CHAPTER FIVE: I Died?

He held my waist tight, then pulled me up and closer to position me better. He then went back for the glass of water he had brought in earlier.

He poured that on my core, and he just hissed in burning joy, stroking me with his hand. I felt the water mixed with cold air hit me at that spot.

This time, everything around me paused as I lay still, too. I knew that was the end, so I couldn't fight back or save myself from this coming pain.

I cried with every strength of mine because my body was already imagining its expectation.

“You have to calm down, wifey, else, you'd feel more pain than pleasure.” He warned me, only my ear listened, but my body didn't.

Then, he caressed my breasts and kissed me so wet on the lips. In this process, I felt something move around my genitals and it was pushing itself to penetrate me.

His lips found mine, a wet hit that sent shivers down my spine, a foreign pressure bloomed between my legs, insistent, desperate to breach my core.

This pain was excruciating like a sharp object was used to puncture an already wounded surface. I let out a louder cry, but he wouldn't stop as his warm manhood kept pushing deeper.

Then, after so much fighting, I finally felt the sharpest pain from within. “Ahhh!” I cried, my head banging itself away now, and my heart stopped working. I choked, and I stopped breathing.

Collins didn't stop what he was doing, he kept sliding in and sliding out of the tight and sore hole he just caused in me but I was glad that my body stopped responding, so the pain would be less felt this way.

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Collins's POV

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I was performing my duties as a husband, tending to my newly wedded wife. The moment was an intoxicating mix of pleasure and anticipation, a culmination of all the nights I'd dreamt of being with her.

My senses were heightened, every touch, breath, and whispered word magnified a thousand times over. But then, as our bodies moved in a rhythmic, ancient dance, something shifted. The subtle, shallow breaths of pain she had been taking stopped. It just stopped. It was as if a sudden, suffocating silence had descended upon the room.

The world seemed to lurch to a halt. In that terrifying stillness, my heart hammered against my ribs like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. Was this fragile thing I loved so much now deadly? My mind screamed, but I couldn't stop.

A voice inside me, raw and desperate, shrieked, Keep going! You have nothing left to lose. She's my wife, my everything, I bought her, the contract. Don't stop, not now.

My eyes, wide with a predator's focus, watched as this… terrible red fluid, as vivid and startling, began to seep from her core. It gushed out, staining the crimson stained sheets, a grotesque parody of the passion we were supposed to be sharing.

“So annoying!” I had said.

I kept going, lost in a haze of animal instinct and blind terror, for what felt like an eternity. But after what must have been twenty-five agonizing minutes, a different awareness pierced through the fog. The fluid was no longer a trickle—it was a river, and her body was becoming stiller, her limbs limp and unresponsive.

I had to stop. I broke away from her, my hands fumbled with the cuffs that bound her. Her body felt strangely flaccid, boneless and heavy in my arms. My heart became a chaotic, terrifying symphony. I felt myself begin to shake, a tremor that started in my hands and quickly consumed my whole body.

“Calm down, Collins,” I took a deep breath as I told myself, my voice a whisper in the suffocating silence. “Just calm down. For goodness sake, she needs you”.

Gathering what little strength I had left, I lifted her and carried her to the bathtub. The porcelain felt cool against my trembling fingers. I gently laid her down and turned on the cold water tap. A single thought, a fragile lifeline, held me together: Maybe this will wake her. Maybe this will be the shock her system needs.

The water splashed over her, turning red as they toughed the bottom of the sink, a harsh, brutal baptism. I knelt beside the tub and began to softly stroke her chest, a desperate, loving gesture. I moved my hand in slow, rhythmic circles, praying, bargaining, and begging.

And then, a sound.

A shuddering gasp, the most beautiful sound I had ever heard tonight. The air rushed into her lungs, a painful, desperate inhale that filled the quiet room. Her body shuddered, and then another gasp followed, and another.

My wife was breathing again. Tears, hot and thick, streamed down her face. I pulled her into my arms, hugging her tightly as her body, finally alive again, began to convulse with the sobs. I pet her back, whispering her name, over and over, as her tears were washed away by the water. I held her, rocking her gently, as the world, which had been so close to breaking, finally began to stitch itself back together again.

"W... Why? Why?" She kept asking why I had to do what I did to her in the bedroom, but I'm only concerned about the fact that she is getting to understand me, even on our first day together as a married couple. The air in the room, thick with the scent of perfume and burning candles, now felt heavy with her silent suffering.

"Shhhhhh," I whispered, my voice a soft rumble in the quiet room. I placed a finger on her wet, trembling lips, which felt so cold. I stared into her clouded green eyes, the vibrant colour muted by sorrow, then placed a soft kiss on her forehead. Her skin was cool and clammy against my lips.

It was hard for me, but I helped her wash up. The cold water from the tap stung my fingertips, a stark contrast to the humid air. Then, I called Bryan, my most trusted aide, to clean the room up. The sound of water that kept gathering in the tub was a small, sharp noise that broke the heavy silence.

I went back to her as she was still laying in the bathtub, shedding profuse tears. The sound of her sobs filled the room, a rhythmic, painful sound. I wanted to talk to her, but my lungs seemed tightened, and my eyes were blurring. The edges of the room started to swim as a wave of unexpected emotion hit me.

"I have to do it..." I said, my voice barely a whisper, "anyhow." The words suddenly tasted like ash in my mouth.

I silently closed the tap, then walked towards the door and stopped. "The matrimonial room is not here," I told my wife, my voice steady. The coppery scent of blood, a ghost of the night, hung in the air. I hated inflicting pain on her but loved the feeling of power. Her grief was a twisted form of art. I asked myself, what choice do I have?