"Reskind, Jon - The Abducted Bride" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reskind Jon)

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



Chapter 2


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.

It was shining beautifully. She could see its warming rays streaming over her head and touching the compartment wall, flooding the tiny cubicle with a lovely radiance that made her forget her problems momentarily. She was famished and brushed her teeth and dressed rapidly. She wanted to make the first breakfast call so she would have time to do some thinking before arriving in Marseille. The train wasn't due for another two hours or so and it wouldn't hurt to try and organize herself mentally. She still had to worry about a hotel when she arrived there. She had not wanted to let anyone at the hotel in Paris make reservations for her as Kevin may have bought the information from them and she would not have the time she needed to come to grips with herself.

Jean settled herself back in the chair in the clean white dining car. She had ordered fried eggs and bacon, which had surprised her when she had seen them on the French menu.

"Ah, une dejeuner, Americain," the waiter had said smilingly.

"Oui, dejeuner, Americain," Jean had repeated, smiling back. She was glad she had at least remembered some of the words from her College French course. She supposed that any French waiter would know the word for breakfast, but it was nice to be able to say some things in the language of the country in which you were traveling.

"It was a beautiful day," she thought, as she watched the green rolling French countryside roll by. Quaint small sharp roofed farm houses could be seen in the distance adding to the beauty of the setting.

If only things had not happened the way they had in Paris, she might have been enjoying this with Kevin.

She was almost beginning to regret her hasty decision to leave before he returned when her thoughts were interrupted by a feminine French voice speaking excellent English.