Page 15 of To Have and to Hold

It wouldn’t help me, because there was no way out. Nothing I could do. But have faith in no one. Trusting anyone will only make things worse. For a moment, I thought she might have faced a fate similar to mine, that she was handed to my dad the second she was legal. But then she’d laughed, downed another vodka and wandered off, laughing about how much harder life was about to get for me.

“I’ll know,” I said, steeling myself. “Thank you… Gabe, but I have to do it all myself.” I gestured towards the door, no doubt not looking half as sturdy as I hoped I did. Still, Gabe turned. That frown marred his face as he backed up to the door.

“I’m on your watch tonight, so if you need anything, knock on the door,” he told me, his eye glancing up to the corner of the room.

“Why would you want to help me?” I asked, voice low, the question spilling out before I meant it to.

His jaw ticked, and he looked like he was deciding what to say. Being careful with his words. “It’s the right thing to do, Violet. That’s all.”

He left, and without preamble, I moved to the bathroom, cataloguing injuries as I went.

Cleaning myself up after what my husband had done to me felt like the first genuine moment of the rest of my life.

I didn’t know how long I’d been unconscious, Gabe hadn’t said, but I didn’t think it had been for a significant amount of time. So, with memories of Theo’s gentle, loving touch placed at the forefront of my mind, I cleaned myself up. I imagined each of my touches was one of his, replacing the bad memory with the good. It was all I had.

I could only handle cool water from the showerhead, and still hissed when it ran down my ravaged body. My vulva, my rear and my thighs were so, so sore. They felt like tenderized meat when I touched them with as gentle a hand as I could manage. Blood came away on my fingers, making me wince and bite back tears. The water pooling at my feet was red for a long time, then pink, before fading to almost clear.

That pin. The pin. The tiny thing that was supposed to save me made things so much worse.

I winced, the soap over my damaged nipple stinging, but I let it cleanse a second before ripping the pin free, biting in a scream of pain and bracing myself on the shower wall as the room wavered, darkening. Maybe if I fainted here, I would hit my head and die. It would be too long before I was found, and I’d get to fade away in peace, alone.

But of course I didn’t. Instead, I washed away his sin, then patted my skin dry, throwing a nightgown over my head. It landed mid-thigh, hiding all he’d done, but I had the sense the easy access garment was his idea, and I stepped back into the adjoining bedroom feeling no less vulnerable. The room was just so strange, the ritual nature of what we'd done clearly it's only purpose, but the decorations felt there to intimidate only me. What other purpose could they have?

Changing the sheets was done with steeled emotions and no wavering. I didn’t have time for it. Couldn’t linger on the splatters of blood and cum across the white cotton. But the pattern was familiar. Different, of course, but familiar. The stains reminded me of… I looked up at the wall and blanched. Those sheets were other women's endings. Other women's despair. Maybe even Rafe's ex-wives.

But I shook my head, scooped up my sheets, dumped them in the basket in the bathroom, and replaced them with clean ones from the linen closet.

Torture hidden. Perhaps waiting to be displayed for the next poor sap forced into this hellhole. I couldn't do it.

Emotionless, because there was no other way to be, I moved back to the bathroom and rummaged through the cupboards, pushing aside shampoo bottles and lotions. He’d demanded I be waxed, but maybe the staff didn’t know that. Maybe— there. If this wasn’t his house. Perhaps he had less control.

Slamming the cupboard shut, my gaze caught on my face in the mirror. It didn’t look so bad. He’d avoided marking me anywhere obvious. Some redness on my neck, purple bags under my eyes shining through smeared make up, but otherwise, it was the same face I always saw.

Is it what Theo saw? This… this void of a person, this vessel to be filled by whatever depraved desire someone else wanted? I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to look different when I opened them.

But I was confronted with the same lifeless eyes, the same empty stranger who hadn’t fought back. A stupid act of rebellion that had gone wholly unnoticed. A fucked up, twisted idea that meant Theo would never be able to look at me the same again. I’d ruined it all.

But there were no tears. Nothing slipped from my tear ducts. I just felt dead. If this was the life at Rafe's feet, I didn't want it.

The plastic of the disposable razor blade cracked with little pressure,the thin razor falling into my grasp. It was cold. Something that surprised me when it shouldn’t. I watched it, letting it roll in my palm, glinting in the bad bathroom lighting.

I sighed. Could I really do this? It didn’t seem far-fetched at all. Death sounded like bliss. The only hesitation I had was Theo. Would he be sad? Or would there only be relief for him in knowing our dirty secret was going to the grave? He must find me disgusting, what I’d asked of him was extreme. He’d done it under duress.

I stripped away my clothes and turned the bath on, pouring in bubbles and watching the warm water fill the tub. It was nice in here. It was clear this was never meant to be the room of a captive. His other wives could have been here, died here too. Maybe this would just be another Tuesday for him when he was told wife number four was no more too.

My breathing was slow, relaxed, calm, and I tried to feel blissful. It was coming, this death. My life, all paltry eighteen years of it, was going to end. It was a peaceful realization, but this next part would hurt. The thought of Theo’s grief would hurt.

I climbed into the tub, turning off the taps and sinking into the water with a hiss until my spine hit the chilly edge. The injuries cataloguing my body yelled at me, stinging and straining, as the soapy water lapped against my skin.

The ceiling was nothing to look at, an empty white square to stare at while I built up the bravery to press the blade into my wrist. It was scary, the idea of causing myself pain. I didn’t want to, but it was the only way to end this all.

Rafael might kill me, but it would be by mistake, and it could take years.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered into the still bathroom, Theo’s face hazy in my vision. I remembered the way he’d touched me, thephone he slipped into my hand after he left to return to college. I thought back to my earliest memories, and they all had him. Big brother. Playing dolls with me, chasing me with a massive slug and cackling like a maniac. Standing in front of me when Mother shouted at us for trailing mud through the house.

I took a deep breath and did it. One slice, pushing as hard as I dared until the thin skin of my wrist gave way. I gasped, the sharp pain overwhelming. The hot water stinging as a cloud of red spread out. Right away, I felt woozy. It was hedonistic, blissful, the panic in the background of my mind like an unwelcome buzz I could ignore.

But when I moved to cut more, to dig that blade deeper into my body, my hand was wrenched away.

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