Prayers turned curses (Bates/Vera, rated M)frakcancerOctober 18 2011, 10:44:15 UTC
They should never have married. He hadn't wanted a wife and children, she hadn't wanted a cripple. But for him the temptation of a woman was too strong and the pregnancy scare unresolved before she dragged him before a vicar. For her, it was the temptation of a steady earner who would not be too particular what time she came home.
Now he had the wife, but still did not want children, particularly not with her. When she grew too insistent he would make her finish him with her hands or her mouth, anything to keep from risking another pregnancy. Anything but celibacy, that is -- the only thing good that had come of their marriage was the sex.
His body bore the scars she'd inflicted, and he gave back as good as he got -- bruises and cuts and sprained wrists. Most days he forgot he'd once been better than this, blamed it on his injuries and the marriage he wanted no more now than the day he'd felt forced into it. But there were days he knew he could be someone else, someone noble and true, if only he chose. Those were the days he went down to the pub in the early afternoon and stayed until the barkeep physically threw him out in the wee small hours of the morning.
He would go home then, knowing that Vera would make it a point to seduce him so she could mock the effect alcohol had on his body. He would repay her by mocking her ambitions and reminding her that she'd chosen to make him marry her, that she was now well and truly stuck with a man who had no plans to advance in life and who would never consent to give her children. She would slap him, but he would have already passed out in their bed, oblivious.
There were days she would come home smiling, with trinkets or cash and smelling of other men. He would make her go wash, his hands bruising her shoulders as he forced her into the hipbath. When she emerged he would use her, do anything he could think of to wipe the smile off her face, to silence her stream of words about what men who were not cripples could do for her that he did not.
Whenever he visited his mother he would resolve to find a way out of this life. Whenever he visited a pub he would revel in all the sordid memories.
When she brought home the silver from his regiment he did not see her act as a betrayal, he saw it as a way out.
*shudders* i hate vera this is canon. so totally perfect: When she brought home the silver from his regiment he did not see her act as a betrayal, he saw it as a way out.
Now he had the wife, but still did not want children, particularly not with her. When she grew too insistent he would make her finish him with her hands or her mouth, anything to keep from risking another pregnancy. Anything but celibacy, that is -- the only thing good that had come of their marriage was the sex.
His body bore the scars she'd inflicted, and he gave back as good as he got -- bruises and cuts and sprained wrists. Most days he forgot he'd once been better than this, blamed it on his injuries and the marriage he wanted no more now than the day he'd felt forced into it. But there were days he knew he could be someone else, someone noble and true, if only he chose. Those were the days he went down to the pub in the early afternoon and stayed until the barkeep physically threw him out in the wee small hours of the morning.
He would go home then, knowing that Vera would make it a point to seduce him so she could mock the effect alcohol had on his body. He would repay her by mocking her ambitions and reminding her that she'd chosen to make him marry her, that she was now well and truly stuck with a man who had no plans to advance in life and who would never consent to give her children. She would slap him, but he would have already passed out in their bed, oblivious.
There were days she would come home smiling, with trinkets or cash and smelling of other men. He would make her go wash, his hands bruising her shoulders as he forced her into the hipbath. When she emerged he would use her, do anything he could think of to wipe the smile off her face, to silence her stream of words about what men who were not cripples could do for her that he did not.
Whenever he visited his mother he would resolve to find a way out of this life. Whenever he visited a pub he would revel in all the sordid memories.
When she brought home the silver from his regiment he did not see her act as a betrayal, he saw it as a way out.
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this is canon. so totally perfect: When she brought home the silver from his regiment he did not see her act as a betrayal, he saw it as a way out.
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This fic was kind of brewing from when he grabbed Vera's wrist. It seemed like a play they'd acted several times before.
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