Page 5 of Retribution
Letting out a deep sigh, I leave the room and dreams of princes behind, opening windows as I go to let the stench of misery and torment flee on a cool breeze.
Chapter 3
Rebecca
The minuscule room I’m allowed to call my own feels claustrophobic and suffocating as I sit on the small stool in front of the mirror, gaze locked with the woman staring back at me, who I hardly recognize as myself. My long brown hair, which normally sits just above my ass, has been artfully pulled up into an intricate style, tendrils of curls left loose to frame my face. Aqua eyes are framed by sooty lashes, curled and lengthened with mascara. Full lips glisten with a nude lip gloss, while a smattering of blush on my cheeks gives me just the right amount of color.
Momma is sitting on my bed, back resting against the wall. “There now, dear. Don’t you just look beautiful.”
I catch her gaze in the mirror, holding it for only a moment before looking down at my hands that are fisted tightly together in my lap, knuckles white with the force. The dress I’ve been made to wear shows off far too much of my cleavage, leaving very little to the imagination. I have to agree that the black dress is stunning, the deep neckline coming to a point halfway down my torso. The back is open nearly to my ass, and a thigh-high slit runs up one side, showing off my long legs. Four-inch blood-red heels complete the ensemble, and I know I look spectacular. I just don’t like what I’m being made to wear it for.
This evening, I will be paraded amongst a group of men, forced to smile prettily and murmur softly spoken compliments, allowing wandering eyes and hands to stroke and touch.
Tonight, I must sell myself as the perfect companion, as my time at home has run out. It’s my twenty-first birthday, and according to Papa, I can no longer earn my keep in the traditional manner, and now must find a wealthy man to call my new master. Papa has been preparing me for this for years. I know my place. And after I have been wined and dined and poked and prodded, Papa will receive any and all bids, the highest seeing me off to my new life, like many of my sisters before me.
In a few days’ time, I will have to leave this home, the only one I’ve known for the last eleven years. I first came here when I was ten, traumatized and uncertain, splattered in blood and in shock from the day’s events.
I barely remember the life I left behind so long ago. The people just a distant memory, rarely thought of and only barely remembered. It’s a protective measure, I think. Locking those memories away to save my sanity, the horrors safely tucked inside a locked trunk where they can’t sneak out to cause harm. Papa has never lied about the future; I have always been aware that this day would come. It is a day I have longed for and dreaded in equal measure. Longing for freedom, for the possibility of escape. Dreading leaving the only place I can truly remember being my home. And then there are my sisters. I’ll miss them most of all.
Rachel, only eight years old, who I am allowed to visit once a day. She’s still learning her place and isn’t allowed upstairs yet.
Rosalie, fourteen, who stays in the room just to the right of mine. With her long auburn hair, green eyes, and boyish figure, she’s quite the favorite.
Reese is the closest in age to me at twenty. It will be her turn to leave next year. Her attitude needs adjusting regularly, and I fear that the adjustments will one day prove to be too much.
Lastly, Ruth. Her twelfth birthday is next week and I know what’s in store for her. Twelve is Papa’s lucky number and I inwardly flinch at the thought, wishing there was something I could do or say to warn her. Prepare her.
But knowing how I interfere, they’ve made sure to keep her away from me, locking her in her room and watching me with a steady determination. Papa won’t allow anyone to mess up his plans.
A small part of me, a part that makes me rear back in horror at myself, is glad that I won’t be here by then. I won’t have to hear her door open in the middle of the night. I won’t need to cover my ears, desperately trying to block out the cries and screams, the sounds of her pain and Papa’s shouts of joy.
A shudder runs through me at the memory of my own Cherry Picking Party, as Papa laughingly calls them. My heart rate speeds up remembering the helplessness, the horror, the pain. Momma even had to come in to hold me down, as my thrashing and screaming were so great that Papa was becoming dangerously annoyed by my unwillingness to cooperate. I’ve learned since then, believe me. Papa adjusted my attitude. Now I do as I’m told with my eyes downcast, taking what is given to me with an empty smile and deadened eyes.
That night, the monster that lives inside of me was born, roaring to life amongst terror and agony and blood. It sits waiting diligently, clawing now and again at my chest, demanding release. I’m worried it may never be satisfied; it demands retribution and its bloodlust runs high. Until I can find a way to be free of the situation I find myself in, it will have to wait. Unfortunately, its patience is wearing thin, and one day, most likely in the not-too-distant future, I may lose the tenuous hold I have on it.
I fear what I might become if I do. Perversely, I also fear what I may become if I don’t. Will I finally lose the battle for my mind? Papa’s attitude adjustments and teachings haven’t managed to break me yet, no matter how well I play the part of the submissive, meek creature he wants me—us—to be. But staying strong takes an enormous amount of energy, and there are days when I worry if today is the day my mind finally fractures.
My dark side has been helpful over the years, infusing my spine with steel, whispering promises of justice—if only I can just hold on a bit longer, keep my mind from slipping into the dark abyss of madness that beckons to me sweetly like a siren’s call.
It helps shield my mind when the men take me to the playroom, helps me endure my punishments, keeps my memories tightly locked away in the dark recesses of my mind, my sisters hold and comfort me, as I do them, all working together in tandem to keep that small flicker of light burning deep within.
The one that only needs the right puff of oxygen to go from a tiny flame to a roaring inferno within seconds.
I look forward to that day.
***
“Remember what will happen if you do not obey me,” Papa warns me with a severity I am thoroughly used to.
Nodding, I step out the front door, the long dress swishing and curling around my long legs as I seemingly float down the steps. The Uber driver stares up at me in awe as I make my way towards him and I clutch my unnecessarily large Givenchy purse, filled with treasures, like a lifeline. He rushes out to open my door for me. What a gentleman.
He will be easy to use.
Our home is large, situated a mile off the main road up a private driveway surrounded by high walls. Besides the odd delivery or mail, we rarely see anyone outside of the property lines, so going outside the perimeter is a treat.
If you can call what I’m doing tonight a treat.
Folding myself delicately into the car, we make our way down the long drive, turning at the gates towards Kachina Village, where tonight’s event will be held.
