The Nimble Virus

"Stupid whore," he said. I squeezed my eyes shut, shuddering from his scathing comment. Every day he wanted me to come to lunch and I had to.

I glanced at my watch. It was noon and everyone was piled into the cafeteria. The line was long which gave him more opportunity to stare and ridicule me.

"It's called stolen valor. You don't belong here."

Though this wasn't what stolen valor was, I couldn't say anything back because part of me agreed. It wasn't a requirement for the spouses to be enlisted, of course, but that didn't change my feelings of inadequacy being here as a civilian. I wanted to follow in my mom's footsteps in the military, but I wasn't cut out for it the same way.

I'd heard about a few of the non-military spouses, which added to my feelings of ineptness. A few examples: One was the CEO of a company, another a successful martial arts instructor known world-wide, and finally, the fashion model from France. Then, there was me. A homemaker married to someone based on a contractual arrangement.

The contract marriage came about due to a rather disgusting set of circumstances. A bet over a poker-game, followed by blackjack, and then a casino in Reno left my dad owing millions in gambling debt to his incredibly wealthy "best friend", Randy Darling. My father knew he couldn't pay it back, so Randy made a proposal.

Randy was willing to forgive the debt but only if his oldest son and I got into the contractual marriage. It felt like I was being a prostitute for my own father but I agreed, as much as you can in a situation like that. I didn't want my father to die. And at first, I thought Bram and I could be happy.

Now, as I stole a quick glance at him and he laughed, I realized how naïve I had been. His chortling made his silver-colored dog tags bounce between his developed pecs in his tan Army issued T-shirt. He nudged a few of the guys next to him, pointing me out. Bram loved humiliating me.

And I just had to take it. The contract said words to the effect of, whatever he wants, he gets except for one thing. We were not supposed to have sex because Randy did not want to be a grandfather. Otherwise, I was supposed to make Bram my top priority, to serve him as he requested.

"What a disgrace you are," Bram said as several of his troops snickered. "Get two servings, slut."

I progressed in line waiting for the hungry soldiers ahead of me. As I got closer to my bully husband, I could see he had gotten burnt in the sun today from his neck down to his collarbone. 'Good. Serves him right for not wearing sunscreen.'

I slid my tray down the metal cart to get a variety of food. Today was chicken fried steak, with plenty of extra biscuits, collard greens with bacon and hot sauce, green salad, cornbread, and chocolate pudding. As I loaded up the various bowls and plates, I pictured myself whipping his sunglasses onto the floor and stomping on them then tossing a huge cup of red fruit juice all over his perfectly clean uniform.

When we were home together, which wasn't often except during sleep, he mostly ignored me. He spit orders, but we didn't have real conversations. The thing was, I wanted to be a good wife to him, even when he was mean to me. Maybe it was a feeble plea at obtaining the love that my father never gave me.

Perhaps it wasn't too late to mend things with Dad. I wasn't sure how I felt about him pimping me out, but he was still my father. The problem was, he had moved to another country and what little relationship we had to begin with was strained once he left. It felt like he was washing his hands of the "situation", aka me.

Of course, if my father did pay, the marriage would be null and void and I'd be free. The other way out was if my husband died, though in that case, Rusty had three more sons and he was willing to pair me up with any one of them. At least I had been contracted to the most attractive one of the bunch, though he was pure ugliness to me when he was cruel.

I could barely balance the tray as I brought the food over. Once I was at his table, I placed it in front of him. My hands were shaking from fear and hunger. I sat beside him in silence.

Unlike me, he had no issue with his appetite as he scarfed down the meal. I guess his father never taught him proper manners, despite being so wealthy. Or perhaps he was just hungry. I know how hard he worked out there being a staff sergeant.

Unexpectedly, he slid what was left from his first round over to me. It was only a little bit of cornbread and pudding. I didn't care and ate it as rapidly as he had. He glared at me.

He was judging me because I was hungry, and I ate in a way he didn't like. Sometimes I felt so alone.

Lately though, I could tell that one of the members of his troop was getting uncomfortable with the situation. Corporal Mark White. When Bram would kick his meanness into high gear, Mark would convey his sympathy with a simple glance.

Mark was a younger man of average height, cooper-shaded skin tone, big brown eyes, and a pleasant smile. Mark was attractive, certainly, but that wasn't what I was craving from him.

The kindness he gave me was something I treasured. It made being with my husband slightly more bearable. I realized it was a huge risk Mark was taking by behaving that way at the same table right in front of his own sergeant so I made sure to honor it.

After I watched Bram finish his second helping of chow I was allowed to go. When I stood up from the table, I felt so weak that I half stumbled when I left my seat. Everyone started laughing at me, except for Mark, who rushed to my side, helping me to remain on my feet. Bram promptly commenced shouting at the corporal.

I stood behind Bram while he yelled at Mark. My eyes connected to Mark's, and I tried to convey my apology and gratitude simultaneously. Bram shouted at me to go home. I knew I was going to be in big trouble since another man had interacted with me.

I hung my head as I left the building. The sun was blazing as I pulled my sunglasses on. I don't know why he could still make me cry. It had been going on for so long at this point, yet the tears would spill freely and frequently, just like right now.

With every person who passed me by, I felt obligated to say hello, but I was only faking. Being around other people when I felt this way was excruciating. I wasn't interested in chatting, and I wasn't a social person. I just needed to make it home to hide in shame.

When I got to our base house, 162 Greyson, I was bent over in the blistering heat trying to catch my breath. I could only make it to the front steps before I dropped on my butt. Not eating enough was making it harder to stay on my feet. Bram made me so anxious I'd lost my appetite.

As I was panting, I watched a new couple moving into a base house a few places down. The woman had chocolate cherry dyed hair, pulled back into a bun, with umber-toned skin. She wore her Army fatigues, including her hat, jacket, and boots. While she was short, she looked muscular. I envied her.

Following her was a man carrying boxes. I watched the two go out of sight, return, lug boxes, then repeat. As they did, the man glanced over at me more than once. Even from my distant vantage point, I could see that he was attractive.

If Bram saw me looking at another guy, I'd be in a lot of trouble, regardless but I don't know what he would do if this kind of inflammatory display happened twice in the same day. It didn't matter that most days I kept my head down, rarely daring to peek at anyone as I walked around. Bram was so insecure that I'd begun to pay for other peoples' actions toward me.

As soon as I had the strength, I unlocked the door and fell onto the tiled floor. I picked myself up and with one last push of energy, I made it to the couch. It was a good thing because the next thing I saw was Staff Sgt. Bram Darling marching toward our home and he didn't look happy.

Not one bit.