You remembered the cracks in the wall of your 'sweet' house more clearly than you remembered Ishmael's face.
You have spent half your life trying to spend as much time as possible with your wife and the other half waiting for her and pray for her with anger mixed with the agony of everlasting loneliness. If God seldom granted your wishes, the storm would begin at sea, and you'd have the chance to hear the door open softly at midnight, smell the sea and iron mingled with the sweat and feel the warmth of your wife on your back. You always wanted to tell her that you were always awake at those times, that you were waiting for her every hour and every minute of every damn day, but at the end of all the confusion of feelings and thoughts, you always succumb to sleep, feeling the knot in your stomach and the soft breaths on the back of your neck.
You were consumed with idea that she was fully aware of the loneliness and pain you were going through. But there was an air of silence about the subject, as if she had a vow of silence.
So one day you overcame your own fears and worries and told her that you wanted to move away from the army and that you wanted to continue your marriage there. Forever.
And suddenly Ishmael was convinced that you two should move from Charleston to Bönigen like she's been waiting for this moment.
The tragicomic thing is that you never believed that changing continents would make a tremendous contribution to your marriage.
After months of loneliness, the unplanned hope that suddenly came out of your mouth during a meal together surprisingly became Ishmael's new enthusiasm and desire.
"Can't promise to move until I find pictures of that shitcock two-star's mum and put her bitch face in all my cadets' playboy magazines." She said with a half-laugh.
While dreaming of doing things to humiliate subordinates she fucking despises, she helped you choose your house in Bönigen.
Even though you'd been married for years, the number of months you'd spent together was too small to remember. This was the first time in your life that you and Ishmael had spent so much time together. Once in a blue moon, if the military ship she's serving on would off duty, she would instruct you to put on her spare clothes from home, sneak you aboard in the harbour, and screw you so hard the whole ship would run on your combined heat.
But it happened so infrequently that you had to watch, day after day, the fading of the love marks she had left on your body.
But now you were out of the vicious circle for good.
Or so you thought.
It was the fourth anniversary of your marriage.
Actually, it was one week before your anniversary.
On one of those nights that were no longer lonely, you woke up to realise that Ishmael was no longer in bed. Yes, you were so used to her that you had a sense of her absence.
You noticed that the light in the study room was on and when you entered the room, you've seen them both: the box of military uniforms to be returned to the army was open and
the major uniform was on Ishmael.
"I have a call from the vice-admiral for an urgent rescue mission." She spoke under her breath as she quickly braided her long ginger hair.
"What about rescuing our marriage?" You said the word "rescuing" in a tone of derision.
The only answer you could get was silence. Ishmael continued to look at herself in the mirror and tried to finish her braid. While you waited for a gesture from her, a golden oak leaf medallion on her chest caught your eye.
Just as you were about to take off the medal, she grabbed your wrist in a gentle but warning way.
"I'll take care of my responsibilities to my country. Then I'll take care of our marriage. If you'll let me." She said, her amber eyes widening as she used her usual calm tone of voice.
"Don't take me for a fool. I know damn well it's just an excuse to postpone or even abandon our plans to move. I also know that your mission will take for months, that I won't even hear your voice and that I will rot alone in this fucking house so that your fucking honour will not be offended and your superiors will always flatter you, selfish bitch." You spat out these words filled with years of pent-up anger as tears streamed from your eyes like fire.
The only frown on Ishmael's face was at the last word, as if the words before had no meaning.
"Selfish bitch, huh? I'll sacrifice it for you, for us, for the job I sacrificed almost everything in my life for, and you dare to call me selfish bitch?" Her strong fingers began to squeeze your wrist, which she was holding gently, then she grabbed your throat with her other hand.
"I'll show you what it really means to be a selfish bitch" As she led you towards the wall, it was the first time you had ever heard her sound so angry in all the time you had known her.
When you tried to free yourself from her strong hands (or thought you wanted to), she cuffed your hands above your head, wrapped the sailor ropes you two usually used for fun in bed tightly around your wrists and quickly tied a knot in the wall hanger.
As soon as you realised what Ishmael was trying to do, you opened your mouth in anger to protest, but she grabbed you by the chin and held you tightly.
"If you want to be my wife so badly, then you'll behave like one." She said, while her eyes were wide open and the vein in her forehead began to pulsate with anger.
You were deathly silent, as if she were a tiger baring her fangs at you. You wondered which word that pissed her off so much: was it you called her selfish or you called her a bitch? Perhaps it was both. There have never been any insults or calling names between you and Ishmael, you've never had a fight in the whole time you've been together. Maybe that was the crux. The two of you have spent so little time together that you have never had the chance to have a healthy conversation or argument about anything. You had no idea why Ishmael was your wife, you didn't even have a clue who she was.
"Put your damn thoughts aside. Look at me." She finally took her hands off your face and throat and onto your waist. You didn't want to bring your eyes to her face for fear of how you'd feel about her anymore.
As you ran your eyes through her bright and tightly braided hair, you slowly lowered them to her face, which was filled with anger and some other emotion you could not understand.
"Do you have any idea how much I want to be with you every single moment of my miserable life?" She said as she brushed her lips over your neck. "How much I want to taste you" She slowly moved her lips to your jawline. "How much I want your sweet whimpers to fill my ears." Knowing that she wasn't expecting an answer, you decided to stand there and let her to do anything in silence and watch her pour out her heart for the first time.
"Want you so badly that I want to tear off a piece of your succulent body and keep it inside so that when I go missions I'll feel that you're going to be with me."
Her words had ignited a flame of excitement in your chest. Why did you feel that way? What she said should have disgusted you.
"You're sick." That's all that came out with your shaky breath.
The only thing she did in response to your words was nothing but to press her lips to yours. Even though it wasn't your intention to kiss her back, your lips were pressed together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. As you felt her nose brush against your cheek, you thought of the sick words that she had just spoken to you. Has this always been her way of thinking about you? The more you thought about it, the more you wondered why you had wanted to let her do it.
You started feeling disgusted with yourself and thought "I'm just as sick as she is." As you frowned in anger, you realised you tasted blood in your mouth and felt Ishmael's lips missing.
When you opened your eyes, there was Ishmael with a bloodied lip and a grin on her face.
"It seems like you secretly want it as well, huh?" She licked her lips and tasted her own blood.
"The only difference between you and me is that I've got the guts to say it."
As you blushed in protest, Ishmael kneeled before you and pulled your nightgown.
"Stop that, do you really think I'd want you after all that? Don't even think about-" You gasped and involuntarily tried to squeeze your legs together as you felt the wet, hot flesh between them.
"You sure about that? Your body reacts instantly to my every move" she said as she drew her lips back slightly and her hot breath hit your naked parts. You could hardly keep your body from inevitably pressing against her pretty face, even if you told her you wanted her to cut it off.
As she cut into your calves with her nails, there was a discernible shift in her movements, almost as if she was beginning to eat you. Your arms, which had been suspended above your head for minutes, began to feel a tingling sensation, a phenomenon that also occurred in your legs. You felt pain, pleasure, exhaustion, and disgust all at the same time. You could swear that if you opened your eyes, you would still see the darkness.
While you filled the room with your moans with your mouth slightly agape, Ishmael filled the space left by her lips with her fingers.
"The paradox is that you are saying that you don't want me, and yet your body is offering me the sweetest of juices." As she continued to move in a rapid rhythm, you could see her glistening lips curl.
"Untie me" you were so filled with rage that you could not feel the carnival of lust between your legs as you snorted in anger.
"You do it, I taught you how to solve all the sailor's knots. Despite your inflamed eyes and fury, you still want me. Admit it, you want to taste me and eat me too, but unfortunately I'm a selfish bitch, aren't I?"
You tried to ignore what she said, even though she was right. Even though she immediately agreed to the two of you moving to Bönigen and encouraged you, she effectively extinguished your aspirations with a single act, as if they were of no consequence. The only thing Ishmael cared about was your body and her duty to her homeland; your feelings or desires had absolutely no value to her.
You wished she would die when she went on duty, even her corpse couldn't come back. But why? Why didn't you free yourself from the rope? Was there something sacrilegious in you that you couldn't accept? Did you enjoy having your wife use you like a plaything? No, you couldn't be like her. You couldn't. You shouldn't.
"I hate you." In the midst of a turbulent maelstrom of emotions and thoughts, this was the only statement that left from your lips.
She smiled as if she'd been hearing from you say it for years, then she sped up her movements inside of you and began to suck on your neck.
As the heat spread from your groin to your entire body, you had the feeling of being cut off from the rest of the world, and you couldn't think of anything else.
As she fingered you shallow and fast and your moans were a metronome in beat to her ruthless pace and you felt your body began to melt.
"Cute, you've never been so wet. I guess you like to be pushed. Do you?" She mocked you. She spoke in a hoarse voice against your neck as she continued to finger your abused area.
Your legs had no strength left to hold you. They began to tremble as if the bones had been torn from them.
"Ishma."
"Hm?"
As she continued to increase her pace, you finally reached your climax, and just as you were about to hang from your arms like a puppet, Ishmael took you in her arms and untied your wrists. You threw your numb arms around her shoulders and buried your head in her neck. You could have slept here. Forever.
When Ishmael put you to bed, pressed her warm lips to your forehead and left the room, your eyes and consciousness could no longer stay open.
The lump in your stomach that had always been there had become an inextricable knot, and you went to sleep knowing that even Ishmael would not be able to untie it.