Page 3 of If You Go
“Whatever ye say, me sweet Surry. Now, let’s get ye down de aisle—yer future’s waitin’ on ye. But mind dis, girl: ye can always come to me, about anythin’ at all. Even if ye’re movin’ off wit’ him, ye’re never alone. Not while I draw breath.”
I look at the clock on the wall and realize I was supposed to be at the altar ten minutes ago. I hate running late, it makes my ADHD feel even more chaotic than normal, and I begin to sweat a bit.
Papa takes my hand and guides me to the door of the Bridal suite, giving my knuckles a brief kiss. He does not let go ofmy hand from the time we link together in the suite, all the way to the end of the aisle.
The church is beautiful. It is all white and tan, most of the tans coming from wooden beams and pews. The ground is a smooth cobblestone, worn with age. It was probably once red, but now a gentle brown, but still looks clean.
We get to the altar, and the first thing I see is Gavin. He is not looking at me like I hoped he would. He is smiling, yes, but there is something in his eyes. Cold, unreadable, like a shadow under the light. I look at my father, who is glaring at Gavin. He then gives Gavin a look that I can’t discern. Instead all I can focus on is the priest as he begins to speak, announcing why we are here and who is giving away the bride. I then shift my eyes toward Gavin who has still not looked into my eyes yet.
Gavin gives a curt nod and takes my arm, a little forcefully, from my father. Once my hand is in Gavin’s, his eyes soften just a touch. We turn to listen to the priest as he continues on with the ceremony.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God and these witnesses to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. It is a sacred bond, not to be entered into lightly, but with reverence and devotion.”
Gavin squeezes my hand tightly, almost too tightly. I manage a small smile, though my nerves flicker under the weight of his grip.
The priest’s words fade into the background, his blessing echoing through the church as Gavin’s grip tightens around my hand. He looks at me then, his eyes almost soft, though the iron beneath never wavers.
When it’s time for the vows, Gavin doesn’t repeat the priest’s words. Instead, his voice carries through the silence, steady and commanding:
“From this day forward, you’ll be where I say, when I say. You’ll not speak unless given leave, and you’ll follow my rules without question. Nod if you understand, and accept me as your husband.”
The room doesn’t flinch–not here, not among these men and women who know what power looks like. To them, it sounds like devotion, strength, tradition.
My throat tightens, but I nod. The priest accepts it as though it were holy. Gavin’s mouth tilts in satisfaction before he slides the ring onto my finger.
My eyes have gone wide, but the priest doesn’t seem to notice, or at least he doesn’t care. A shiver runs down my spine and just when I am about to turn to look at my father, Gavin squeezes my hand so hard I am shocked I don’t hear my bones crack. I give a small nod as tears run down my face.
“Good, now act like you are the happiest bride in the world, marrying the love of your life. Because that is what I am still, am I not?”
I turn to look at him, really look at him. I give a flat smile, and another nod. I always thought your wedding day was supposed to be the happiest day of your life. Why did minefeel like the beginning of a nightmare? I then begin to repeat the vows the priest has asked me to.
12 years ago
“Gavin! Stop! It hurts, please stop!” I scream, and I scream, and I scream. The hits he gives to my stomach, my legs, my back. They are all I feel anymore.
“You will listen, you will shut up, and you will do as you’re told. Now, are you going to give me the child I need to solidify this union with your family, or must I force it?”
I don’t understand. I am not preventing any pregnancy. I have never been on birth control. I track my cycle with several apps and test strips, even taking my temperature every morning. I eat as though I am pregnant already to ensure that I never mess it up if I do get pregnant. Thesupplements I take are expensive and endless. “I am doing my best, I don’t know what you want!”
At that, he rips my arm up, pulling me to a sort of stand where my legs are not supporting me, only my arm in his grip is. He spins me around, takes his hand, and places it on the back of my head. He forces my face into the bed, and with the other hand, pulls down my pants and underwear. When I feel him thrust into me, I cry out.
He grunts into my ear, “You will give me a son, and you will take it every day until you do so. This is how I expect to find you when I get home from now on. Naked, face down, and bared open to me. Do you understand?”
But I can’t breathe. I can’t answer. He grips my hair with his fist and yanks my head backwards, all the while still ramming into me with force that is unnecessary. I am half his size. What does he think I am going to do?
“I understand,” I answer in a whisper so quiet, even I can barely hear it, because I know that is what he is looking for.
He shoves my head back down and nearly suffocates me until he empties himself inside me. He lets me fall to the ground, tucks himself back inside his pants, and kicks me in the side.
I hunch over and cry into my arms, hoping he will just leave. The beatings started a few months after the wedding. So did whatever this sex was called. I know it wasn’t love. He only needed me for a broodmare. I hear the door click shut, and I stay huddled in my little ball for a while, hoping that I will wake up from this never-ending nightmare.
11 Years Ago
Another year later, and still this has not ended. Morning and night, he came. Morning and night, I lay there and took it. A room stripped of everything—bed, dresser, mirror,bathroom—nothing else. My world shrank to four walls and a door that only opened for him.
For the first few months after we were married, we stayed in the same bedroom, as a normal married couple would do. But after failing several times to get or stay pregnant, I was removed from his room as he decided I wasn’t good enough to stay with him. Now I stay in an empty room, it is even more depressing. Morning and night, I stay in this room, being used as he sees fit.
Outside of that, I don’t see him anymore. Today had been a good day. Bleach on my hands from scrubbing the oven, the quiet hum of the fridge, the smell of soap. Alone. For a moment, I felt almost human. I had already prepped meals to feed us for the week, deep-cleaned the kitchen and living room, ensuring the entire house was spotless. Outside of bearing children, that is my only other job, according to Gavin. So when he barges into the kitchen in the middle of the day with some of his goons, I am shocked by the intrusion into what is normally my alone time.
