Page 7 of Gift from the Tree

Fuck that. Six months after we got married, Donald made me go to the doctor to get on birth control pills. He was so demeaning and disrespectful in front of the female doctor who was helping me, that I sat in the chair, mortified, as he talked shit about my “dysfunctional pussy.” “Can you fix it? Other pussy I’ve had wasn’t so dry and worthless.” It was so fucking humiliating, I wanted to curl into a ball and die. When the doctor asked Donald to step out while she did my pelvic exam, he grimaced and left with no complaint.

Being the extremely smart woman she is, she immediately noticed the signs of abuse and asked if I needed help getting out, if I had somewhere I could go. I told her no, to please not draw attention nor say anything to anyone in this office as they couldn’t be trusted. So instead, she offered to insert a ten-year IUD for me without him or the office knowing and would still write me a prescription of pills in case he wanted to see or tamper with them. Completely illegal, I know, but she’s badass and will never have to fear me ratting her out.

He’s always required me to keep them in the kitchen, so he’s always had access to them but never tampered with them until recently. Sure enough, right after Christmas, barely two months ago, my pills began disappearing. I slipped it into conversation a few times that I swore I didn’t remember taking one that day, but I must have because it was gone. He never owned up to anything, instead would just tell me how incompetent I was that I couldn’t even remember if I took a pill.

“Speaking of heirs,” Donald announces loudly, gaining the attention of everyone in the room, “condoms are on the bar. The only one fucking her raw will be me.”

Time’s up. You got to get the fuck out, Willow.

Two other men step up, rip the remainder of my pants off, and one of them tries to grab my underwear, but I lose it. That only causes more men to surround the desk, pulling my body apart in whatever direction they want. One on each thigh, pulling them wide, completely exposing me, and forcing them to stay down as I try to weld them shut. A man on each arm stretches my limbs above my head, holding me in place by my wrist. And Donald, spineless fucker, still has a death grip on my hair.

Shoving my head up, my chin touches my chest painfully, and his foul breath wafts across my face as he whispers, “You’re going to watch him force his way into you, wife. This is just the first of many times you’re going to be fucked within an inch of your life, and I hope you loathe every second. I can’t wait to hear your cries.”

I choke back a sob because I refuse to give him what he wants. No noise will leave my mouth, and I won’t allow any tears to fall. Fuck him.

Michael’s standing over by the bar, wiping the blood from his nose and nodding to the guy in front of him. The other man puts his hands on Michael’s nose and cracks it back in place.

“Fuck, that hurt,” Michael grunts.

“Yeah, she got you pretty good with that right hook, man,” the wannabe doctor picks at him, making the others around him laugh.

When his cold eyes meet mine, a dark promise of retribution crosses his features. He won’t let this humiliation go. Turning his back to me, he strips his shirt off and begins cleaning the rest of the blood off his face. Fuck, I’m running out of time.

Please, whoever may be listening, I beg you, please help me. Please help me get free.

“Sing, Willow.”

Oh God, now I’m hearing shit in my head that I didn’t say. Maybe this is what happens when you finally hit your breaking point.

“Sing, Willow.”

The same tugging, the love I feel when I visit my tree, invades my whole body, and my amethyst heats against my breast, sending fire through my chest. It’s currently tucked into my bra, so although my chain is visible, my gem isn’t. And no one’s bothered to remove my bra. Small wins.

“Sing, Willow.”

Okay, third time’s the charm.

Air, Earth, Water, Fire so bright,

Four elements, pure and right.

Air we breathe, wise and sweet,

Earth stands strong, soil beneath our feet.

Water flows, broken and whole,

Fire’s warmth feeds the soul.

Remember these, with joy and cheer,

The elements become one, the world becomes clear.

My amethyst feels like it’s melting through my skin, but I keep singing my lullaby over and over as my mind instructs me. This is the only hope I have, and it’s sinking fast.

Michael slowly makes his way over from the bar with a chilled glass of brown liquor. Tilting his head back, he drinks every drop in one go, then throws the glass across the room. The shards of the crystal sound like bullets ricocheting off the floor as he prowls closer. With his shirt stripped off, I see the white scar of a capital M above his heart.

Fuck, they’ve all done this before.

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