He dropped the towel. Clara, what are you doing? I know what is expected, she said. Her voice was thin, brittle. I am your wife now.
I want to be I want to be a good wife. She took a step closer to him. He did not move. He stared at her, his eyes dark with an emotion she could not read. Was it hunger?
I can, she started, then faltered. She felt the heat rising in her face, the deep old shame of the places she had been and the things she had heard through thin walls. She looked at his belt buckle because she could not look at his eyes. "I am your wife. Can I? " She gestured vaguely, a halting, humiliating offer of intimacy that she thought men wanted.
The words died in her throat. She stopped, bracing herself. She waited for him to grab her, to laugh or to tell her to get on her knees. She squeezed her eyes shut. No.
The word was a rough croak. Clara flinched. She opened her eyes. Eli had backed away until he hit the edge of the stove. He was trembling.
His hands were held up, palms out as if she were the one with a knife. "No," he said again louder this time. "Do not, please. I I do not understand," Clara whispered. I thought I know where you came from, Eli said.
His voice was shaking. I know you had to survive. But you are not. You are not that here. You are not a thing I bought.
He ran a hand through his hair, gripping the strands tight. My father. He took what he wanted. He was a man who thought the world owed him everything, including the women in his house. I am not him.
I swear to you, Claraara, I am not him. He looked at her then, and the raw vulnerability in his face took her breath away. He was terrified. He was not scared of her. He was scared of himself.
He was scared of the potential for cruelty that lived in all men. "I will not touch you," he said, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "Not until you choose it. Not until you want it. If that takes a year or 10 years or forever, you are safe here.
Do you understand? You are safe. Clara stood frozen. The speech confused her. Kindness was a foreign language.
Cruelty. She understood. Cruelty had rules. You could navigate cruelty. But this, this gentle, terrified restraint.