Page 77 of The Favorite Girl

FORTY-FIVE

I woke up groggy. There was a good chance Ian Ivory had drugged me last night, but I didn’t care. I had no emotion left. I was completely numb. Now, I was a corpse simply pretending to live.

It was my wedding day, and I almost laughed at the thought. My wedding day. The day women dream about since they twirled around in their first frilly dress. The day parents saved up for and planned out. The day that’s supposed to be the happiest day in a lifetime was a day that felt like I was finally being served my official prison sentence.

“Demi! Get in the shower!” I rolled over and saw Mrs. Ivory standing there, watching me. “Our makeup artist, Becca, is here.”

“Becca?” I stammered and pushed myself upright in bed. It felt strange looking at Mrs. Ivory. Her husband, the man she had a child with and lived with, was assaulting me just a few hours ago.

“Yes, you know Becca. Go shower, and she’ll have everything set up. Everyone’s already arriving for the wedding luncheon. You overslept!” She hurried away as I stood and walked to the bathroom. I felt like a robot, doing as I was told, without a care for what was to come.

I showered, but I didn’t feel the steam or water. I scrubbed my body raw, looking down at the razor burn marks left behind by the aggressive and forced shave.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel. I took my time washing myself, brushing my teeth, and blow drying my hair.

Once out, I walked into the room and saw Mrs. Ivory and a woman who was dressed exactly like Becca and looked just like her, but it was clearly not her.

“Hey Demi! So good to see you, girl!” the woman chirped and when I remained quiet, she moved closer. “Becca? Remember me?” She excitedly clapped her hands together and ushered me to the chair.

“You’re not Becca,” I replied flatly.

“Yes, I am.” She shot a look at Mrs. Ivory, who shook her head slowly. “Anyway, let’s get you all ready for your special day.” I closed my eyes as the brush pricked against my forehead aggressively and she tugged it through my hair.

What felt like an eternity later, the substitute Becca spun me around in the chair and wiggled her fingers. “Ta-Da!” She clapped her palms against her cheeks and jumped up and down.

I didn’t recognize the girl in front of me. I looked beautiful; I looked like a bride. My veil I chose was carefully clipped into my hair. My lips were in a deep red. “I thought we were only allowed to wear nude lipstick?” I questioned.

“This color is permitted for Ivory brides. It’s infused with peonies and roses all grown in the garden.” Mrs. Ivory added another layer of the sticky lipstick to my pout. I wanted to vomit as I felt it seeping into the crevices of my lips.

“Darling Demi, let’s get your gown on.” Mrs. Ivory’s voice was soft as she smiled at me, and not in the usually mocking way, but in a clearly emotional way.

“Becca, leave us alone.” She waved at her. Becca nodded and quickly shuffled away.

“You know I was once a caged girl,” Mrs. Ivory started as I tugged my robe off and she helped me into my gown.

“What?” I froze.

“Yes. I was in The Virgin Bride Catalogue and selected by Ian. It was so very romantic. He chose me from pages and pages of women. I came from nothing, Demi. No one sold me or trafficked me. No, I met Ian’s father at a bar I used to stand in the alley of, ramming needles into my flesh to feel something. His father took me in, cleaned me up, and put me through the withdrawal and intensive-white therapy program. It changed my life. I learned that words and sounds cloud our mental states; I learned that food is a privilege. I lived off white rice and plain yogurt for six months until I earned my first sliver of a banana. I didn’t hear a sound for one year. But it all taught me to keep my mouth shut until spoken to. It taught me discipline and what it entails to be the best wife and mother. That’s what is wrong with our society. We let women run free and turn into dirty tramps. Men like Ian, his father, and now, Conrad, help remind us, my darling Demi, that we are not meant to live like a bird soaring through a sky alone. Those are the birds that become prey, and we are safest in the cages. We are safest when we do as we are told. Procreate, respect our men, serve their every need. We are creating the new generation of women who will raise the best men.”

I slid into my dress as Daphne helped to lace it up. “You really think that? You really think that these men are helping us? That we should be submissive and tortured? That we should be raped and abused? You’re despicable, you know that. And one day, you’re going to die a painful death.” I spewed out, not caring if she slit my throat right now.

“I already know that I’m going to die a painful death, but so will you, and so will the woman who marries your son. We are meant to be sacrificial. Please take care of Conrad, my darling Demi. He’s so very special.” Grabbing a glass bottle, she sprayed me, and suddenly, the scent of peonies overtook my senses.

“Oh, yes, so very special and such a fucking gentleman. Assaulting Bradley’s sister in front of him? You did so well, Daphne. Get the hell out of my face, you pathetic piece of shit. You can’t even call yourself a woman. You’re disgusting.” I turned and tugged my gown behind me. I expected her to slap me or hit me, but she didn’t.

“Amor vincit omnia…” Mrs. Ivory said as she left the room.

Love conquers all.

She actually thought that this was love? And what did she mean she knew we’d all die a painful death?

Walking toward the mirror, I brushed my hands against my abdomen and loosened my shoulders.

Staring at myself, I couldn’t believe I was the girl in the reflection. “Demi…” his voice cut through the thoughts swirling through my mind.

“Bradley?” I turned slowly, lifting the heavy gown, and rolling my lips to prevent myself from crying.

“Wow, Dem… you are gorgeous.” He let out a soft sigh. “But I still miss your black hair.” He came closer to me, looking as handsome as ever. His hair was colored a darker shade of brown, and his face no longer looked as pale as it did when he was here—like the sun had finally kissed him. Had he been wearing light makeup the entire time he worked here? In such a short period of time he couldn’t have naturally tanned. Shuddering I felt happiness that he was free from this death trap. Scanning his body, I smiled. He was wearing a fitted navy-blue tuxedo, and he smiled back at me.

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