03 Nov

First, let me just say that I don’t like the changes to WordPress. Not at all. It’s irritating and I don’t have time for this crap.

Here’s the prologue to my little NaNo project:

March 2012


Her eyes flew open at the feel of fingers pinching her nipple. The clock read 1:27. AM of course, and she had to be at work in just a few hours.


“Are you awake?” he whispered.


“For you, of course,” the words bitten off short, but he didn’t seem to notice.


She kept her eyes on the clock as they played out this typical Thursday night scene. Or would it be called Friday morning? She wondered silently.


At 1:28 he moved his hand to her right hip, her cue to turn onto her back. Foreplay was over. He climbed on top with practiced ease and she turned her head away, lost in her own thoughts, watching the numbers on the clock.


How the hell did I end up here? Who was he writing to tonight? Do I dare ask? Do I even care?


1:29 and he was hard at work. She felt nothing. Certainly no love. No arousal. She wondered at her complete lack of feeling. Does this make me a whore? Don’t whores get paid? At least some jewelry to sell some day? A modicum of respect? A single kiss?


1:30 and her mind wandered farther afield. How busy will I be at work tomorrow? She had finally, after three years of sending out resumes and going on a very few interviews, found a job. A minimum wage job at a candle factory. As happened most nights she thought, it was a huge mistake to move to this Tourist Town. HUGE mistake. I screwed myself for “love.” What an idiot.


1:31 Life at the candle factory wasn’t all bad. Sure the boss lady was a hard-driving bitch who bragged that she never paid more than minimum wage and that “her girls” would do anything for her, but she’d worked for worse. The whole place smelled great and if the scents that invariably got on her skin would only wash off with soap and water it might be a good place to work, but the sad fact was that after a day of pouring candles and filling up the scent bottles, she felt woozy and the scents all combined to turn her stomach, making it hard to muster an appetite for dinner, which she had to cook as soon as she reached “home” no matter if she was hungry or not. The customers were generally few at the awkward factory location, but the boss lady had a nasty habit of sending in friends to “secret shop” and they were always rude and nasty to see if they could get a rise out of the newest employee. That shit is ridiculous! I sell candles, not peace treaties!


1:32 Almost there, judging by his slightly faster pumping. She began to run down a list of chores to be completed before work tomorrow and another list of those to be done after work as her fingernails squeezed his ass just the way he liked to get him to hurry the fuck up already.


1:33 and it was over. He panted for a few seconds, rolled over and stared at the ceiling.


“Who were you writing to?” He had been madly typing in the next room for over half an hour. He thought she was asleep and wouldn’t hear, but his loud Guitar Star music ensured she was wide awake and listening as she did most every night.


“Just answering some blog-related notes and starting a new post for tomorrow,” he replied.


“You’ve been doing a lot of writing lately…”


“So?!? I want to increase my blog readership. Nothing wrong with that! You should pay more attention to your own blog. I thought you were supposed to be using it to make money – where did that plan go? How much money did you make off your blog and website last month, huh? I read your last post and it sounded like it was written by an illiterate 13-year-old boy. You need to step up your game if you’re ever going to get the followers that I have. I have some brilliant minds reading my blog and leaving comments. It’s amazing! I have friends all over the world. I could hop on a plane and take a trip around the world, staying with friends on every continent. They’ve invited me, you know. I could leave tomorrow…”


This was a familiar speech and she quit listening. Whatever. Won’t be long now and he’ll fall asleep. Just a few more minutes.


No response was called for or expected. He ranted on as the numbers on the clock silently changed. 1:45 and he was out, snoring lightly. She knew the volume would increase very soon, so she rolled away from him, hoping to be able to fall asleep before he started sawing logs. She gave up mentioning his snoring years ago when he protested loudly that SHE was the one who snored and kept him up night after night with her noise and “thrashing about” in bed.


As she often did while trying to fall asleep, her mind wandered over her life and tried to come up with some idea of why she was so unhappy. The house was not terrible, although he owned it and reminded her of that fact often. The neighborhood was attractive and quiet, although she was not allowed to visit with the neighbors, even the ones who daily walked by with their dogs. It was cold in the house at the moment, but it was mid-March and he didn’t believe in heating the house between March 1 and October 1 unless some freak of Nature rendered the ground frozen. Snow had fallen the week before (a very rare occurrence) and she had started a fire in the wood stove while he was out checking on his boat, but the heat was long gone.


She wrapped the quilt more tightly around her shoulders, being careful not to slide it along his skin because he would wake and blame her (again) for taking all the blankets.


She was happy to have found a job at last, even if it paid so little. He might finally stop harping on her about the bills and the fact that she was “wasting her life” and “dragging him down into poverty” with her idleness. That she paid him $600 a month for the bills and bought all of the food for themselves and the various pets never entered into his rants. She was a slacker and that was that. He boasted that he supported her in all things and he was getting mighty tired of all the hard work he had to do to take care of a perfectly capable woman who refused to work for a living.


She sighed, knowing that it would be another sleepless night. She hadn’t wanted to move to this Coastal town. She hated the cold, the damp, the constant mist falling from the sky, the endless Autumn that never gave way to what you might call a Summer if you were very generous and lived in the Arctic. Last Summer it got warm enough to wear short sleeves outside for four hours one day in July and that was it. Luckily she happened to be home and outside when this miracle occurred and was able to enjoy it while going about her usual chores.


Where did it go so wrong? She wondered. Every day seemed unreal, a part of someone else’s life. She felt disconnected from everyone around her. Did I always feel this way? If so, why does it feel so strange now? These were the things she pondered as she chased the elusive specter of sleep down the dark hallways of her tired mind. Something is wrong. I shouldn’t feel so unhappy all the time. This is not who I am, I know it’s not. I should not be on the verge of tears every waking moment. We should be happy here – we have everything we need. Why, then, is he so angry all the time while I’m so sad? It all started out so wonderfully…


As sleep finally claimed her, she dreamed of that long-ago time, when he was happy and kind and she was ecstatic at having found someone who really, truly loved her for who she was. A handsome man who listened raptly as she shared her thoughts and opinions and asked for more. An intelligent man with a great job, a house and two cars, who rode his bike on epic journeys and told hilarious stories about them. A caring man whose eyes teared up when he talked about losing his favorite dog to cancer some years earlier. A kind man who claimed to be so hurt by the dissolution of his marriage that he went to counseling and spent hours talking to his married and single friends to try to discover what he had done to cause his wife to become indifferent to him. A charismatic man who turned heads whenever he walked into a room. Everyone wanted to talk to him, to hear his opinion. He hadn’t watched TV since he was fourteen, a fact that stunned and amazed most people. He read highbrow magazines and had an opinion about everything under the sun, opinions he was able to expound upon at length at the drop of a hat. He was a magnetic speaker. People came back for more. He seemed to be well liked. He certainly liked her. In the beginning. For awhile. Until it was too late for her to get away…


Posted by on November 3, 2013 in NaNoWriMo, Writing


Tags: ,

22 responses to “Prologue

  1. overitblogdotcom

    November 3, 2013 at 7:14 pm awesome.
    I love it,,,it feels like I’m living my life over again.
    Wonderful job,,keep it up!

    • Sofia Leo

      November 3, 2013 at 7:22 pm

      On the one hand – Yay! I’m so happy you like it. OTOH, crap! Another person to be triggered by my sad tale. I am so conflicted sharing this here. I feel my story needs to be told to get it out of my system, but I am so sad every time someone identifies with my words. So sad.

      • overitblogdotcom

        November 4, 2013 at 3:49 am

        I encourage you to write it out here on your blog. I find it cathartic.

  2. Lynette d'Arty-Cross

    November 3, 2013 at 8:14 pm

    Well done!

  3. 3kids2cats1divorce

    November 3, 2013 at 8:19 pm

    Great writing. I love the way you pulled me right into her feelings and thinking (and it didn’t trigger me, it just made me want to read more). You’re doing a wonderful job!

    • Sofia Leo

      November 4, 2013 at 12:59 pm

      Thanks! There’s so much more to come 🙂

  4. Twindaddy

    November 4, 2013 at 3:25 am

    Sofia, this is really great. Your writing is fantastic. Ihope somehow that by writing this it helps you heal.

    • Sofia Leo

      November 4, 2013 at 12:59 pm

      Thanks, TD. I just want it out of my head.

      • Twindaddy

        November 4, 2013 at 1:01 pm

        This will help, I think. I know writing out my issues helped me let go of them.

  5. C.K. Hope

    November 4, 2013 at 5:24 am

    Very well done, Sofia.

  6. JackieP

    November 4, 2013 at 8:37 am

    Good going lady! Awesome writing!

  7. Just Me With . . .

    November 4, 2013 at 10:28 am

    Love it.

  8. Laura

    November 4, 2013 at 10:39 am

    Writing your story will help you heal, and through your story I believe others will also heal. Sometimes knowing they’re not alone is the best gift you can give someone.

    • Sofia Leo

      November 4, 2013 at 12:57 pm

      Very true – I had no idea how common my story is until I found the WP community.

  9. Nyssa

    November 8, 2013 at 11:01 pm

    This looks just right to pull the reader into the story. 🙂

  10. TheWifeLeft

    November 30, 2013 at 11:17 am

    Goodness, thank you for this post and prologue. It scares me something fierce, my story is somewhat strangely the same: isolation, indifference, objectifying, financial control, fault finding, entitlement etc and the almost hilarious zinger – control and shaming regarding cold, heat and the furnace. What the heck is that about?! More control, I guess.

    This stuns me how similar this all is. Appreciate you all sharing. I thought I was the only one that had lived in the freaky pit. Got out. Working on moving forward.

    I can not thank you enough. I thought I was imaging things and of course, he told me I was ‘being sensitive’, ‘overreacting’ and ‘crazy’. Yea, right.

    • Sofia Leo

      December 2, 2013 at 2:18 pm

      That was the most surprising thing for me, too, that my story isn’t Special or even Unusual – there are thousands and thousands (millions?) of us out there with exactly the same story. It’s like the monsters all read from the same script.

      Glad to hear you got out. Are you blogging somewhere? If so, shoot us a link so we can show you some support.


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