I slammed my purse along with the overflowing grocery bag against the kitchen counter.
What was supposed to be me letting out some steam turned into further annoyance, however, since I now had a bag of half-ruined items to deal with as well.
I groaned in impotent frustration, watching as my discounted oranges rolled off the smooth surface before falling onto the hard floor with a squish, revealing the carton of broken eggs and the dented carton of milk inside the bag. Cartons which, of course, were now leaking their contents, slowly but surely, spreading the initial waves of destruction.
“Fuck!” I cursed out, but it wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t anywhere near enough for the shit day I had.
“Fuckity fuck fuck fuck! Argh!!!”
I kicked and slammed at the cabinets like a madwoman before adding another thing on my list of today’s regrets: going up against solid wood in a kickboxing match only hurt my body and my pride.
I was just about to call it quits with being an adult and throw the most childish tantrum ever, surpassing the scene from just now, when my husband, James, called out to me from the living room.
“Honey, is everything alright? Do you need my help fighting off the wild raccoons in there?”
I could hear him getting up from the sofa, the soft footsteps sounding nearer and nearer.
“I’ll tell ya, I’m going to be very disappointed in you if I don’t find at least one trash panda in there,” he chuckled.
He was coming to pacify me, mildly amused by the ruckus I had caused. If I wasn’t so infuriated, I probably would have felt embarrassed right about now. It wasn’t like me to behave like this, I was usually so calm and level-headed, but it had all gotten too much to bear.
“No trashy babies, sorry. It’s just your wife going crazy. Nothing is working out for me today,” I replied, letting my emotions seep through my voice.
I used one of my blouse sleeves to wipe away at my tears.
I was home now, safe, and I could stop pretending I had it all together.
“God, Emma, what happened?” James asked, his voice full of concern.
“Everything,” I cried.
Upon seeing me and the disaster I had made of our kitchen, his amusement had turned into worry and he rushed to wrap his arms around me. He gave me a tight, reassuring squeeze and I traded my frustration for an intense need for comforting from the man I loved the most. I sagged in my husband’s firm embrace, and James let me break down completely and just sob like that until enough of the day’s heartache had been poured out.
“I hate the police,” I eventually hiccuped, breaking the physical contact.
“No, you don’t,” James chuckled.
He reached out his hands, cupping my cheeks, wiping away the wetness.
“Maybe,” I pouted, “but right now I don’t like them one bit. They’re all useless and uncaring.”
“Can you tell me what happened, my love?”
I took a deep breath.
This was hard for me to talk about, especially with him.
Especially with him caressing me like that, like I was so precious.
I removed his hands from my body and I stepped away from him.
James didn’t seem to mind, because I just needed a little bit of distance, that was all. Because as much as I craved his comforting touches, I couldn’t help but feel a little dirtied every time I mentioned this.
“I went to report that pervert,” I said, hating how low my voice was.
The shame of having been taken advantage of was why I had kept this a secret for as long as I had. That was until a similar meltdown got me under his radar and I had to spill the beans. James had since kept insisting that there was nothing to be ashamed of, but I couldn’t help it, it felt wrong for another man to touch me, especially when I belonged to my husband.
“Who, the subway guy?”
James’ posture changed immediately.
It was clear that I had his entire attention now, the expression on his face seeming as if he was hanging onto every word coming out of my mouth now.
I couldn’t bear his intensely focused gaze and I closed my eyes before confessing my faults.
“He groped me again today. He had been even more aggressive than usual, feeling me down there.”
“Yeah, probably because he hadn’t touched you for a while,” he remarked. “He’s always the worst on Mondays from what you told me and now we’d been holed up in here for almost an entire week. He needed his fix, so to speak. I’m sorry, Emma.”
It had been what I had assumed too, but hearing James voice it aloud, I didn’t like how that made me feel.
It was clear that whoever this guy was, he was fixated on me.
Out of all the women in the subway, it seemed like I was the only one drawing such unwanted attention.
And I could swear it was unwanted.
I was happily married, after all, why would I need another man to pay me that kind of attention?
So naturally, I had tried everything I could to stop this from happening again.
I stopped wearing dresses and skirts, or tight-fitting clothes in general, thinking it was my full, womanly figure that had caused this misfortune. Gone were the cute blouses with deep cleavage that showed off my lovely plump breasts, and gone were the feminine skirts that hugged my ass, the ones that made James pounce on me before I had to leave for work, making me run late so many times.
I also tried changing routes, and my routine in general. I tried going by bus, leaving earlier, meeting up with a friend.
The guy would eventually find me again, and punish me by being extra lewd.
If it wasn’t for our poor financial situation, I’d have quit my job, but as it stood, since I didn’t have any other prospects, all I could do was endure.
Luckily for me, James was so understanding and always supportive, letting me vent every time. So many afternoons and nights he had stood in this kitchen, asking me to unburden myself, listening attentively, not judging.
Just like now.
God, he was the perfect husband.
“And what did the police say?”
“That they couldn’t do anything, basically. I had to catch him in the act and have proof of everything and-”
“-and you still haven’t seen his face.”
“I didn’t. I mean,” I trailed off, shame overwhelming me.
“I know it’s hard, Emma. It’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay at all!
What sort of woman didn’t even try to look at whoever’s hand went up her skirt?
A coward, that was who.
Every time it happened, I just stood there and let it run its course. I let some other man feel me up, ass, tits and pussy and I did not do a thing.
I felt like crying again.
“Emma, you can talk to me.”
I spat out the next words, hoping to scare James off with what I let another man get away with, to show my husband that I wasn’t worthy of his love.
“He grabbed my pussy today, okay? A full on grab and he gave me a hard squeeze. I can still feel his hand on me down there, it’s like burned into my skin. And then he fingered me through the fabric of my pants and he rubbed my clit and he did not stop. He never stopped, he kept pressing against my clit, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hurt me or…”
“Pleasure you,” James finished for me.
I was positively burning with shame now. I could feel it in the coolness of my tears, wetting the reddened skin of my hot cheeks, in how the tips of my ears hurt, set aflame by my sins.
“Did he make you cum?”
“Did he make you cum, Emma?” He asked again, louder. “When he rubbed your clit through your pants, did he got you excited enough to finish?”
His question shocked me.
His serious expression scared me.
His possible reaction to the truth terrified me, but I had never lied to James before and I wasn’t going to start doing that now. He deserved to know the truth, even if I wasn’t ready to admit it.
I swallowed hard before replying.
“Yes, he did.”
“So you had an orgasm while being fingered by a total stranger in a crowded subway car,” he said, his voice restrained, his eyes glaring at me. “And you liked it. You came at the hand of another man.”
I let myself drop to my knees on the floor.
I was such a disgusting slut.
I didn’t try to stop James when he left, groaning, muttering things I couldn’t really piece together. It hurt to hear him like that. I felt cast aside, discarded like a ruined toy. I couldn’t believe we had reached such a point in our otherwise happy marriage, but then again… Of course he was going to leave me, after what I had just told him. Whose husband was happy with a slutty wife?