glaring, her gown in tatters.
His fingers dug into her hips as his mouth clamped down on hers. Choking
on the smell of whiskey, she tried to say his name. When she began to
fight in earnest, he locked her hands in one of his, and took her
virginity in one hard swift thrust.
She cried out both in shock and pain. Then he was plunging and pumping
into her, panting, groaning. She was weeping when he collapsed, when he
rolled aside and fell instantly to sleep.
HE WAS FULL OF CONTRMON and shame and tenderness in the morning. With
shadowed eyes and trembling voice he cursed himself and begged her
forgiveness. He'd been drunk, a phor excuse, but his only reason for
behaving like a monster. When he held her, gently stroking her hair and
murmuring promises, she believed him. It was as though another man had
come to her on her wedding night to show her how cruel and heartless sex
could be. Her husband showed her only sweetness. When her first day as
a new bride ended, she lay in his arms, content, dreaming only rosy
dreams of the future.
MICHAEL STAGGERED iNTo the kitchen. He'd meant to get to the dishes. In
fact, his intentions had been so firm, he was shocked to find the sink
full and the counter cluttered. He gave them a bleary, accusing stare.
He'd been working double shifts all week and wondered why things like
dishes couldn't just take care of themselves.
In the spirit of self-sacrifice, he decided to deal with them before he
settled in with breakfast and the morning paper. He began to stack
plates, bowls, cups, forks. Dragging over a five-gallon Rubbermaid
kitchen can, he shoved the whole business inside. They were all paper
and plastic, a system that appalled his mother, but which suited Michael
just fine. Although his modest kitchen boasted a Whirlpool dishwasher,
he'd never owned a plate that required its services.
Satisfied, he poked through the cupboards, knocking over a bottle of El
Paso salsa and a jar of Skippy peanut butter. Shoving them aside, he
grabbed the box of shredded wheat. He shook some into a Chinet bowl,
then lifted the coffeepot and poured the steaming brew over the cereal.
He'd discovered this delicacy purely by accident on another groggy
morning. He'd nearly eaten his way through his breakfast when he'd
realized the coffee was on the cereal and the milk in the Styrofoam cup.
Since then, Michael had dispensed with the milk altogether. Before he
could sit and enjoy, he was interrupted by a banging on the back screen
door.
At first glance it appeared to be a five-foot gray mat. But mats didn't
have wagging tails or lolling pink tongues. Michael pushed open the
screen and was greeted exuberantly by the scruffy, oversized dog.
"Don't try to make up." Michael shoved the huge paws off his bare
chest. The paws hit the floor, but most of the mud on them remained on
Michael.
Conroy, pedigree unknown, sat on the linoleum and grinned. He smelled
almost as bad as a dog could possibly smell, but was apparently
unoffended by his own aroma. His hair was matted and full of burrs.
Michael found it hard to believe that he'd picked Conroy out of a litter
of cute, gamboling pups less than two years before. As an adult, Conroy