I am her, p.1
I Am Her..., page 1
I am HER…
Sarah Ann Walker
Copyright © 2012 Sarah Ann Walker
December 3rd, 2012
All rights reserved.
Cover Design by: James Freeburg
I would like my son Jakkob to know that he is by far, the greatest blessing I have ever received. Jakkob, you are the joy, and the love of my life, and I have nothing in this world which does not begin and end with you. You have been the most beautiful gift of love, in this life of mine.
I would like to thank my husband James Freeburg for giving me his support and patience while I wrote this intense vision of mine. Thanks also for the awesome book cover, its perfect!
Thank you to my parents, but especially to my mom Annie, who always told me I should do this. There! I finally did something you told me to do!
To my sister Brennah; I think you’re gonna love him even more.
To Paola, ‘my person’, if you will. Shy of helping me bury a body (ha ha), I know I can tell you and ask you anything without fear of judgment or repercussion. Nearly twenty-five years is a long, long time to put up with me, and it says a lot about your love, and the depth of your friendship. So thank you, sincerely.
To Stephen; I want you to know that you were always a very important part of my life growing up. You were my very own 'Mack' for years. And for that, I thank you, and I miss you.
Finally, I want to thank everyone else who have supported me during this new adventure of mine. Things have been a little difficult for me in the last year and a half, but there were a few people who came forward and championed me when I was lost. Thank you to those family and friends who loved me throughout. And thank you Mme.Tara for being such an awesome cheer-leader.
I hope you like it!
P.S. Don’t cheat! You’ll find out soon enough.
Part 1- Sickness
Part 2- Death
Part 3- Purgatory
Part 4- Afterlife
This is dedicated to those of you who I love. You know who you are because I tell you and show you enough (I hope.)
And to Jakkob.
by Robert Browning
The rain set early in tonight,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake:
I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me--she
Too weak, for all her heart's endeavor,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me forever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could tonight's gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain:
So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshiped me: surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
I warily oped her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
I propped her head up as before
Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
That all it scorned at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria's love: she guessed not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said a word!
Yes, I'm awake. Yes, I can feel you.
Oh god, here we go...
Touching my hip, Marcus nudges my back with his erection. Kissing my neck, he pulls my hair behind my ear and whispers, "Good morning. I really want to..."
"Um… now?" I ask. Taking that as my yes, Marcus pulls my pajama bottoms lower, pushes me to my back and strips my bottoms off completely. And gripping my breast rather hard, he moves between my legs.
Trying to push inside me, he murmurs, "Oh honey, you're so tight… I can't fit. My penis is too big." Uh huh. That's it. It's not the fact that I'm half asleep, and dry as a bone.
"I'll get the lubricant.” And reaching to the bedside table, I pull the lubricant free and try to hand it to him. When he looks at me with disgust, I huff quietly and spread the jelly on myself.
"I know you think it's gross, but without it you rip me open..."
Smiling, because of his sexual prowess Marcus enters me quickly. Pushing inside, he groans loud and long.
Thank god for time. I love time and I love numbers. With time, I know how long something painful will last. With numbers, I have a finite timeframe. Therefore, I know this won’t take long and it won’t be that painful.
Starting a quick rhythm; Marcus lifts his arms to my sides and thrusts hard. I feel nothing. I know he's inside me, but I’m numb. There is no pleasure. There is nothing. I'm not even here.
Five minutes later, Marcus asks, "Are you almost there honey?"
"Yes... almost," I smile. And closing my eyes, I begin to pant loudly, swivel my hips, arch my back, and grab his arms.
At least he asks me that now. He acts like he cares if I have an orgasm. He didn't ask or care for the first 4 years we were together. He still doesn't actually care, but at least he asks me now. That's something.
"Oh, oh... Marcus..."
"That's right, honey. Go ahead." Thump. Thrust. Thump. Oh god, my uterus loves this... Lifting my hips, I scrunch up my face, stop breathing, and groan.
"Yes..." he groans in return.
And then it's done. Three more thrusts and he erupts inside me. Less than ten minutes of my life and I'm free for another couple weeks, or maybe even a month if Marcus is stressed out or busy at work.
Yes... I'm free.
Rising from the bed, I smile at my husband, and enter our ensuite bathroom, as he lies back down to recover from our love-making.
Marcus means well, but he has mistaken hard thumping with sexual pleasure. I wish I had time to use my shower head, but Marcus wasted those six minutes of my life, so no release for me this morning.
Thirty five minutes later I step out of the bathroom, hair dried, make-up applied, wrapped in my towel. Marcus is waiting for me, fully dressed.
"Is that what you're wearing today?" He asks, while staring at the outfit I planned still hanging on my closet door.
"Yes. Why?" Instantly, I'm filled with insecurity. What's wrong with my clothing?
"Oh, nothing. It's just you always wear black. I know you wear black to hide your big thighs and butt, but you would look good in some color too, honey." My face drops. My big butt and thighs...?
"Oh... don't be so sensitive. I don't mind your body, I'm used to it. Oh, come here..." And walking to me, Marcus tries to strip me of my towel.
Pulling away, I turn my back on him and walk toward my clothing. As if I'll ever be naked in front of him, or anyone else for that matter.
Pouting, I say, "I'm not fat. I'm not skinny, but I'm definitely NOT fat. I'm curvy. I'm shapely. I really am..." God, am I trying to convince my husband, or myself?
"You are such a prude. Lighten up, honey. It's not like I haven't seen your body naked in the last six years." Huh? When?! Was I conscious?
Smiling, Marcus walks over to me, kisses my forehead, and leaves the room chuckling to himself.
I am NOT fat. I LIKE wearing black. I am NOT a prude.
God, I hate Monday mornings.
Monday, May 23
Arriving at work, I’m greeted by all the women in the lunchroom. Kayla is shocking and enlightening everyone with her "hot new screw" details, as she calls her latest sexual conquest from the week-end before.
Kayla doesn't care what anyone thinks about her. She doesn't care if the rest of the women trash her behind her back. She doesn't care that she’s never invited to meet husbands, or that she’s never invited to private dinners. She doesn't care if she sounds trampy. Kayla is the happiest person I know. God, I wish I was Kayla.
Walking toward me, Kayla asks, "Hey Sweetie, how was your week-end?"
"Not as good as yours sadly," I grumble.
"Yeah, well, after all the fabulous sex was over, I was alone last night, and you were with your wonderful husband. Who has it better?" Who indeed?
Looking at me closely, she asks, "What's up? You seem kinda off this morning."
"Oh, nothing. I had to fuck my husband this morning, but at least I'm free from doing it again for a few weeks..."
Wow! Kayla is stunned by my statement. I’m stunned by my statement!
"Ah... Sweetie? You don't say the f-word," she says as she bursts out laughing.
Stunned at my words and my behavior, I suddenly laugh too. I laugh so hard my stomach starts knotting and my eyes fill with laughter tears. I might not swear out loud, but I definitely say bad words in my head. So there! I’m still laughing on the edge of hysteria, but watching as Kayla changes from amused to concern within seconds.
Pulling me down the hall to my office, Kayla closes the door, releases my arm and asks, "Seriously. What's wrong? You're acting really weird Sweetie, and I don't like it. Are you okay?"
Kayla’s looking at me so sincerely that I feel twisted, because I want to talk. I actually want to tell someone what I feel. I want to tell her... but I can't. I don't do that. I don't confide. I don't vent. I don't share. I don't trust anyone, ever.
"Nothing’s wrong. I was just being silly. You say the f-word all the time... I was just trying to keep up," I say with a grin.
Looking at my face, I can tell she doesn't believe me. "Are you okay? Is something wrong with Marcus? Did you have a fight?”
"No. We're fine.” I exhale. “Everything’s fine. Nothing's wrong, I promise. I was just being silly." I am so uncomfortable with the way she’s looking at me right now. "Honestly, Kayla... I'm good. But I really need to start calling the Accounts Managers. I'll see you at lunch, okay?"
She looks at me closely and smiles, but I see it doesn't touch her eyes at all. God, I hate that look.
I like having Kayla in my corner at work. She’s always there to protect me from an aggressive jerk on the phone, or from an unreasonable Accounts Manager who resents me asking about his expenses. Kayla can talk to anyone. She always talks to everyone. I don't talk to anyone. I don't talk to my husband. I don't talk to Kayla. I don't have a single close friend. But it’s okay, I like alone.
Suddenly, I’m so scared of losing Kayla; I grab her wrist and beg, "Are you mad at me?"
"Fuck no! Why would you ask that? I'm just worried about your near-psychotic break five minutes ago... But seeing as you never have them, and I do all the time, I'm willing to let this one slide…" And smiling once more Kayla leaves my office.
"See you at lunch Sweetie," she yells from down the hall.
Dropping my purse behind my desk, I plop down into my chair. Ow. My body is sore. It must be from all that lovin' this morning. Yes, the passionate loving I received from my passionate, loving husband.
I wonder if I placed a blow-up doll in the bed while he slept, if he’d notice the difference while 'love-making’. Grinning, I can’t help thinking maybe I should buy the blow-up doll just to freak him out. Then again, I'm sure they don’t make blow-up dolls that are fully clothed, in black, to hide their big thighs and butt.
Just forget it. Marcus is nice, if not clueless. He loves me. He just doesn't really see me. But at least I have him, though I'm still kind of alone... with him.
Exhaling, I turn on my computer and wait. Wishing I had grabbed a coffee, before Kayla escorted me to my office, I start pulling out the expense reports I have to look over this week. It’s the twenty-third with only six more workdays left for me before the thirty-first, to close out the month and to issue the check run. Now, the phone calls begin.
Asking Accounts Managers to hand in their expenses by the twentieth of every month should be easy. Jeez... It's not like I change the date every month. It's the twentieth. It's always the twentieth. It has always been the twentieth; whether there are 30, 31 or even 28 days in the month. Why do they make every month so difficult? I don't understand.
The women are pretty good. With a few exceptions from the more creative women, I usually have all their expenses by the TWENTIETH. The men? Forget it. I can't understand them. The men want to be paid for their expenses. They freak out and scream at me, if there’s an expense missed, or denied. Usually, the men know what they’re getting back within one dollar, give or take, but somehow, they can’t remember to actually hand in, fax, mail, or email their receipts and expense reports to me BY THE TWENTIETH of each month.
I don't understand men. I've never understood men. Men like me. They have always liked me. I am cute and pretty... to men. Apparently, I have a ‘Hey, can you be my big brother?' sign on my forehead. Men have always kind of wanted me, but they only ever talked about wanting me, they didn't actually ever do anything about wanting me.
Marcus did though. Marcus talked and acted. Marcus wanted me because I was cute and pretty and smart. Marcus told me after our engagement that he could have had a sexy, beautiful, out-going wife, but he preferred to have someone like me, because he likes stability, and therefore, he wouldn't worry about cheating from a wife like me.
I remember wanting to tell him I had been cheating on him since the day we met, but I was too afraid he’d simply laugh and not believe me, rather than being outraged by my alleged infidelity. That would have been humiliating. I could cheat… but no one would believe it of me, so what’s the point?
Once my computer is ready I search incoming emails. Yes! Two more expense reports. Come on. Come on. Damn. I still have to call four Accounts
After entering and logging the newest receipts and the two latest expense reports, it's almost 12:30. I've been stalling. I don't want to make these calls. I hate making these calls every month. I hate it. I start getting anxiety by the eighteenth of every month, because I know there will be phone calls to make after the TWENTIETH.
Kayla suddenly knocks on my partially opened door and peaks her head in. "Hey crazy-lady, are you ready for lunch?"
Smiling, I yell, "Hell, yeah!"
Stunned again, Kayla bursts out laughing, as I grin.
"That sooo doesn't work for you. If I said that, it would work. I've got the whole trashy, sexy, dirty-girl thing going for me. You, however, have the whole virgin-sacrifice thing going for you. It just doesn't work. I do appreciate a good swear word every once in a while from you though."
Rising from my chair, I grab my purse and wish I could have the whole ‘dirty-girl’ thing going for me. I wish I could be like Kayla. I wish my husband could make love to me the way Kayla's men make love to her. I wish I knew how to have hot steamy sex. I wish I even knew what hot steamy sex was... but it's never going to happen for me. Forget it.
Lunch is okay. Kayla tries to ask again what’s bothering me, and again, I tell her I was just being silly. I can tell she doesn't believe me, so I ask about her 'hot new screw'. And after a thirty minute graphic rundown of events, I'm blushing and she’s laughing. Kayla is awesome.
How the hell can she do those things? Why would she even want to do those things? I would die of embarrassment, and I would hope to die quickly.
by Sarah Ann Walker / Fiction / Romance / Psychology have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes