His God's Given Rights

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Mary felt her eyelids in both eyes pressed together against each other, baring the exit for the moisture that sprang up within her eyes. They held themselves, as if putting up a last stance against the torrent of pain that tore through her - a torrent of pain that begged to be released in form of tears. Her teeth bit against her lower lip in defiance, refusing the plea from the tears that now flooded her eyes, like the biblical flood in the Christian Bible. There was something about holding back the pain that gave her so much confidence. She felt it was her last vestige of pride and she was going to hold on to it. Her lower lip threatened to bleed as her teeth forced themselves harder against each other as if they sought to bit through the lip and find each other edge and be joined at once. The pain was almost going to be over; constant repetition had forced her to memorize the motions, the thrusts, the time signatures. She opened her eyes as he withdrew his tool. He was dressing up for church and so she would. She had picked the white dress that would match with the white fur coat he had given to her. A dab of make-up on the face would conceal the failed escape of her tears. A smear of red lipstick would protect her now red lips. They would appear in church; he the loving husband and preacher who asserted his God's given rights to her body and she, the submissive wife who had given up on fighting.