Page 4 of Gift from the Tree

I really don’t want to put up with him or his other miscreant friends tonight, but thinking about last night forces me to just keep my head down, mouth shut, and continue to follow him at a distance. I’ll play the placating wife tonight to give myself some time to recover. My jaw and right eye are bruised and sore, lips busted, and I swear my bones are still partially frozen, making my body feel stiffer and stiffer as night closes in.

Donald stops so suddenly at the door, I damn near run into the back of him from not paying attention. “Go clean up and meet us in my study,” he commands before walking through the patio door and slamming it shut without looking back at me.

Every time I go to that study, nothing good comes out of it. His friends constantly make crass sexual comments, and they all laugh at my expense like I’m not even there and every time I make a remark, I pay the price as soon as they leave.

Stupid fucking rich, entitled junkies.

Entering my room, I fight with myself about just crawling under my sheets and going to sleep, but that’d result in Donald coming to look for me here and I can’t have that. We don’t share a room, thank fuck, and I have five locks on my door to keep him out. Not that I really think that they’d keep him out if he wanted to bust in, but they give me the illusion of safety and privacy and I don’t want him tainting that as well.

Me being able to have my own room and space were the only positive things I’ve been allowed since being forced into this marriage. When Donald told me how things would go from then on, he made it clear he didn’t want my shit all in his space, so I don’t have to endure sleeping next to him nightly, making it easier for him to defile me. But I must come when summoned.

Since our wedding night when he took me for the first time, against my will, it’s always been the same. He summons me to his study or his lounge, bends me over, we fight, he brutalizes me, then tells me how shit I’m at pleasing him. Not that I’m trying to please him. I hate him, his touch, his smell—everything about him makes me drier than the desert.

He likes to make everyone believe that he pleases me, though, brags to all his friends about how he makes me scream and beg, but I can assure you, it’s not pleasure, nor do I scream or beg. Few times have I let a noise slip from my lips and those were when things were bad. Very, very bad.

Staggering into the closet, I take a few calming breaths and look to see what I’ve got to wear that’ll cover as much of myself as possible without it looking like I’m purposely doing so.

The perfect full body, high neck, black romper is hidden in the array of much skimpier outfits I refuse to wear. The only skin showing is my arms, and it has pockets. It’ll be a bitch if I use the bathroom, but I don’t have to worry about lewd comments about the size of my breast, and I can keep my hands in my pockets so no one will tell when I’m balling my fist.

Slipping my jeans and jacket off, I catch a glimpse of my necklace in the mirror, causing pressure to build behind my eyes. I grip the amethyst in my hand and send a silent prayer to whoever’s listening to please let tonight go okay. I just need a break, a small one, then I’ll be ready to put on my fighting shoes again.

Deciding I look good enough, romper on, hair pulled back in a more put together messy bun, if that makes sense, I make my way down to the study. The sound of male laughter reaches my ears before I walk in the doorway, adding to my nausea from the smell of stale cigars and strong liquor wafting up the stairs.

Stopping within my first two steps, I hide the shock trying to take over my face. “Father, this is a surprise. I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

“Willow. Yes, well, there’s business Donald needs to settle tonight, and I’ll be here to make sure it’s taken care of.” My father looks me up and down, disapproval written across every wrinkle.

“Oh, my apologies, I didn’t realize I was interrupting a business meeting. I’ll get out of everyone’s way in that case.” I try to push a neutral tone to not betray my giddiness for getting out of this shit show. A room of eighteen men, two of whom abuse me on a regular, sixteen others who look at me like hungry lions ready to pounce at any moment, no, thank you.

“Stay, wife, this business meeting is about you.” My live-in abuser speaks as he makes his way over to where me and my father are standing.

“Me? But I’m not involved in any business, dear. That isn’t my place.” By the twitch in Donald’s eye and the deep sigh my father just let out, they caught the sarcasm I let slip through.

What the fuck, Willow. We literally just had a conversation with ourself about not fucking this up tonight and here you are, mouthing off five minutes in.

“It isn’t your place, Willow, but you’re what will seal this deal for us, so you’ll do as you’re told with not another word,” my father scolds me like he always has since I was a child.

“What deal? What do you mean I will seal—”

“Enough, not another word. Do as you’re told, for fuck’s sake.” Donald raises his voice enough that it catches everyone’s attention as all heads turn toward me.

My face turns red and my palms grow sweaty from the unsavory looks I’m receiving and from being reprimanded. Whatever my father and Donald have going on with these men is bad news. Bad news they’re about to drag me into whether I like it or not.

Donald can tell by my fidgeting, I’m preparing to bolt, so he grabs my arm right above my elbow in a death grip and turns us to address the room as my father steps up to speak.

“Gentlemen, I would like to thank you for joining us here tonight to welcome Donald in his final trial and initiation.”

Trial…initiation…what is he talking about?

“For two hundred years, our society has forged a brotherhood that has put us above all others, with power and strength our founding fathers only dreamed of. Because of you and our fellow comrades, our legacies will never be forgotten. Please welcome my son-in-law to the fold with unity and open arms so we shall continue to grow and conquer. Donald, if you’ll please.”

Pulling me forward with him, Donald steps up in front of my father in the center of this self-made circle the men in the room have formed. Sweat’s dripping down the back of my neck, and my body’s trembling, like my nerves are warning me something bad is coming. My father’s short welcome speech sounded like an evil monolog that a villain with too big of an ego would give before delivering a death blow.

My father turns to Donald, and he’s vibrating with excitement, making my stomach drop to my feet. He doesn’t get overly excited about good, happy things. He’s the type of man who gets happy to hurt someone or something, and he takes pleasure in hurting innocence. The type to trap a firefly in a mason jar just to shake it till its light dies out.

“Donald, are you prepared to take the oath?” My father’s booming voice startles me.

“I am,” Donald confidently responds.

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