Jon Reskind - The abducted bride

He had become more gentle with the sobbing body beneath and had babbled soft apologies in her unhearing ears as he had rocked over her. He had tried to bring a response that would wipe away the terrible guilt he felt for letting his unbridled lust overcome the patience he knew he should have had with her.

It had been useless. She had lain motionless beneath him, her eyes open wide, staring coldly at the ceiling above as he had tried time after time to awaken some response that would show she felt something other than pain and disgust.

The contemptuous eyes had not wavered from the ceiling.

Kevin remembered rolling from her still body, and unable to speak what he felt, had merely lit a cigarette and gazed silently down at her. He had finally mustered the courage to say something.

"Jean, can you forgive me?"

"Please cover me, Kevin," she had spoken coldly after a long seconds delay, her eyes still refusing to look at him. He pulled the sheet up over her body and tucked it gently under her chin.

He waited, but there was silence.

"Darling, I know it must have been awful for you. I-I just couldn't control myself."

Silence.

"You were beautiful standing there."

Silence.

"Perhaps if we hadn't waited so long. Remember? I told you we should have tried before."

Silence.

"Damn it, Jean," he had finally blurted out in his frustration. "You've got to understand a man's feelings about these things. I'm not some robot that can stand being next to a woman like you and not feel something. It's been building up all this time and it's your fault for being so almighty righteous and virtuous."

Kevin had known he had treaded too far when this had slipped out, but it was too late.

Because he had wanted to fight back, to recoup his lost vanity, he had become cruel. He had blamed his own failing on Jean and accused her of being cold and unfeeling.

"Christ, I might as well have married a statue. It could satisfy me as much as you have." He had shouted in guilt and anger. "I don't think you'll ever be able to make a man happy. Not until you learn to get off that pedestal you've put yourself on. Or, at least, that your old man's put you on."

Kevin had seen her move and glance toward him with the deepest hatred he had yet seen in her eyes. He knew he had hit a sore point and was glad to see some reaction from her, even though it was of hate, it was better than nothing. Besides, he felt like hurting her now the way she had hurt him.

"I'm going out and get myself some little slut off the street. I need a good grind. It'll be a long time before I get one at home."

With this, he had gone to the bathroom and dressed. He left, slamming the door behind him, not pausing for even a side glance at Jean.

That had been his big mistake, he thought bitterly as he flipped the cigarette butt out the open window of the racing train. Jean had been in no condition to be left alone at that moment. He should have swallowed his pride and not let his male ego take over. They wouldn't have this mess now if he had done what he should have and not run off into the Paris streets to walk off his own guilt feelings.

He had not gone out after a woman that night.

He had spent several hours just walking and stopping periodically for a cognac. He had thought long and hard about their relationship. It had been a good one and still could be in spite of his miserable failure on their wedding night. The cool Paris night air had settled his mind a bit and he had worked out an apology and explanation of sorts. It might take a while, but he was sure she would get over it.

When he had returned to the hotel the Concierge at the desk had handed him an envelope. It had been a simple note from Jean saying she was leaving. She needed a few days to think things over and for him not to try and contact her. She would let him know when and where to meet her so they could discuss things rationally.

That is why he was on this damn train. The cable had come this afternoon for him to meet her in Marseille. She made up her mind and wanted to talk to him. He didn't have the slightest idea what the decision had been and was a bit apprehensive, though he was certain they could work something out.

One thing he knew, he could not let her go. He loved her more than anything in the world and could not leave her under any circumstances.

He fell into a deep but troubled sleep, anxious for the morning to arrive.

Jean Taylor had been on this same train two nights previously. She had lain in the same bunk that Kevin Taylor did a few nights later, but he had no way of knowing it. Her thoughts also ran over the events that had occurred in the hotel, her eyes seeing them in a different light.

How could he have been so cruel, she thought, what had turned Kevin so suddenly into the raging animal he had been?

She ran her hands over the raw tips of her swollen nipples that were so sore she could not bear to wear anything over them, even to sleep. Her shoulders trembled when she thought back to the horrible rape of her body and the way he had used it as a tool solely for his own gratification without even the slightest thought of her desires or pleasures. He had used her like an animal – his own wife the thought sickened her and tears brimmed her eyes.

She had actually looked forward to the first evening with him and had been preparing herself mentally for weeks before to make certain she entered the marital relationship with the correct attitude. She knew he had resented her not giving herself to him before marriage, and she also knew that most of her friends had not saved themselves for that first night either. But, she had vowed that theirs was going to be a classically perfect marriage, in the old fashioned sense. She had wanted, so much, for them to have a mutual respect and understanding for each other from the beginning and for him to never be able to doubt that he, and he alone, was the only man to possess her.

Perhaps she had made the mistake of quoting her father too often in this matter when Kevin had been overly persistent about having her before marriage. This was why she had cringed when he had thrown it at her back in the hotel room. It was true, perhaps, that he did place her on a pedestal, and also that he was perhaps over-solicitous toward her, but he had a right to be. He was of good conservative New England stock, and as a God-fearing man, had expected his family to be also.

She had been tempted many times, she had to admit, but had always summoned up her courage and resisted, even {bough the easy thing to do would have been to give in to Kevin's demands. She had come so close sometimes that if he had just had the persistence to continue, he could have broken her down. In fact, she was certain that she was as anxious for the consummation as he was and it would have been so beautiful if he could have just shown a little understanding and could have prepared her gently for the final assault on her virginity.

She had read so much about how important the first night was in marriage and how beautiful it could be if both partners were understanding of each other.

Well, she had been, she thought to herself, and all she received for it was a broken and bruised body bestially raped like she was a whore off the streets.

Jean clenched her eyes tightly shut at the memory of his last statement. She could still hear it ringing in her ears as the sound of the train lulled her tortured mind to sleep: "I don't think you could ever make a man happy. I'll get a good grind"

She was awakened the next morning by the knocking of the porter on the compartment door.

"Breakfast call, breakfast call," he repeated in his broken English several times.

Jean opened her eyes hesitantly. It just had to be a good day. She needed some sun; the weather always seemed to dictate her mood of the day and she had enough problems to think about without having that dismal French overcast.