Page 166 of Degradation
I don’t know what to say to that, how to reply. He clearly takes that as some form of invitation to continue because he tucks my hand into his arm, and he leads me down what I assume to be the aisle.
I can hear the faint sound of someone breathing, I can hear the slight crackle of candles. This place feels old, disused. I don’t know how Devin managed to bribe a priest but then, I’m not surprised. He seems to have the ability to get whatever he wants, whenever he wants it.
As we come to a stop, it hits me that I’m still wearing the jumper dress and knee-high boots I put on this morning. I glance down, even though I can’t see, and I wince at what I must look like. It’s hardly the outfit someone wants to wear on their wedding day.
“What is it?” Devin asks, clearly seeing I’m uncomfortable.
“I’m not wearing a wedding dress.” I reply.
“You could be wearing a sack for all I care.” He states. “It’s not about the dress, it’s about us, tying ourselves together, binding ourselves for life.”
I gulp at those words. At the tone. He’s right. That’s exactly what this will do. I’m not sure I’m ready for this, ready for this step, but Devin isn’t giving me much of a choice, is he?
I don’t hear the words the Priest says. I zone out, disassociate, as the vows are spoken, and if I say my own, it’s not done consciously on my part. I feel like I’m suddenly drowning, that I’m lost, spiralling into a memory so dark and horrific that I can’t claw my way out.
I can see all those masked faces, I can smell that incense, and I’m back on that stone crucifix, laid out like a literal sacrifice.
Devin takes my hand, I know it’s him who makes the cut, who drags the knife across my palm, right next to that old scar, before he does the same to his own and he clasps it so tightly, combining our blood, mixing it together. Silk is then wrapped around us both, entwining our hands.
Blake and Heseltine. Now bound for life.
There’s no escaping this, no denying it. It can’t be undone. Only death can separate us now.
Death… that word lingers in my head, it taunts me.
He murmurs something into my ear, something I’m sure he thinks is reassuring, but it does nothing to help me.
All I can see isthatmoment, so long ago. I can see me, that innocent, helpless, naïve idiot that I was. And I can see him too, my husband, mydeadhusband. I can feel his hands over me, I can feel his bodyinme, I can taste his foul breath on my tongue, and it feels like all the air is being forced from my lungs, that I’m choking again. That I’m once more caught in his grasp and all this history is repeating itself.
I hear a swish of fabric, the sound of something being placed down on top of something else and I know what it means, what it is. A pretty white silk sheet, even though I’m not a virgin anymore. I guess the symbolism remains then, the ritual must be completed, right?
There may not be a crucifix in front of me, but the expectation is the same. Any minute now I’m going to be pinned down, I’m going to be stripped, and fucked, and used, just like last time.
Only, Devin must realise that I’m falling apart, that all of this is too much. Our hands are still joined, but with he quickly gets his free and then he scoops me up and begins to carry me out.
“Wait, you need to consummate the marriage.” The Priest calls from behind us.
And that sends another wave of something awful through me. I screw my face up, trying desperately not to crumble entirely and I hear what sounds like a scuffle.
Devin moves, he jerks, and it feels like his shoulder becomes a battering ram. Something falls back; a piece of furniture scrapes across the floor, and I hear the clatter of the candlesticks toppling over.
“The fuck I will.” Devin growls. “I’ll fuck my wife however I choose, and I won’t have a damned priest have any say in it.”
I don’t say a word; I don’t dare even breathe as he carries me out into that freezing cold night.
We’re backin the bedsit.
I can hear the sound of a shitty TV downstairs. I can hear the sounds of Mace laughing at whatever he and Malik are watching.
I don’t know if they know what we did. If they realise that we’re now husband and wife.
Fuck, husband and wife. Devin is my husband.
I shake my head, trying to understand why I was so messed up back in the church, and yet now, the concept doesn’t faze me.
We stopped at a fast-food restaurant on the way back. A hamburger and chips was my wedding feast. The old me, the young me, would have turned her nose up at such food. But as we sat in the van, I devoured it like it was the finest thing I’d ever eaten.
My fingers fiddle with my wedding band. My wedding mark still stings a little under the bandage, but it feels like Devin only cut as deeply as he had to and no further.
