"I took another light pull on my drink and set the bottle down beside me on the wooden bench."Well, Ammon had of course been class valedictorian and had a hatful of scholarships. The crowning touch was a full ride at our state university, just next county over. Elizabeth Metzler had been accepted at Daddy's alma mater, a fine old southern university two states away. Her grades weren't stellar, but Daddy Warbucks did give good endowment." I chuckled again."There was a mid-summer party at the Metzler estate, and the guess list most emphatically did not include yours truly or Ammon Abrams. The list was comprised of Daddy's friends, business associates, and other movers and shakers. Also in attendance were some of the heirs of all that largesse on the hoof, especially eligible male heirs." Ammon somehow managed to wrangle himself a gig as a server at this shindig. His role was to float about with silver trays of cocktails and champagne, or finger food. His real objective was to feast his. ‘You motherfucker. What the fuck?’ I can’t believe my own energy, my own strength, struggling at the restraints. The ferocity in my voice scares me. I’ll punch him so hard in the face. ‘Here, I’ve got a glass of water for you,’ the everydayness, the calm, it pisses me off more than anything else. ‘You’ll have to lift your head to drink it. Just a little. C’mon, honey, you can do it,’ his hand at the back of my head as if to help me. I’ll pull these straps or whatever out of the damned wall. I’ll rip them apart. He’s got the rim of the glass to my lips, my mouth is clenched shut. He’s tilting it, pouring. Water runs down my chin, neck, down over my shoulders and tits. I can’t fit what’s happening into any picture I’ve seen before. I’m so thirsty but won’t drink. I hate my husband, this lovely man who’s cared for me beyond what anyone could ever even ask for, let alone expect, for far too long. My nipples are hardening as the water passes over them, they’re begging to be pinched.
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