A CALIFORNIA ROSE
Chapter Twelve
Sunday, April 20, 2003
Rated R for Content
Rose, Ruth, and Cal sat around the breakfast
table. Neither Rose nor Cal spoke, but only glared at each other in stony
silence. Ruth, ignoring the tension between the two, was talking about her
latest project. Her job as an interior designer kept her busy seven days a
week.
When Cal had arrived that morning, he had
barely been civil to Rose. Rose had ignored him, sitting across from him at the
table in silence. Ruth talked on, trying to lighten the mood.
Now, Ruth glanced at the clock. "I have
to be going," she told them. "I have a meeting with a client before
church." She looked at Cal. "You’ll give Rose a ride, won’t you?
There’s going to be a baptism this morning, so there won’t be much extra
parking."
Cal nodded. "Of course."
Rose rolled her eyes. Cal had taken to
accompanying her to church as well. There weren’t many places she could go
without his supervision, and Rose wished that he would stay out of at least
some of her activities.
When the front door closed behind Ruth, Cal
finally spoke to Rose. "I had hoped that you would come to me last
night."
Rose looked at her plate. "I was
tired."
"Your exertions yesterday evening were
no doubt exhausting."
Rose stiffened. "You were spying on me.
How typical."
Cal gritted his teeth. "You will never
behave like that again, Rose. Do you understand me?"
Rose glared at him. "I’m not a middle
manager that you can command. I’m your fiancee."
Cal stared at her a moment, then exploded in
anger. "My fiancee. My fiancee! Yes, you are!" He came around the
table to confront her. "My wife in practice if not yet by law, so you will
honor me. You will honor me as a wife is supposed to honor her husband, because
I will not be made a fool of, Rose. Is this in any way unclear?"
He expected her to back down, to cower from
him. Rose, however, had had enough of his explosive temper, and she refused to
back down.
"I do honor you, Cal. You know that. But
you can’t tell me when I will hang out with my friends, or what friends I will
see, or anything else."
"Friends? And I suppose that Jack Dawson
is one of your ‘friends’?"
Rose looked him in the eye. "Yes."
"And you don’t have any other feelings
for him?"
Rose flushed guiltily. It was true; she
wished that she could be more than "just friends" with Jack, although
she had never acted upon those feelings.
Cal watched her face redden with guilt.
Incensed, he slapped her across the face. "So, it is the little slut,
isn’t it?"
"Cal--"
He wouldn’t let her get a word in edgewise.
"I think I know why you’re always too tired to come to me, or you have to
study, or you’re too busy. You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?"
Rose got to her feet, furious. "You know
damned well that’s not--"
Cal’s fist connected with her cheekbone.
Shocked, Rose fell back against the counter, her hand flying to her face. When
he began unbuckling his belt, she realized his intent and began to run.
Cal was too fast for her. He grabbed her,
spinning her around and plowing one fist into her stomach. Rose doubled over in
pain, the wind knocked out of her.
Before she could recover, Cal hit her several
more times, then threw her to the floor. Her head hit the edge of the table as
she fell, and she lay there, stunned.
Rose gasped in pain as Cal’s foot drove into
her ribs, cracking two of them. Then he was on her, tearing at her clothes.
"No!" Rose struggled, trying to
scratch his face, but he was too strong, and he soon overpowered her.
When he was finished, Cal got to his feet,
straightening his clothes, as calm as if nothing had happened. Rose lay on the
floor, crying.
To her surprise, Cal helped her to her feet
and handed her a tissue. "Go change your clothes," he told her.
Rose looked at herself. One of the straps was
torn off her sundress, and her right arm was badly bruised. A cut on her cheek
dripped blood, and her cracked ribs made it difficult to breathe. Her head
ached where she had struck it on the table.
Striving to control her tears, Rose slowly
made her way up the stairs. She changed into a long-sleeved pantsuit, to hide
the bruises on her arms and legs, and lightly applied makeup, trying to hide
the cut on her face.
Staring at herself in the mirror, she felt
tears threaten again. Her whole body ached, and her head whirled dizzily when
she moved, but worst of all was the shame and humiliation of what Cal had done
to her.
She stumbled down the stairs, clutching the
handrail as her head spun. Cal was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.
"Hurry up, we’re going to be late," was all he said to her.
As they got into the car, he turned to her.
Rose shrunk back, afraid of him now.
"Don’t look at me like that. You know
you deserved it. I don’t like having to discipline you, Rose, but you need to
learn to behave appropriately. I don’t want to see you going around with other
men. You’re my fiancee, and you’ll be my wife in a couple of months. You can’t
run around acting like a whore."
Rose heard him as if from a distance. Her
head ached more fiercely with every passing moment. "I need an
aspirin," was all she said.
Cal looked at her impatiently, gesturing to
the glove compartment. He hoped that she had understood what he had said. He
really did hate having to keep her in line.
Rose struggled with the childproof cap on the
bottle of aspirin. Exasperated, Cal took the bottle from her as he parked the
car and handed her two tablets.
Rose swallowed them dry, her head too painful
for her to care about finding water first. Cal looked at her in irritation and
tossed the bottle back into the glove compartment. He got out of the car,
gesturing for Rose to follow him. The last stragglers were entering the
building, and Rose stumbled after them, trying desperately to keep her balance.