worried expression. "About what?" I ask.

"Anything. I want to know what's going on inside of your head. I want to help you." He presses, kneeling down in front of the bed, his eyes wide with worry.

"Funny, I've always wanted to know what's going on inside of your head. Guess that makes two of us." I say, sardonically.

"Sweetheart..." He replies, narrowing his chocolate eyes at me.

I rub the sheets between my index finger and thumb, taking a deep breath. "I remember that night, when we made love. It was beyond amazing. It had been over a year since we made love and we were both probably extremely horny, but still. It was perfect. Way better than the first time. Maybe that's why you got me pregnant. It was so perfect." I reminisce, pulling the sheets to my body.

I see Michael cringe out the corner of my eye when I move the sheets, messing up his perfect sheets, but he ignores his urge for perfection and rests his gaze back on me.

"Darling, it was fantastic, but I want to know if you're going to be okay." He urges, trying to rip me away from reliving that amazing moment.

"I wasn't scared that night. I was so terrified the first time. I thought I would feel dirty afterwards, I thought it would hurt more than it did, I feared getting pregnant too quickly, and most of all, I was terrified that I wouldn't be the perfect lover that you deserved. I couldn't have been. I was a virgin. I knew nothing about that stuff and I was awkward and tense..." I finally meet his gaze, ignoring his confused stare. "I was terrible. I know I was, but you said it was amazing. Why did you comfort me like that?" I ask, wanting to know, but knowing it doesn't really matter.

He sighs and holds his hand out. "Come."

I slide off of the bed and join him on the ground, sinking into his warm body. I lay my head back on his chest, his breathing is therapeutic for me. I reach over, grabbing his left hand gently and twisting his wedding band on his ring finger. I've never actually looked at his wedding band since we've been married. We've held hands, but I've never actually took a good look at his wedding band. It's exquisite. I see that our wedding date is engraved on the inside when I tilt it up, exposing the underside. His skin is lighter underneath the ring, signaling that he hasn't taken his off either. I smile, feeling butterflies begin in my stomach again. Michael's fingertips burn my skin as he pushes my hair off of my shoulder and replaces them with his soft lips. I shiver at the pleasurable feeling and he slides his right hand down my side, gripping me possessively around the waist. I think about how hard it will be in a few months for him to grip my waist. 

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