Mestral’s Legacy: Prologue

He was at it again.

She could feel him, hot and hard against her back, the bed creaking as he moved against her. Demanding.

The clock on the night stand glowed in the darkness: three-twenty-six. What the Hell is wrong with him? She shifted to put some space between them, but he was tied to her by an invisible force and his body moved with hers. His hand snaked over her belly, pulling her closer. The baby squirmed under the pressure, taking her breath away as it kicked in protest. The urge to urinate became overwhelming as her bladder’s already confined quarters were diminished. This is ridiculous.

“Hon?” No response. “We can’t, OK?” Hot and sweaty, his skin stuck to her everywhere. Almost everywhere, she amended, feeling him moving against her lower back. His hand slid between her legs. Probing.

It was so unlike him.

When they first found out about the baby, he had been so concerned about hurting it that she had to seduce him to get him into bed with her. Finally she convinced him by relaying that even her mother, who was a midwife for Heaven’s sake, had said that it was all right. Even then, he had been so gentle with her, as if he was afraid that he would somehow damage the baby by coming inside of her.

As the baby grew, he had been fascinated by the transformation her body went through. For a while she had enjoyed his fascination and they had explored the metamorphosis together. Now the baby was getting so big, it felt like her body was running out of room. She certainly felt and looked enormous to her eyes. Any kind of activity was uncomfortable at this point. Sex was out of the question.

He would not leave her alone.

At first, he would just wake her up with his tossing and turning, interrupting what little sleep the baby allowed her. She had attributed it to nerves at impending fatherhood, after all it was their first. She certainly had moments of doubt at the prospect of caring for this new life once it was separate from her. He was always the one to comfort her, soothe her apprehension with his calm tone and good humour.

All that had changed now.

He was irritable. Unpredictable mood swings led to arguments over the most trivial of things. More often than not she ended up in tears, something she blamed on her fluctuating hormones because she was not the crying type. Apologies followed and she would forgive him when he was being his sweet old self again.

Forgiven. The first couple of times. It happened again and again, and now a new twist since last week.

He could not keep his hands off of her.

Now when he sweet talked her after his foul moods he tried to bed her. Persistently. She could not turn around without finding him staring at her lasciviously. It had never made her nervous before, the way he looked at her. Now she was tense when he was in the house. Wary of his motives whenever he came near her, touched her. The last few days he hadn’t been out of the house, and the reason was obvious.

His arousal was unmistakable.

Constant.

Indecent.

The man that shared the house with her was no longer the husband she knew, no longer the man she had fallen in love with and married. He refused to see a doctor, insisting that there was nothing wrong with him. That conversation had ended in a screaming match. They never used to yell at each other. Ever.

The only conversations they had now were ones in which he asked for sex, demanded sex, and begged for sex. He needed her. He would die without her. He was in pain. She was the solution. His salvation. The desperation in his eyes unnerved her.

He believed it.

Believed that he would die if he could not be with her. It did not matter that it was not true. Men were always saying that. Saying that they would die without sex. Boys said that, not men. Not her husband. No one had ever died from not having sex.

He believed that he would.

And now he was trying to do her in her sleep. This was a new development, and not one that was particularly appreciated. She removed his hand, from what up until a couple months ago had still been recognizable as her waist, and managed to get out of bed. He mumbled something in protest and cried out in his sleep. She turned on the bathroom light, looking over at their bed bathed in the faint light. What she saw sent a chill through her.

He was slick with perspiration. As she watched, his brow knit in pain and his body arched off the bed as he cried out. This isn’t normal. She had to empty her bladder first, then she was calling the doctor.

Something was very, very wrong with him. Something bad.

She stepped into the bathroom and, as an afterthought, closed the door and turned the lock. It was a modesty that they had long since abandoned in their marriage, but tonight she needed that extra bit of reassurance that her privacy would be respected.

She was just finishing up in the bathroom when she saw the door handle move.

“Hon? Go back to bed.” No answer, but he was there. She could hear his ragged breathing on the other side of the door. “I’m going to get you some help.” There was mumbling on the other side of the door, but she could not understand what he was saying.

“I need you.” He was right up against the door now, rattling the knob. She felt a thrill of fear as she watched it jiggle. It was just a bathroom door. The lock was meant for privacy, nothing else. She had never once had cause to fear her husband.

Until now.

Her stomach churned and she instinctively raised a hand to her belly, reassuring the baby and herself. One of them was unconvinced. There was a thump against the door. And then another. The door banged gently against the frame.

“What are you doing?” There was a quiver in her voice now. He was not trying to break down the door. He could have done that in an instant if he so chose. No, this was something else.

Something rhythmic.

It was almost as if . . . but no, he could not be. Could he? She quietly turned the lock, and opened the door. He was up against the door, rubbing himself against it. Like their cat that used to hump the coffee table leg when it went into heat.

In that instant he became aware of her.

He pushed against the door, reaching out for her. His weight against the door pushed it inwards. Her shifted centre of gravity meant she did not have a chance to catch her balance. She felt her legs slip out from under her and as she fell backwards her head connected with something solid, snapping her head forward. Just before everything went black, she saw his face as he descended on her.