Print Edition Vol. 28: How to Be a Good Wife

How to Be a Good Wife

by Kristina Bray

Chapter 1

“No,” Dr. Franks said. “Absolutely not.”

Mariselle watched the woman's lips move, not really hearing what she was saying.

Surprisingly, she felt no disappointment. Deep down, she had already known what the verdict would be.

When they'd entered the room, the doctor had been all smiles. That had changed as soon as Nicholas had started talking. Mariselle tried to pretend that she didn't know why.

She felt her chest tighten.

Moments ago, Nicholas's expression had been confident. Now, his face had loosened, his grin replaced by the confused scowl that appeared when someone refused him something.

Mariselle knew what would come next–the sneering, posturing and anger - explosive anger that made her cringe like a frightened toddler.

She also knew that Dr. Franks–qualified and confident–would not react well to his hectoring.

She reached over and took Nicholas's hand, squeezing it.

She could already feel the bruises that he would inflict on her for her “presumption.”

She got the result that she wanted. Nicholas shot her a glare, but his shoulders relaxed.

“I'm sorry, Doctor,” Nicholas said. “I was hoping...”

“I know what you were hoping, Mr Laveau,” Dr. Franks said. “I have heard it a dozen times. Now, let me make myself clear. Your wife must not become pregnant. To have any chance of sustaining a pregnancy she would have to cease taking her medication, and her body cannot function without it. If you even attempt to begin a pregnancy you will be risking Mariselle's life.”

Mariselle didn't glance at the doctor. She kept her eyes on Nicholas.

Given the news that they'd just received, another man might have shown sadness. Nicholas, though, stared at Dr. Franks for a moment, then offered her an ingratiating grin.

“Ok, doctor,” he said. “We hear you.”

***

They were halfway home before Nicholas spoke again.

Mariselle had been waiting for it to happen. She'd spent the journey braced against the front passenger seat as Nicholas slammed the car through the streets.

“Bitch!” Nicholas said. “Useless bitch!”

Mariselle wasn't sure who he was referring to.

“Who does she think she is?” Nicholas asked. “What gives her the right to tell me what to do?”

“She's just giving us information...” Mariselle began, then froze when Nicholas cast her a vicious glare.

“She's a cow,” he said. “An uppity, mannish little cow. She should give up the doctoring business and get herself a strong husband.”

Mariselle knew what Nicholas meant by “strong”, and she hoped that Dr. Franks would do nothing of the sort.

Nicholas continued to rant all the way home.

By the time that they were in their drive, Nicholas had made the decision.

“You're getting off your meds,” he said. “We're going to start trying for a baby next month.”

***

Mariselle could have protested Nicholas's edict, but there was no point.

Reasoning with Nicholas was like trying to negotiate with a particularly stubborn brick wall. She knew from long experience that she would get nowhere.

Besides, while ceasing to ingest her daily pharmacy of drugs would hurt, attempting to defy Nicholas would wind up hurting more.

Mariselle was aware that Nicholas was far from perfect. She had known that when they'd met fifteen years ago, when he had been forty and she a mousy twenty-five-year-old barely scraping a living as a cleaner.

She'd known it when he'd offered to buy her a drink in the Fife and Firkin.

She'd known it when he'd arrived to take her out for dinner and kept half of his attention on her neighbours as he flourished a dozen red roses in her direction.

He had kissed Mariselle on the cheek, taken her arm and driven her to a mid-priced restaurant where he proceeded to treat the staff with shocking disrespect.

That should have been a red flag, but Mariselle had been blinded by his confidence.

To an ex-orphanage girl, Nicholas had seemed sophisticated. He had a job, a house and a car. He had the money for flowers and restaurants and shoes without holes in them.

She'd enjoyed that first date, mostly because of the food, but also because Nicholas had dominated the conversation so that she hadn't had to worry about entertaining him.

Besides, while Mariselle had been flattered by his attention, she hadn't expected it to go beyond one night.

Four days later he had called to ask for another date.

She'd held off confessing her secret until their third date. Then she'd had to tell Nicholas that she was ill.

As a child, she'd been sickly. Cold, hunger and neglect had made things worse. At twenty-five, she'd had a list of ailments as long as a Bible.

Mariselle had expected Nicholas to run. Instead, he had simply nodded his head and said he was sorry for her trouble.

To Mariselle, that had been the equivalent of undying love.

She had slept with Nicholas before they'd become engaged, not because she'd been gripped by an irresistible passion, but because he'd demanded it. Nicholas had told her that “good girls” didn't allow a man to court them for two months without giving him “something” in return.

She hadn't said no, mostly because she'd sensed that refusal would result in the end of the relationship.

When she'd confessed that she was a virgin, Nicholas had been delighted.

He'd taken her out for their most expensive meal yet and gifted her a beautiful pearl brooch. Afterwards, they had gone to a hotel.

It hadn't been until later that Mariselle had understood why he hadn't taken her to his home.

Mariselle, understandably nervous, had been hoping to spend some time relaxing before things went further, but Nicholas had brooked no delay.

There had been pain and very little pleasure, but Nicholas had told her over and over how beautiful she was. When she'd cried after the first time, he had cuddled her to his large, sweating body and kissed her, praising her for being strong and brave.

In the end, they'd “done it” four times.

Mariselle hadn't even considered contraception until the end.

That was when Nicholas had changed. When she'd tried to embrace him, he had shrugged her off. He'd gone to the bathroom, then come back and stood over her as she lay on the bed. The look that he'd given her had a combination of disappointment and disgust.

Mariselle's heart had started to race.

Nicholas had barked at her to cover herself and she had obeyed.

After that, Nicholas had started to pontificate. He'd told her that he had taken her several times, without using protection, and that it was very likely she was pregnant. He'd said that he was disappointed in her, that she hadn't “served him” well, and he wasn't going to be “rolled into marriage” by a woman who was bad in bed.

Well, what do you say to that? How do you react when a man that you like–if not yet love–accepts your virginity and immediately afterwards chastises you?

Mariselle hadn't said anything, simply cowered against the headboard and wept.

Nicholas had said that he needed time away from her, to decide whether he could accept her “failings.”

He'd left, and Mariselle had sat there, numb and trembling, until a maid knocked on the door and asked her to vacate the room.

***

The next four weeks had been agony.

Mariselle had gone back to work. She'd gone through her duties with her head hung low, answering any questions with low, monosyllabic grunts.

The arrival of her menses three weeks later had been a relief and a torment.

Mariselle hadn't been physically or financially stable enough to raise a child on her own, but the idea of being a mother had given her some hope of having a person in her life who loved her.

When she'd woken on Saturday morning to find the blood on her sheets she had laughed, then wept for an hour.

Two days after that, Nicholas had got back in touch.

When she'd answered the phone to hear his voice, Mariselle had misidentified her emotion as joy.

Nicholas had been brusque. He hadn't apologised for his absence or asked after her health. He hadn't even wanted to know if she was pregnant. He'd simply announced that–although she was plain and significantly beneath him–he willing to marry her, only if she swore that she would be to be “a good wife.”

What would you do if somebody treated you that way?

We all like to think that we would tell the loser to hit the road, that we would walk away with our heads held high.

Sadly, things are not always so easy.

The things that Nicholas had said hadn't been entirely false. Mariselle was a plain woman, poor, with no family. She was hardly a “catch.”

She was already sick, and with every day that passed, working got harder.

She'd seen other people run through the “benefits” wringer and she wasn't sure that she was strong enough to endure it.

By marrying Nicholas, Mariselle would escape that fate. She'd trade up from a damp shoebox apartment to a handsome detached house with front and rear gardens, and a kitchen where she could prepare hearty meals for herself and her husband. She could leave the job that left her in agony and take care of a single house instead of dozens.

In return, she only had to swear to be “a good wife.”

***

She'd taken the deal.

The pair had married at the town hall, with only a pair of hired witnesses in attendance. Nicholas had worn a splendid new suit. Mariselle had worn a faded blue summer dress from the back of her wardrobe.

That same day, Mariselle had moved her few possessions into their marital home.

Since then, she had worked hard to keep the place beautiful. She was proud of it.

When Nicholas started to act in ways that troubled her, she reminded herself that she'd gone into the situation with her eyes open and, if nothing else, at least she had the house.

Chapter 2

Mariselle had always wanted children.

Having had no childhood of her own–unless you counted swapping children's homes–she had always dreamed of building a happy life for a family of her own.

When she'd first moved into Nicholas's house, she had spent two solid years working on it, painting, scrubbing and sanding the place until it was perfect.

At times, she had wanted to change the decor to her own taste, but she'd counselled herself to ignore the impulse. After all, it was the task of a good wife to create a welcoming environment for her husband. If she was to change the wall colouring from buff to blush, then she would be failing that duty.

At the same time, she had allowed Nicholas to mould her appearance to his taste.

Nicholas liked blondes, so she had dyed her mousy hair gold. She'd tinted her eyelashes and invested in shades of lipstick and eyeshadow so garish that they'd made her blush. She'd also bought clothes so short, tight and sparkly that she'd begun to feel like a teenage hooker.

The changes must have done something for Nicholas, though. He'd been after her day and night.

He'd made sure that she took her birth control. He wanted to “train her up” in the bedroom, he'd said, before he had to worry about her being swollen, grumpy and pregnant.

Despite all her efforts, Nicholas had taken great delight in pointing out Mariselle's defects.

Soon, he had stopped trying to show any kind of tenderness in the “act.” Instead, he had begun pinching and even biting her. The one time she'd complained he'd told her that if she had been more attractive, he wouldn't have to resort to “strange acts” for his pleasure.

Of course, Mariselle hadn't mention his double chin or his tiny manhood.

That was not the kind of thing that a good wife did.

***

They'd been married for five years when they'd started trying for a baby.

Mariselle had fallen pregnant quickly, but she had lost the child at four months.

She had been shattered by the loss. She'd spent weeks locked up in one of the spare rooms, crying.

She'd had no one to talk to, no one to help ease the intensity of her pain. She'd felt as though there was a hole inside of her, a gulf that threatened to swallow her whole.

Nicholas hadn't cared.

In the end, he had kicked down the door and informed her that she should let go of her grief because they were going to try again.

It had taken three or four “discussions” for Mariselle to bow to his edict, but in the end, she had.

Her second child had grown for eleven weeks before leaving her body.

Her third had made it to five months. The hospital had allowed her to see the embryo. Her baby boy had been tiny, blue and terribly, terribly human.

Mariselle wanted to give up, but it had not been her choice. They'd carried on, achieving pregnancies that ended at any point between two weeks and seven months.

Despite that, it had taken five years for Nicholas to agree that Mariselle should see a doctor.

As it had turned out, her suspicions were true.

The medicine that kept her alive was preventing her from carrying a child.

The problem was that stopping her pills would put Mariselle's life in danger.

By then, Mariselle was pushing forty. Her chances of conceiving were declining with every year. A part of her could understand Nicholas's desperation - after all, they'd always agreed that they wanted at least one child.

Deep down, though, she knew that if he'd truly loved her, he would have chosen her safety over conception.

She tried not to dwell on it.

After all, she was a good wife.

Chapter 3

This time, it took three months for her to fall pregnant.

For Mariselle, it could not come too soon.

Part of their marital contract stated that Mariselle could not refuse Nicholas sex. After all, a good wife saw to her husband's needs. Nicholas “needed” a lot.

When they were trying to conceive his demands became incessant. Sometimes, he'd go at it for hours.

Mariselle preferred the nights when he was tired, and she could simply lie there until he rolled off and started to snore.

She endured it until the day she noticed that her breasts swelling and her nipples chafing.

She waited until Nicholas left for work and did the test.

When Mariselle saw the result, she smiled. She triple checked the result.

Then she sat down on the toilet and wept.

***

The pregnancy was hard.

Her morning sickness was crippling. She was barely able to keep anything down. In the end, her body would endure only dry toast and apple slices.

Of course, Nicholas still expected to be provided with complete meals. More than once she vomited into the kitchen bin, smothering the sound with her hand. On the two occasions that Mariselle asked him if he would order in, Nicholas had quickly made it clear that the idea enraged him. She had never asked again.

Then, there were pains.

Mariselle had read up on the matter. She knew that discomfort was common at some stages of gestation. The changes in the body as it stretched and adapted to the presence of a living being could lead to aches in the back and pelvis, but it normally took place during the second and third trimesters.

Mariselle was barely pregnant, and yet there was a twisting, coiling feeling in her stomach, like the worst period pain that she'd ever had.

It scared her.

***

At the beginning of the second month, Mariselle's appetite changed. She went from having the appetite of an anorexic bird to that of a hungry docker.

Out went the dry biscuits and slices of apple. In came sausages, chicken breasts and great lumps of steak.

For most of her life, Mariselle's taste in food had been for the well-done. Now, she began craving rarer and rarer cuts.

If she didn't eat, she became tense and angry.

As the days went on, Mariselle began to feel worse. She was dizzy and weak.

She got paler, too. Her hair, skin and even her fingernails took on a translucent shine.

She lost weight. On the upside, Nicholas couldn't call her dumpy anymore, but he complained that her breasts were getting “even smaller than normal.”

At first, Mariselle managed to keep up with the housework. Soon, she faltered. It had never occurred to her how much her daily tasks involved bending and stretching. Now, every movement made her wince.

She started skipping jobs and fudging the harder ones. Instead of washing the bedclothes every week, she did it to every fortnight.

She still cooked for Nicholas, but by the time she was done she was often in too much pain to eat herself.

She was disappointing Nicholas in bed, too. With her hips, breasts and stomach aching, she couldn't bear the thought of his ponderous weight pressing down on her.

Finally, she started pretending that she was asleep.

Chapter 4

The change in Mariselle's mood and appearance troubled Nicholas.

Apparently a “good wife” was supposed to be able to grow a new life, keep up with her housework and still look “pretty.”

Putting him off, refusing him because she was tired or sickly, simply wasn't done. Apparently, it was disturbing Nicholas's “equilibrium.”

So, Nicholas had a “conversation” with Mariselle.

This time, Nicholas limited himself to slapping her face. He couldn't turn her over his knee and risk damaging the baby. Despite that, he warned that if things didn't improve immediately there would be consequences.

At first, Mariselle tried doing the housework at night, but Nicholas complained that she disturbed his sleep, so she did the bulk of it first thing. Of course, she was still expected to prepare Nicholas a cooked breakfast.

She finally told him about the pain on the night that she found herself in the master bathroom, staring at her pain pills and wondering how many of them she would have to swallow to end all of her pain forever.

She hadn't acted on it, but the impulse had frightened her.

Nicholas listened but looked bored. When she was finished, he told her that discomfort was a part of pregnancy and that she would have to “deal with it.”

When she reminded him that the pains were making her feel desperate, he told her to “grow up.”

So, Mariselle stopped talking about it.

When the pains in her abdomen became so severe that they made her legs buckle she started walking with a stick–only indoors, of course. Nicholas wouldn't have her embarrassing him.

She made hot water bottle after hot water bottle, muffling her sobs and thinking longingly of the days when period pains were her worst worry.

When she fell on the stairs and barely saved herself by grabbing onto the stair rail, she scraped up her courage and went back to her husband again.

“Nicholas,” she said firmly. “I need to see the doctor. There is something wrong with me.”

***

Nicholas wouldn't take Mariselle back to see Dr. Franks, no matter how much she begged him.

Instead, he registered her with a new doctor, a fusty octogenarian who had been caring for pregnant women since the nineteen-sixties, and whose attitude hadn't changed since.

He had her up in stirrups, staring at the space between her legs for so long that Mariselle thought he must be wondering what it was. Then he nodded, measured her bump and declared himself to be “satisfied with her progress.”

Mariselle told him about her worries. She described the pains that ran across her back and stomach.

Dr. Gentil put her symptoms down to a case of “nerves.”

When she tried to protest, he gripped her arm so hard that he left bruises and marched her out into the waiting room.

***

By her third month of pregnancy, Mariselle was hardly sleeping.

On the rare occasions that she closed her eyes, she was troubled by nightmares.

She'd had dark dreams before, the common kind–falling, failing, being chased.

Now she dreamed of a creature that she could not see, small and swift and determined. She felt it reach for her, running its fingers over her arms, but she pulled away before it could catch hold. The worst part of it was the plaintive way that it called to her. A part of her–a big part of her–wanted to respond.

Sleep that brought that dream gave her no rest. Once she'd served Nicholas his breakfast she cuddled up on the couch and dozed until lunchtime, after which she completed all of her jobs in a panicked rush.

As expected, Nicholas didn't care what she did. He wasn't bothered as long as his “needs” were catered to.

Sometimes, Nicholas asked her to lie in the bed with him. Every time, he rolled on top of her, opening her legs with his knee, and stayed there until he had hunched and groaned himself to completion. Mariselle just lay there, thinking about other things. She didn't bother to fake an orgasm.

***

On the night that the pain worsened, Mariselle was on their back porch. It was midnight. She was reading a book, hoping that Nicholas would fall asleep before she came back in, when a sudden, fierce pain overtook her “normal” pangs and she had to bite her fist to smother a scream.

The pain came from her womb. It felt as though tiny fingers were scratching her insides.

Chapter 5

Around her fifth month of pregnancy, Mariselle became convinced that Nicholas was having an affair.

The changes were familiar. He started showering and shaving and bought two bottles of cologne.

At first, he became more solicitous towards Mariselle, bringing her jewellery, chocolates and flowers. Then, his usual benign disdain morphed into revulsion.

He went missing for hours, then days.

Finally, he stopped talking to her.

Mariselle felt almost nothing, maybe a fleeting sadness, but Nicholas had never loved her in the first place. What was the point in mourning the loss of something she'd never had?

In fact, his absence made life easier. She could work, eat and rest when she needed to.

Her only worry was the pains.

They no longer felt like scratches. They felt more like... teeth.

***

Mariselle's suspicions were confirmed at the start of her sixth month.

She was standing in the kitchen, chewing down pieces of uncooked steak, when she heard Nicholas's car pull into the driveway.

Surprised, she hurriedly swallowed the last piece of meat and rinsed her plate.

Mariselle had been ingesting rare meat for two months, but Nicholas didn't know, and if he found out he would only complain about the cost.

Voices floated in through the window. Nicholas was talking. Another person was laughing. Mariselle thought that they had been drinking. Both of them were being loud.

“Shh!” That was Nicholas.

“Shhh!” the woman screeched back.

Her voice was high and unpleasant. She cackled when she laughed. Mariselle could have told her from experience that Nicholas's sense of humour was limited at best.

Mariselle had thought she'd be hurt when she knew for sure that Nicholas was sleeping around.

He'd done it before. She had no empirical evidence of the fact, just a knowing that went bone deep.

To her surprise, the certainty brought no pain. Anger, though, that she felt in spades.

Apart from their first five years of marriage, Nicholas had not been concerned with contraception. If the other woman was as cheap as her voice suggested, then Nicholas had probably got a dose or two from his other lovers. If he'd transmitted anything to Mariselle, or to her baby, then she would kill him and bury him in the garden, nosy neighbours be-damned.

Mariselle's “rival” was reaching up to kiss Nicholas as they rounded the corner.

“Well, if it isn't my darling husband,” said Mariselle. “Who's your little friend?”

Nicholas looked stunned. “Oh, you're here.”

Mariselle sneered at him. “Where else would I have gone?”

“We–that is I–I thought that you might have gone to stay with a friend.”

She snorted. “When have you ever given me time to have friends?”

Nicholas coloured.

“So, this is your place?” Nicholas's companion asked. “It could use a little style, but it's not bad.”

The woman was at least five years older than Mariselle. Her frizzy red hair hung in wild ringlets around a face so thickly caked in makeup that it seemed like lumps of the stuff would soon start melting off it. Her over-drawn mouth was tilted upwards in what she probably thought was a coquettish smile. Crimson lipstick stained her uneven teeth.

When she saw Mariselle, the woman curled her lip in disgust.

“Who's this, Nicky?”

“Patsy, this is my wife. Mariselle, this is my... friend, Patsy.”

The woman actually extended one blotched, ragged-nailed hand.

“Get out,” Mariselle told her.

“I was invited,” Patsy protested.

“Congratulations,” Mariselle said. “I am uninviting you.”

“Nicky,” the woman whined. “Tell her...”

Nicolas looked uncomfortable. “Maybe you'd better go, babe. Just for now.”

“Patsy” looked like she was going to throw a tantrum but, seeing Mariselle's glare, she gave up, scowled and flounced out.

Nicholas rounded on Mariselle the moment the front door slammed.

“How dare you be so rude to Patsy?!” He demanded.

“I'm sorry, but I'm pretty sure our wedding vows didn't include ‘being nice to my husband's whore.’”

“She's not a whore. She's a good woman who has been kind to me during a very difficult time.”

“Sure! I have a giant baby growing in me. I can see how the last few months have been difficult for you!”

“Patsy says that many men have difficulty with the prospect of fatherhood.”

“Even when they've pretty much agreed to their wife's death in order to become one?”

“I didn't...”

“The doctor told you what this pregnancy would do to me. She told you how much agony I would suffer. You didn't care. Then, as soon as things got tough, you ran. Anything could have happened to me, or to the baby. As husbands and fathers go, you're batting a zero, and humping some lady old enough to be your mother isn't helping.”

“Patsy is exactly seven years older than you.”

“And I give exactly zero fucks.”

Nicholas's mouth dropped open at her casual profanity.

He raised his hand to cuff her. Normally, Mariselle would have cowered, but this time she felt a surge of strength. Before he could complete the movement, she struck Nicholas in the chest. She thought that he might laugh. Instead, she heard a grunt as all of the air left his body, then a rush of air as Nicholas flew backwards into the wall. He lolled against it, staring at her with astonished eyes.

After a moment, the shock passed, and he started towards her.

Mariselle hissed at him. Something on her face must have scared him, because Nicholas turned around and stumbled away.

It took him two hours to pack a suitcase and load it into his car.

He didn't speak to her. He didn't demand a divorce. He simply drove away.

Mariselle was surprised to find that she didn't care.

***

The pains continued, but by her seventh month of pregnancy, Mariselle had put them to the back of her mind.

She was almost entirely nocturnal now. The noise and the brightness of daylight had become excruciating.

The night was better. Darkness was quiet, full of exquisite scents and colours. Sometimes she would stand in her garden for hours, just staring at the sky. If her neck hadn't eventually begun to ache, then she wouldn't have stopped.

Nicholas hadn't been back to the house for at least four weeks. His only contact had been a brief phone call to confirm that the bills had been paid in advance.

Mariselle didn't miss him. Once, Nicholas had been the star around which she orbited. Now he was like a memory from another life, something that had once existed but that had since ceased to matter. He was an irrelevance.

Mariselle stopped being unnerved by the changes that she saw in the mirror. Instead, she approached the silvered glass with a sense of anticipation, even excitement.

She no longer looked like herself. She was so slim now that, apart from her pendulous belly, she might have been a model. The skin on her body looked thin, half-translucent. Before she had not been fat but sort of... lumpy, her curves all in places that society frowned on.

Mariselle had never aspired to fashion icon slenderness, but she had hated the heavy, stodgy weight of her body. Now, she felt almost weightless.

She was resilient now. She could walk for miles without tiring. She could lift weights that would have defied a man double her size. She went out at night without a coat or scarf and didn't feel the cold.

On the first night of her eighth month of pregnancy Mariselle showered, climbed into a summer dress and left the house. She didn't wear shoes. She no longer felt pain when her feet stepped onto stones.

She walked for a long time, at first on pavements, and then on dirt roads until, at last, she came to a small lake. Nine or ten small boats bobbled on it, their sails making soft soughing sounds in the breeze.

There was something peaceful about the scene, and it pleased her.

Her baby must have liked it, too, because it chose that moment to give her a roundhouse kick. Marissa didn't mind the resulting discomfort. To her, the kicks were proof that the child was strong and growing. For that, she welcomed them.

A moment later, a soft rustling caused Mariselle to turn her head. A rabbit was snuffling through the long grass. It was nibbling as it moved. It was aware of her, Mariselle realised, but her stillness was so strange that it didn't react to her as a threat.

The rabbit was beautiful, plump and healthy, with sleek, dark hair. Mariselle almost believed that she could hear its blood flowing.

She realised that she wanted to hold it. Impulsively, she stepped forwards. The rabbit looked at her, eyes wide in terror, and ran.

At that moment, Mariselle lost time. One second, she was staring hungrily at the sleek, bright living thing. The next, the rabbit was dead in her hands.

As she drank its still-warm blood she didn't question the sharpness of the teeth that were buried into its throat.

By the time she was done, Mariselle was hot and sticky.

She took the body of the rabbit and laid it in the long grass.

That done, she stood up, removing her dress and casting the garment aside. The night air felt cold and good upon her skin.

She needed to get clean. Her neighbours might sleep deeply, but if one of them saw her walking home looking like an extra from a Halloween special then the authorities would become involved. She didn't want that.

Fortunately, the solution was right in front of her.

Mariselle could feel the life that existed within the lake - finned, coiled and fanged but most of it small and unthreatening. None of the creatures were large enough to pose a threat to her. As she neared the water they retreated, sensing an apex predator.

She walked into the lake. The cold water slid up her thighs, caressing the place between her legs.

She ducked, diving forwards. She stayed beneath the water for a long time, looking up through it at the silvered sky.

By the time that she rose to the surface, she felt wonderful.

Chapter 6

By her ninth month of pregnancy, Mariselle had lost so much weight that even the neighbours were worried. One by one, they dropped by to enquire about her welfare.

Mariselle was rail-thin, ghost pale and unsteady on her feet, but her dyed blonde hair had darkened to a shining slick of near-black, her nails had grown long and hard and her eyes had brightened to glowing green jewels.

Mariselle did not always open the door to her callers.

When she did, squinting in the sunlight, Mariselle was friendly. She thanked her neighbours for their concern, confirmed that, yes, Nicholas was away for a couple of weeks and that no, there wasn't anything that she needed.

Despite that, she was showered with unsolicited plates of food–chicken, soup, sandwiches, and enough baked goods to stock a shop.

She accepted them, took the plates and serving dishes into the house and scraped the food into the bin.

In time, that seemed to assuage her neighbours' concerns.

As time passed, Mariselle tried to make herself useful.

When she'd fallen pregnant, Nicholas had loosened his stranglehold on their finances and granted her a new allowance for pregnancy expenses.

First, Mariselle had purchased items for the nursery.

When all was ready for the new arrival, she had turned her creative efforts on clothing herself.

Always the canny one, Mariselle had soon realised that she could make maternity clothes much more cheaply than she could buy them.

Now, during her wakeful nights, she went to her sewing room and knocked up dresses, skirts and shirts. Her favourite dress was a vibrant red maxi dress with a square neck and puffed sleeves. It looked great against her pale skin, and it easily accommodated her enormous belly.

She wore it nearly every day and didn't give a thought to the effect.

If she could have seen through the eyes of her neighbours, however, she would have seen something beautiful but not-quite-human.

***

Nicholas came back to the house two weeks before Mariselle's due date.

He arrived without warning, letting himself in through the front door.

It was early evening and Mariselle was eating a snack–raw kidney pieces cut very, very small.

This time, Mariselle didn't bother to hide what she was doing. In fact, she felt a perverse kind of joy when Nicholas rounded the corner and stopped dead.

“What -” Nicholas asked, “is–that.”

“Dinner,” Mariselle replied brightly. “Want some?”

Nicholas swallowed hard. His face looked slightly green.

“It isn't cooked.”

“No. But pregnant women need to keep their iron content up. Kidneys are good for that.”

Nicholas hovered in the doorway for a moment, then made a low grumbling sound. “I'm going upstairs,” he said.

“How's Patsy?” Mariselle asked waspishly.

“Patsy? Oh, she's uh–I, uh -”

She's dumped him, Mariselle thought. Good for her.

“Well, have a good evening,” she said. “I am going out for a walk.”

***

Mariselle retraced her steps to the lake. She swam again.

This time, a long, slippery creature–maybe an eel–wrapped itself around her leg. Mariselle promptly seized it and brought it up to her lips, feasting on the cold liquor of its blood.

She stayed outside for hours, bathing in the moonlight.

The child stayed still within her, lulled to sleep by the feast of blood.

She didn't return to the house until just before dawn.

She expected to find that Nicholas had reclaimed the marital bed. She was prepared to move her things into one of the guest rooms, but she was surprised to find her domain untouched.

Happy and sated, Mariselle clambered into bed and slept the best sleep that she had had in weeks.

***

For the next twelve days, Mariselle and Nicholas co-existed, passing in the halls but rarely communicating.

Sometimes, Mariselle heard Nicholas grumbling under his breath.

She didn't bother trying to listen closer. Let him be pissed if he wanted. After all, he was the one who had been openly screwing around.

Sometimes, Mariselle ached with loneliness, contrasting the life she had always imagined with what she had now.

For the most part, however, she was content.

Now that Nicholas was too frightened to strike her, she didn't have to care about his temper. If he couldn't be the kind of caring man who would help her to anticipate her child, then the best gift that Nicholas could give her was his absence.

Chapter 7

Mariselle's water broke at 7am.

The sensation woke her from a doze, and she lifted the duvet she found that the mattress was soaked in pinkish fluid.

The tug of the breaking hadn't been painful. A moment later, however, a wrenching-pulling-sensation gripped her.

She sat up, pressing her hand to her swollen stomach. It didn't hurt, but there was a heaviness in her womb, a feeling of something great and terrible about to begin.

Fear battled with excitement in her chest.

Soon, she would be able to hold her child.

Nicholas, she thought. I need to let him know.

Wait, where did I put my mobile?

She glanced to one side and saw that her mobile phone was sitting on her nightstand. Relieved, she reached out and picked it up. She frowned when she saw that the screen was cracked. The battery was dead. When she looked for the charger, which was always in the top drawer, it was missing.

Confusion rushed through her, making her wrinkle brow. On top of that came a flicker of suspicion. Could Nicholas have...

No, she told herself, he wouldn't. He's a bastard, but he isn't that much of a bastard.

Isn't he? A darker voice asked.

Not even her husband would willingly prevent her from calling for help.

Well, she didn't have to panic. If Nicholas was in the spare room, then he would hear her from where she was.

“Nicholas?” She called. “Honey?”

There was no answer.

“Nicholas. I need you to call the doctor. I'm in labour.”

Silence.

“Or drive me to the hospital, please!”

When he still didn't respond, Mariselle paused, thinking. Where could he be? He shouldn't be at work yet. It was still too early. Unlike her, Nicholas didn't go for walks to clear his head. Maybe he was downstairs.

She pitched her voice higher. “Nicholas!”

Still nothing.

Ok, maybe he's gone to the shops. I'll wait until he comes home.

“Ok,” she told herself. “You need to breathe. Stay calm. Maybe we can get downstairs and...”

A huge surging in her body put paid to that idea.

Alright, no. Maybe not.

Mariselle looked to her side. The gallon water jug that she had brought to bed with her was nearly full. Good. She was going to need fluids. She had pillows to support herself and blankets that she could use to cradle the soon-to-be-child.

She could do this, she decided. After all, in the nineteen-fifties, almost every woman had given birth at home.

Of course, they had nurses and midwives to help them through the worst of it...

She pushed the thought away.

Humanity had existed for millions of years without access to hospitals. She would just have to do the same.

***

That first full contraction hit her ten minutes later.

The pain was bad, but not the worst that she'd ever known. It rippled over and through her, stealing her breath and leaving her trembling.

Ok, Mariselle thought, I can do this.

The next contraction struck twenty minutes later. She endured it, just.

The third one, however, was unendurable. She curled into a ball and screamed at the top of her lungs.

At one point, a spasm struck her that made her lose control of her bladder. Mariselle groaned in pain and embarrassment but could do no more than move over on the bed.

She tried to do what she had been advised to by the baby books, bracing and panting and grabbing onto the bedpost–a poor substitute for the loving hand of the husband who was supposed to be there with her. She tried changing positions–standing, walking, lying down. Nothing seemed to help.

More frightening than the pain was Mariselle's sense of the strange thing that was happening to her body. Her flesh, the only thing that had ever truly been her own, had now been taken over by something completely outside of herself.

The act was primal, undeniable. The baby didn't care about her. It only cared about surviving its journey into the world. If she died in that process, well, that was often the way. Every fibre of her was trained upon the life that was trying to free itself from her body.

Remaining upstairs seemed like the right thing to do until about three hours later. Those three hours had been the longest of her life. Contraction after contraction had flowed through her, squeezing her from her centre. She was bleeding, too. She tried to tell herself that that was normal, that there was no reason for her to worry.

Mariselle had swum in and out of a fog of pain, shrieking when the agony became too intense and sobbing when it receded.

When she looked at her bedroom window the light coming from behind the closed curtains revealed that it was past mid-day.

Her husband had to be home by now.

“Nicholas!” She screamed. “NI-CHO-LAS!”

She listened, straining for any response, but there was no sound.

Exhausted, Mariselle laid her head back against the pillow.

“Nicholas.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

An interminable time passed when she was lost to the pain.

It was when she heard a neighbour's radio announcing the time that Mariselle realised she had been in labour for seven hours.

She admitted, at that moment, that she needed outside help. The gallon of water beside her bed had been drained ages ago. She was drenched in sweat, trembling all over and desperately thirsty.

More, there was a wrongness to the new level of pain. It wasn't just the travail of bringing new life. It was... Deathly.

***

Mariselle's only chance of attracting attention was to get downstairs.

With Nicholas absent, her charger gone and her mobile phone battery dead, her only hope was to make it to the landline phone in their living room. Otherwise, Nicholas would find both her and the child dead when he returned.

First, she had to get off the bed.

She did it in increments. First, she pulled herself upright, then she swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

She clung to the headboard until the next contraction passed, then slid her body off the mattress, trying to hold herself up with her legs. Sadly, the cramps made them collapse, and she dropped to the floor. The pain made her vomit and it was at least ten minutes before she was able to move again.

All the time, the contractions were becoming more frequent. At first, she had been able to rest between them. Now, she barely had time to catch her breath.

When she tried to stand it proved impossible, crawling likewise, so she hunched her way forward on her elbows. Every foot of wood and carpet that she covered seemed to take a lifetime.

It took her fifteen minutes to reach the head of the stairs.

Once there, she managed to drag herself around until she was sitting on the top stair.

Drawing in a breath and screwing up her courage, she shifted forwards and–as slowly could–bumped down one step.

The agony that exploded through her was indescribable. She tilted forwards and groaned, feeling as though someone had thrust a hand inside of her and started tearing.

I can't do that again, she thought. I just can't.

But you have to. Unless you want you and your baby to die then you'll have to keep going. Go slow and take a break between each stair.

And so, she did, gasping and sobbing with every move.

She made it in the end–although only barely–but when she reached the bottom of the stairs, she had nothing left to cling to. She slid down the last banister and began to crawl over the hall floor, into the living room and towards the occasional table where their landline phone waited.

She'd made it halfway when she became aware of someone breathing.

She looked over her shoulder, wincing at the pain that the movement caused, and saw Nicholas sitting, cross-legged, in the armchair.

“He-he-help,” she panted.

A shiver ran through her when she saw the nasty smile on his face.

“Help!” She managed.

“No,” Nicholas replied.

“What?”

“I-am-not-going-to-help-you,” he said, enunciating the words as though talking to a child.

Mariselle had a thousand questions. She wanted to ask Nicholas why he had been sitting there, and for how long. She wanted to ask him why he hadn't come when she'd screamed for him. She wanted to know why he wasn't helping her. After all, she was giving birth to his baby.

She couldn't ask, though. Every time that she tried the cramps surged through her body, choking her. So, she turned over and continued inching towards the telephone.

Somehow, through the roar of the pain, she heard Nicholas stand up behind her.

“What are you doing honey?” He asked.

She ignored him and continued creeping her way forwards.

“Mariselle!” Nicholas barked. “What are you doing?”

“I'm ph-phoning for help,” she said. “The baby is coming.”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “I guessed that from the mess. I'm going to have to pay for a deep-clean after this, you know?”

Really? Poor baby? Try things from my side.

“And the mattress, I'll have to replace that too!”

Well, isn't life a bitch? And so are you.

“I'll have to punish you for that when all of this is over.”

Try it, she thought, and I'll rip out your fucking heart!

“Hospital,” she repeated. “Need–hospital...”

“Well, sweetie, I'm afraid that you are shit out of luck on that one.”

Then, before Mariselle had time to dread what he would do next, Nicholas made his move.

He did in seconds what she had not been able to do in almost ten minutes. Nicholas crossed the living room, grabbed the telephone handset and yanked the cord out of the wall.

“What are you doing?”

“I am showing you what happens to wives who get too big for their britches.”

“Nicholas, this isn't a game!”

That nasty grin flashed out again. He sneered at her, his beer gut trembling ecstatically. “Then why am I having fun?”

A contraction ripped through Mariselle, preventing her from replying.

When she could breathe again, Mariselle used her final card. She begged. “Please, take me to the hospital.”

“And have you stain my car's upholstery?” Nicholas sneered. “No chance. You think you're so independent? You can deal with labour on your own.”

Chapter 8

Three hours later, Mariselle was almost certain that she was going to die.

For ten hours her body had struggled to release whatever had grown within her. For ten hours she had screamed and pleaded for help while Nicholas sat upstairs and ignored her pleas.

The blood kept coming, an endless red tide that soaked the floor and turned the hair between her legs into a hideous crimson tangle.

Every time that a contraction hit her Mariselle thought that she was going to be torn in two.

Hours passed, as the sun dipped towards the horizon.

At last, a final spasm gripped her body. Mariselle pushed without thinking, bearing down with all her might. There was a gushing, a sense of relief and a soft thud, and then a tiny bundle of flesh was lying, squirming between her legs.

Chapter 9

Her daughter was beautiful.

Mariselle looked down at the tiny infant in amazement.

Her daughter was wrapped in a shawl that she'd made my ripping off the front part of her nightdress.

The baby was small, almost elfin in size. Her eyes, unlike those of either of her parents, were a bright and vibrant blue. Her features were doll-like, and her fingers were like tiny stars.

She certainly wasn't the monster that Mariselle had feared.

In fact, Mariselle was well and truly enchanted.

The pain was gone. She knew that it was an illusion. The damage to her body hadn't evaporated. Instead, the rush of bonding hormones filling her body were blocking her nerve endings. She was grateful for that.

She could still feel the blood coming out of her, although the gush had slowed to a trickle.

Already, the lesser cramps were beginning that would force out the placenta.

Eventually, she would have to find someone willing to drive her to the hospital. Right now, though, all that she wanted to do was look at her child.

“You're here,” she whispered. “You're finally here, and I will protect you until my last breath. No one will harm you; I promise.”

The child uttered a soft mew that could almost have been an answer.

***

Nicholas came downstairs thirty minutes later.

He looked fresh and cool. In fact, Mariselle saw, he was wearing fresh clothes. His hair was still damp. The bastard had taken a shower while she was down here screaming!

If Mariselle hadn't been clinging to her miracle baby she might have collapsed in shame, not because Nicholas looked so much better than her, but at herself for ever having accepted him as a husband.

Her child, though, made it impossible to bemoan the union. Nicholas was a shit, but she was clinging on to the rose that had grown from the manure.

Nicholas was humming as he rounded the corner. He was still grinning that same horrible, shit-eating grin that he had aimed at her before leaving her to suffer labour on her own.

It was at that moment that Mariselle knew she was going to kill him.

Not yet. Not right away. She would have to get stronger first, but Nicholas had seen his last birthday.

That he didn't know that, that he actually believed that he was in charge, made her want to giggle.

“How is the baby?” Nicholas demanded.

Alive, no thanks to you.

Despite her loathing for him, Mariselle knew that she would need Nicholas to summon help, so she forced herself to smile ingratiatingly.

“It's a girl,” she said. “And she's perfect.”

She held out the baby so that Nicholas could look at her. Instead, he turned away.

“Goddammit!” He turned and kicked the base of the stairwell. The sound was loud enough that Mariselle's daughter started to squirm and whimper.

“Nicholas,” Mariselle said, “please, the baby needs quiet.”

“The baby, the baby,” Nicholas mimicked. “What the hell do I care? I can't believe you! I give you a home, a life, money, everything. I even get you knocked up, and you can't give me the one thing that I want from you!”

“What?” Mariselle said. “You wanted a child. I gave you a baby.”

“I wanted a BOY, you imbecile!”

“Well, I guess you should have been clearer on the order form.”

Her attitude surprised Nicholas. He pulled back from his threatening pose and then blinked

“What did you say?”

“You aren't deaf - unless the greasy hair in your ears has blocked them completely.”

Mariselle saw indecision on Nicholas's face. Normally he would have made her pay for her insolence with slaps and punches, but she was drenched in a Carrie-esque amount of blood and Nicholas hated getting his hands dirty.

He ran a hand back through his hair, turned around then kicked the wall again.

“Dammit! Patsy said that you would do this. I should have stayed with her. She knows how to look after a man.”

“I'm glad that you didn't.”

Nicholas smiled triumphantly.

“Not even Patsy deserves your odious ass hanging around her on a permanent basis.”

She didn't see Nicholas's response to her words, because she was looking down at her daughter.

At that moment, her daughter yawned, and for the first time Mariselle saw the flash of tiny canines in her mouth. She was not as surprised as she might have been. Instead, she felt fascination and a flash of joy. Her daughter was strong.

The baby looked at her and something unspoken passed between them. Mariselle gave a soft nod.

“Why don't you hold her, Nicholas?”

“What?” He scoffed.

“Just take a look. After all, you had a part in making her. Don't you want to see what came from you?”

She saw the change in his face, saw his ego start to kick in. The baby might be a girl, but she was his creation. That gave her some worth. Still, he hesitated.

“Please,” Mariselle urged. “Just hold her. For me.”

“Fine!”

Rolling his eyes, Nicholas snatched the tiny, squirming bundle from her arms. He held the child awkwardly, frowning down at her. After a moment, however, his eyes became unfocused, and he started to sway on his feet.

He actually leaned down. The child barely had to reach out to sink her fangs into his neck.

***

Nicholas might have lived had he acted the moment that the baby began to move, but shock froze him in place, stealing his chance at survival.

By the time that he thought to struggle the baby had already torn his throat open.

Death came quickly. Nicholas sank to his knees, then onto his back. He gurgled once, twice, a third time, and then was silent.

Mariselle didn't look up as her daughter–Lilli would be a good name for her–drained every last drop of blood out of Nicholas's heavy body.

By the time that she was finished there was no mess, only Nicholas's pale body lying like an abandoned suit of clothes.

Mariselle's pain was gone. She supposed that she was still bleeding, but she could no longer feel the mangled mess that was her lower body.

She didn't think that she would be able to stand, but that wouldn't be a problem for much longer.

Mariselle sat calmly, waiting for Lilli.

She knew that the child would be hungry–fighting her way into the world would have left her ravenous - and that Lilli's next port of call would be her throat. In spite of that, Mariselle felt no fear. For decades she'd endured a slavish existence. Now, she was alive. And if that life only lasted for a moment, at least she knew that she had created something real.

Lilli was new-born, but her father's blood had given her strength. Within minutes she had grown to the size of a one-year-old. She was able to crawl to Mariselle's side.

When Mariselle felt Lilli's weight pressing her knees she reached down and scooped her up. Lilli's head fell onto her shoulder and Mariselle waited for the first bite. Instead, she felt Lilli nudge the bodice of her dress.

“Oh,” Mariselle whispered.

She tugged at her dress and bra until one of her breasts fell free. Lilli latched on to her nipple. There was a fierce tingling, almost a pain, and then a comforting warmth.

Lilli drew long and hard, but she did not bite.

As the infant fed, Mariselle felt herself growing stronger. She didn't understand the strange magic by which the child's strength was flowing into her, but she knew that it was real. She could feel torn flesh knitting and ruptured veins knotting themselves back together. She wouldn't need to attend A and E, not anymore, which was good because she wasn't sure what the medical profession would make of Lilli and her tiny fangs.

Tonight, she would go back to the lake and look for rabbits. Their blood would revitalise her strength.

Until then, she was happy simply to be able to move.

Lilli unlatched and Mariselle moved her to her other breast, thanking God that at least breastfeeding was not going to be a problem.

She would need to think of a story for the police. They would wonder why Nicholas was lying on the floor minus his blood.

When Lilli was done, Mariselle no longer felt any pain.

Smiling, she raised the baby onto her shoulder and rubbed her back until she burped.

She leaned back against the sofa and held Lilli against her chest, feeling her warm, sleepy weight.

Lilli nuzzled her throat. Mariselle stiffened slightly, but she needn't have worried. Only lips touched her skin, the softest of new-born kisses.

Mariselle understood, now, what her daughter needed. During the day, she would nurse Lilli like any other child, giving her the strength and nourishment that only a mother could. Then, at night, she would be responsible for securing Lilli's other food.

It was a symbiosis, Mariselle thought, different from the one that they'd had before but no less profound.

Where Nicholas had only ever taken, Mariselle and Lilli would nourish one another.

Mariselle was just guessing, but she thought that if they did it right, they would not need to fear death.

She felt some discomfort at the thought of the victims–after all, taking a life would be an entirely new thing for her–but she was sure that her initial squeamishness would fade.

There were plenty of people in the world who were takers, people who were cruel and thoughtless and... Unnecessary. The world would be well served if Lilli got rid of them.

Once, Mariselle had thought that Lilli would be the death of her.

Now, she knew that she would have died without her

Mariselle had sacrificed fifteen years of her life to be a good wife.

Now, she was going to try being a good woman.

THE END