Rochelle and Tobias sat on opposite sides of the car seat as the limousine eased up the drive and came to a stop at the front door of his stately home. Neither had spoken a word since leaving the nightclub, and a tension filled the silence between them.
Rochelle was moody, feeling disillusioned and disgusted with the two couples Tobias wined and dined all evening. One of the men smoked big cigars whose scent clung to her clothing and nostrils; the other one cursed continuously and was unable to say a single sentence without using the four-letter word she detested. The women, while polite enough at the beginning of the evening, drank like fish and were stumbling drunk before the night ended. Without realizing it, Rochelle turned up her nose and rolled her eyes several times at such objectionable manners and crude behaviors, never considering that Tobias would find her haughty manner more inappropriate than that of his crass friends.
She should have known better. Hadn't she already suffered Tobias's cruelty and abuse in a hundred different ways? She had become nearly passive around him, not wanting to invite his disfavor. Now, unwittingly, she had done just that.
No sooner were they inside the door at home, than Tobias confronted Rochelle where they stood on the spacious marble foyer.
“Baby, do you find my friends distasteful?” Tobias asked, standing at arm's length and running his hands lightly up and down Rochelle's upper arms while he studied her with lascivious intent.
His steel gray eyes raked her from head to toe and back again, possessively assessing her as one might a piece of property. His voice sounded calm, giving no apparent indication of underlying hostility. A half grin squeezed from one corner of his lips.
Rochelle should have known not to trust his offhanded manner.
He had done the same thing numerous times previously, inviting her negative responses, and then abusively retaliating. His mien was all a ploy to deceive, a snake curling in readiness to strike.
The light touch of Tobias's hands on her arms held no hint of confrontation, giving her the impression she could speak freely. “I find your friends lacking in intelligence and social tact,” she replied honestly, her long slender neck and raised chin displaying a haughty grace.
Tobias's forehead wrinkled and his eyes darkened. He touched Rochelle's cheek, sliding his fingers down to her silky white throat where he caressed the white skin above the little blue veins.
“Lacking in intelligence…” A smile toyed with his lips, and then he threw back his head and roared with laughter. The sound made Rochelle's stomach lurch.
Rochelle looked at him sharply, never suspecting that behind his attitude lay a deadly anger he had nursed all evening against her.
She was slow to learn that Tobias worked at keeping his emotions hidden, believing he mastered more control over others when he exhibited icy control of self.
“Hummm… You know, baby, you may be right,” he said, still laughing. The glint in his eyes changed first, turning to cold steel as his laughter spun down to an acrid snort. “They may be sons of bitches for all I care, but when we invite anyone out for dinner, I expect you to act like the perfect hostess. You represent me, baby, not those frivolous opinions you have.”
“Tobias, how can you expect me to associate with such disgusting people?” she implored.
He turned his back on her, taking a deep breath. He was seething, the great quantities of alcohol drunk during the evening fueling instant rage that echoed in the timbre of his voice. He spun about to face her. “You associate with them because I damn well say so! Do you think you're better than they are, you stupid little bitch?”
His crude manner was not a shock, but his blunt sarcasm stung.
Lately, his attitude toward Rochelle had worsened daily until he showed pure contempt for her most of the time. Drinking merely intensified his venomous nature.
Alcohol was an addiction with Tobias; he drank Bloody Marys in the morning, beer in the afternoon, finishing the day with wine, champagne or scotch, often topping his evening with brandy. He needed only the mildest provocation from Rochelle to turn abusive with verbal put-downs complemented by violent slaps across her face. He once locked her in their room for two days without food, and the list of abuses started increasing every time Tobias found a reason, whether real or imagined. She usually stepped lightly around him to avoid another abusive attack on her, but tonight she had been so incensed she could not hold her tongue.
Tobias had never been what Rochelle called adorable, but at least he treated her respectfully in the beginning. Now, his contempt replaced any decent feelings he once had for her. She was sure his heavy drinking was due in part to problems with his organization, and he found sadistic relief through taking his frustrations out on her. He stayed angry at the world, and he used her as his scapegoat.
Rochelle feared he might be losing his mind from the excess of alcohol he consumed.
“Tobias, you know I usually don't complain, but the men's vulgar jokes and boorish manners are not suitable for mixed company,” she said softly. “Are the women supposed to sit there pretending to enjoy the men's crude jokes and remarks and their intimate gropes in public? If you respect me, you would caution them against their vulgarity when I'm present.”
With saliva oozing from the corners of his mouth, Tobias sneered contemptuously at Rochelle's remark. His hand touched her throat, his fingers gliding about the porcelain skin, following the stream of little blue veins that seemed to intrigue him. His hand and fingers spread out all at once around her neck, grasping it so tightly her face turned crimson and her breath grew ragged.
“How did you get so goddamned stupid? If I respected you, I might not even want you in the company of those crazy bastards.
However, the truth is, darling; the only thing I respect about you is what you have between your legs. Haven't you learned yet what role you play in my life, Rochelle?” His fingers tightened on her throat.
She grabbed his hand, attempting to loosen his strangling hold.
“Tobias, please stop. You're hurting my neck!” She gasped for air.
“Shut your damned mouth! I'm tired of your constant bitching, and it's getting worse every time we go out.” Spittle flew from his mouth and sprayed her face.
Uncontrolled words poured from her throat despite the fact they served as an invitation to Tobias's abuse. “Then don't make me go out any more with that bunch you associate with. I'd rather stay home and read a good book than spend my time trying to be nice to a bunch of low-life scum.”
He released her neck, drew back his hand, and slapped her forcefully across her cheek.
Rochelle reeled and grabbed the stair post to keep from falling.
Charged with adrenaline and sudden fear, she started up the stairs.
Intent upon getting away from Tobias, she feared the likelihood of a severe battering. Uppermost in her mind was also the fear that one day Tobias's drunken rages would unglue his control so badly that he would kill her.
Tobias grabbed Rochelle, knocking her off-balance. He jerked her back down the steps.
“Bitch, don't you dare turn your back on me when I'm talking to you. I'm not through with you,” he snarled, sending another spray of spittle from twisted lips.
“Tobias, please just let me go upstairs,” she pleaded. Her lips quivered as if she might be freezing.
He grabbed the front of her beautiful white gown. Jerking her toward him, the fabric ripped, baring one of her breast. He cupped her breast with his hand and squeezed. “Nice,” he slurred through a sickening smile. “Daddy has something for you, baby.”
She cringed away from him, desperately frightened by his manner, suspecting what he planned to do to her as punishment for confronting him. It wouldn't be the first time.
“Please, Tobias, let's just go upstairs.”
“What's wrong with right here?” he said, roughly massaging her breast.
“You know why—the security cameras. Please, Tobias, you know the guards are watching on the monitors. Please don't do this.”
She reached up and pushed his hand from her bosom, embarrassed to death knowing their horrible scene and her exposed naked breast was on the monitor screens. She tried to pull the fabric up to cover her breast, turning in the same motion to go upstairs.
“I said don't ever turn your fucking back on me again!” he ordered through gritted teeth, snatching her around to face him.
Rochelle recoiled in alarm, every nerve prickling with terror.
“Please, Tobias. Please don't do this. I beg you.”
“What's wrong, baby, I thought you enjoyed being on center-stage,” he taunted. “A fine lady like you would look good on the monitor screen. Why don't we give the guards a nice performance?”
His hand was hurting her wrist, and she tried to twist free, but he only squeezed tighter, his nauseous alcohol breath puffing in her face.
“No, Tobias, please. Stop it. Stop it!” she screamed, and for just a second he loosened his hold on her wrist long enough for her to twist from his grasp and shove him away from her. She turned to run, hoping to get to the bathroom and lock herself inside, as she had done on other occasions when he was drunk and abusive.
Rochelle only made it a couple of steps before he grabbed her hair and snatched her back, spinning her about to face him. It felt like her scalp was torn away bringing instant excruciating pain. He drew back his hand and slapped her. She went flying backwards against the stair steps, the sharp edges cutting into her backside.
He reached down where she lay crumpled like a rag doll and grabbed her hand, jerking her to a standing position. With a sneer on his face, he roughly found her lips, ravaging her with his teeth, tongue, and mouth until her lips were swollen and salty with the taste of blood.
She struggled, trying to get away from him, but her slender strength was no match against his hundred and seventy pounds.
When he tasted the blood from her teeth-torn lips, he turned to one side and spit, and then reached out and put his fingers in the cleavage between her breasts. Tightening his grasp on the fabric of her expensive gown, he jerked it downward, ripping the seams of the fine silk, snatching and jerking the fabric until it tore in shreds from her body.
Rochelle stood there in shock, trying desperately to cover herself with her hands and arms. Fear paralyzed her and she watched as though this horror were happening to someone else as Tobias pulled her to the hard marble floor and tore off her panties. When she was naked, her dignity destroyed, she was aware that Tobias's mental and physical abuse had reached another level. Raping her in front of security cameras monitored by guards was the ultimate victimization. It would establish his complete control over her life.
With her expensive clothing tattered about her feet, her naked, trembling body chilled by the cold marble floor, she was at Tobias's mercy. In a punishing assault, he brutally raped her, the pain of the hard floor against her slender form. His rough treatment drew hysterical screams from her throat.
When he finished, he rose to his feet, staring down at her as if she were a piece of trash left by the vacuum cleaner. Standing over her, he reached down toward his crotch and zipped his pants. “Do let that be a lesson, darling, to never cross me again.”
Knowing the guards were likely having a field day at the monitors, and her modesty compromised beyond repair, she grabbed her tattered clothing to cover herself. Struggling to a sitting position, every bone in her body screamed with pain from Tobias's abuse.
Still standing above her with a frozen sneer, he kicked her thigh with the point of his shoe for emphasis, and she cried out in pain.
Humiliation burned her face while her stomach churned sickly with nausea and resentment. She hated him. Whatever she once felt for Tobias Chandler was tainted and destroyed; her pride, dignity, and self-respect violated so ruthlessly she would never forgive him.
Knowing the guards observed her nakedness and his rape of her on the monitors made her cringe and shiver with shame. Her hate of Tobias was the only strength he couldn't take from her.
“From now on, your only job in life is to make me happy,”
Tobias stated arrogantly. He sent her a contemptuous glance then turned and went upstairs.
Left stiff and bruised on the cold, hard marble floor, three guards hovered around the security monitors afraid to blink lest they miss even a single glimpse of the best performance ever seen on television or in the movies. They were disappointed when it was over.
Struggling to get to her feet, and covering as much of her body as she could with her scrapped gown, Rochelle knew her life with Tobias would be nothing but hell from now on.
The next morning, as was Tobias's habit, he hugged her, kissed her, wrapped her in his arms, and apologized. He promised he would never do such a thing again. Rochelle knew it was a lie. By nightfall, after he had deluged himself with alcohol all day, he would be in the same frame of mind as last night.
Following his attack, she nursed a black eye and numerous body bruises for more than a week. The incident taught her the art of pretentiousness. She put on airs that would have made her a star in the movies, an act merely to prevent further harm from Tobias. He was pleased with her new attitude. He continued making sly little remarks to keep her aware that if she displeased him, she would pay.
If Tobias could have known how much she hated him, he would have killed her.
ONE GOOD THING OCCURRED from Tobias's sexual and physical abuse the night he assaulted her on the cold marble floor.
The frequency of the dinner parties declined following that night, and if they received invitations, Tobias mostly went without her.
Only occasionally did he demand that she go with him. Careful not to draw his ire, she offered no resistance to what he requested or expected of her. Survival was her only goal now, and she did anything he asked without argument.
The times she did not accompany him, she spent her evenings alone, reading or watching television, sometimes just listening to music from the huge CD selection she collected over the years. She was lonely, but she found her own company far more gratifying than she did with Tobias and his friends. Enjoying a reprieve of sorts, she basked in her newly found peace.
Then it all changed in a heartbeat.
Tobias went out one night, dressed in his suit, and a silk shirt as white as snow. When he came home, dark makeup and bright red lipstick stained his collar. His smeared lips reminded Rochelle of a baboon's ass. He took off his coat, tie and shirt, and then stepped out of his pants, letting them fall to the floor. Dropping onto the bed drunkenly, and smelling like the stale scent of cheap perfume mixed with the muskiness of recent sex, he reached to turn off the light.
Rochelle was enraged at Tobias for flaunting his infidelity so blatantly. Popping up from her pillow to a sitting position, she spoke acidly, “Tobias, if you plan to see other women, then you won't mind if I move to another bedroom.”
He turned out the light and lay down. “You'll fucking well leave my bed when I say so, and not until. So, shut the hell up so I can go to sleep,” he mumbled with a yawn and turned his back to her.
“Better still,” Rochelle continued, “just give me a divorce and let me leave here.” It was the first time she had ever mentioned the word divorce to him.
That got his attention, and he bolted up to a sitting position on the edge of the bed and flicked the light back on. Instant rage consumed him. He was quiet several seconds, and then he turned enough to reach out and grab her by her hair. He jerked her across the bed and jabbed a fist into her jaw.
“You stupid bitch, you just can't leave well enough alone, can you?” He gritted his teeth, speaking in a soft tone that hissed with venom. “Don't ever mention divorce to me again, Rochelle. If you should ever get the notion of trying to run away from me, I will kill your ass. Mark my work.”
Pain shot through her head where he snatched her across the bed by her hair. A handful of unattached hair twined between his fingers, and he shook it to the floor. Despite her pain, and too incensed to let well enough alone, Rochelle spoke her mind. “You expect me to sleep with you after you've just come from another woman?” she screamed. “God, I would puke if you ever touched me again.”
Tobias made a scoffing sound and leered at her. His wife wasn't a very bright student or she would learn to keep her fucking mouth shut. Grabbing her, he crushed his red lips to hers, hard and bruising, his teeth cutting into the tender flesh and drawing blood.
“Stop it, Tobias!” she demanded, not realizing her outburst merely encouraged him. She struggled with him, crying out at his abuse. Her head now hurt dreadfully. Before he finished, atrociously abusing her physically and sexually, she was begging him to stop.
What he did to her was the most sickening thing he had ever done.
Hell had just come knocking.
Befouling her skin with the touch of his flaccid organ, knowing he had just come from another woman made her want to puke. She swallowed it back to avoid harsher abuse. In the meantime, he ripped off her gown like a lunatic, tearing it to shreds. Looking at her nakedness made him passionate, and Rochelle knew something was terribly sick about that look. His verbal expression just before a climax, “Baby, baby, give it to daddy,” was a telltale clue denoting his sexual fantasy.
He touched her between her legs, discovering she was as dry as sandpaper. “You're a cold bitch,” he told her. “About the coldest I've ever known. Where did I get the idea in the beginning you were warm and passionate?”
The dangerous tone of his voice deepened Rochelle's tenseness.
She knew better than test his wrath further. Tobias's evil streak would devise whatever inhumanity he could to teach her a lesson in obedience. With her scalp swollen, and her head pounding like hammers, she tried to mollify him. “Tobias, I'm sorry. I don't mean to displease you,” she said humbly.
It amazed her how she could sound so sweet, while rage boiled inside her like a steaming kettle. She wanted to yell that she hated him, wanted to scream every invective she could recall. She wanted to find the nerve to take his gun from the nightstand drawer and blow his brains out. God, she could just see it in her mind, him lying sprawled on the bed with his brains seeping out of the gunshot hole—and just the thought made her feel relief.
Her apology humbled him, at least temporarily. He seemed a mixture of contradictions as he expressed a contemplative mood.
“Just tell me one thing—why in the hell can't I please you, baby?”
“You do please me, Tobias. You do,” she cried, wanting to placate him to prevent further abuse.
How could the SOB expect anything less than icicle-participation when he abused her so hideously, not to mention him expecting her to reciprocate while the stink of another woman rose from his body?
“Like hell, you say. When have I ever pleased you? You don't even know what I'm talking about, do you?” he demanded in disgust, slapping her backside with a stinging blow.
With his hands and eyes sliding over her breasts, he talked as though he spoke only to himself. “I've been as tender with you as a man can be, thinking you'd respond, but you're too damned cold to even know how to enjoy sex. I have given you more foreplay than any woman who's ever warmed my bed, and nothing excites you.”
“I don't do it purposely, Tobias. Truly I don't.” He was working himself up to his sick inhumanity. He wanted to hurt her, and he would. She knew what he planned, and her stomach roiled with revulsion. Bitter bile rose in her throat and she swallowed it back down, the red lipstick from his kiss leaving a sick sweet taste in her mouth along with other despicable tastes.
He forced his ultimate punishment upon her, leaving her choking and struggling to get air into her lungs. Then when she feared she might die of strangulation, he must have noticed her plight, and ceased the oral penetration.
He flung his full body weight down upon her. Pinning her down, he spread her legs and rammed his huge manhood inside her dry canal. Rochelle screamed with pain, crying and praying it would soon be over. The pain in her head seemed to worsen continuously.
Like a man driven by perversity, he thrust in and out like a stevedore, and Rochelle bit her lips to hold back further screams.
She felt moisture and knew his roughness had ripped delicate tissue inside her to cause bleeding. It was horrible. He was horrible, a monster who sadistically and purposely hurt her.
When he finished pounding her unmercifully, leaving her insides feeling disconnected and like raw flesh, he rolled off onto his back, his legs outspread and his limp bloody penis peeking dismally from his undershorts. He was snoring in minutes.
She went to the bathroom, threw up the contents of her stomach, and scrubbed her body and the inside of her mouth until that, too, was raw.