Page 82 of Unbreakable

Arizona

IwaspositiveI’d be placed back in the cuff restraints when we returned home, but much to my surprise I wasn’t. I’d no sooner been escorted through the door, when my father steps out of his house requesting, no, more like demands my presence. Alexander and Malcolm head off in the opposite direction towards the kitchen. Hobbling my way over at a slower pace, trying to get accustomed to the weight of the boot on my foot and the twinges of pain shooting up my leg.

He holds the door open for me to enter, then shuts it before moving across the room, taking a seat in the chair behind his desk.

“Sit down Arianna, we need to talk.” he says gruffly as he gestures with his hand towards the chair placed on the opposite side of the desk from him.

“Yes father,” rolls timidly off my lips, as I slowly make my way over to the chair, relief hitting me when I finally sit down, relieving the weight from my foot.

He looks at me solemnly, his lips clenched together so tightly I can see the nerves in his jaw twitching. “Alexander tells me you’ve been defiant and acting out. This behavior will stop and you’ll become obedient. Do you understand me?”

“Yes Father, but if I may speak bluntly, I no longer wish to be his bride. I feel you should take responsibility for the financial failure you had. You accepted the loan, and should be the one repaying it, not me.” I hastily tell him, knowing if I didn’t get it out now, I’d chicken out of it, keeping how I felt to myself.

“My failure,” he says amongst laughter, one that you hear more coming from the psychotic killer in a horror movie. “Arianna, you’re the reason we were in a financial predicament. If it wasn’t for the money we spent to keep you in designer clothes, ivy league schools, and those dance classes we would've been fine. Those things take money, so my financial failure is in fact yours and this is your debt to repay.”

“That is not true Father and you..” I can't even get the rest of the sentence out before I feel the weight of his hand, hitting the skin on the side of my face with such force that I topple over, taking the chair with me, hitting the floor.

“You ever talk to me like that again and you’ll be hitting more than the floor. I expect you to accept this marriage and begin to be the dutiful fiancé. Continue to act out, and Alexander will make you wish you would’ve listened to me. Now get up off the floor, go upstairs, and make sure you look presentable for the dinner tonight. Not only will Alexander be introducing you to his business associates, he will also be introducing you as his fiancé. Even though your birthday is still a couple months away, you’ll be getting married next weekend. He doesn't see the need to wait any longer.” My father’s words shock me, as I stare at him knowing I must look like a deer caught in headlights.

“What are you doing still sitting there? I said go to your room!” he barks out when I don’t move fast enough. I slowly get up from the floor, taking longer as I can only use one arm, and limp over to the door. I’ve only just opened the door and begun to make my way through it, when he speaks again. “I’m trusting you and not locking your door. Just know there will be a guard posted in the hallway in case you get any bright ideas about running.”

It’s as if he can read my mind. I WAS going to run, well more like walk. I was headed to the front door, knowing where Dad kept the keys to all the cars in the garage and I was leaving, planning to make it as far away as I could then call Ash and Vee, knowing they’d help me.

My heart sinks, instead making my way towards the stairs, slowly climbing them, each step causing more pain than the last as I make my way to the top. True to his words, there in the hallway outside of my bedroom door, stands one of the biggest goons I’ve ever seen in my life. He looks like someone right out of the Sopranos television show.

I continue forward, moving down the hallway towards my bedroom, avoiding eye contact with my prison guard. I feel like a death row inmate making their final walk to the execution room, except mine is a prolonged death, where I’ll die just a little more every day until there’s nothing left of me but a shell of my former self.

Reaching my door, I take a deep breath before turning the knob and heading inside. Making my way over to the bed, sitting on the edge, before letting my body fall backwards, and stare up at the ceiling. Lying there I finally make my decision, one way or another this will be my last night in this home, in this hell my father wants me to live. I either find a way to escape and run back to the men who will hopefully take me back and welcome me with open arms, or I end it all.

I roll to my side, onto the arm that’s not in the sling, and close my eyes, deciding to sleep and forget what my life has become for a little while and allow the quiet darkness to take me.

I’m stirred from my amazing dream, where I’m back in Memphis with the men I love and the friends I feel are more like family than my biological one. Instinctively jerking back from the hand placed on my arm gently shaking me, I’m relieved when I see Miranda and not Alexander or my father.

“Miss Arianna, it’s time to begin getting ready.” she tells me softly, but I still notice how shaky her voice sounds. She moves away heading to my closet and begins to look through my clothes, taking her time as she slides each item of clothing to the side, glancing at each piece contemplatively. I take that as my cue, and slowly sit up, taking a deep breath before standing and making my way to the bathroom to shower. I know without a doubt when I’m done, my dress for the night will be laid out on the bed and Miranda will be knocking on the bathroom door checking if I need any help.

Once I’m in the bathroom, I shut the door behind me, close the lid to the toilet and sit down to remove the boot from my foot and take the sling off my shoulder. The only bright spot is that I don't have a cast. No need to worry about covering it or making sure it doesn’t get wet.

Turning the shower on full blast, I give it a moment to warm up while taking off my clothing. Glancing over to the edge of the tub, I see an old razor and my mind begins to run. How easy it would be to just take out the razor and make two slits, one in each wrist before sitting down in the tub allowing the spray of the shower to pound on my body as the blood flows from me, and slowly drift away from existence. I shake off the thought, fearing any retribution that would happen to Miranda with her being in my room with me.

It takes me longer to shower and by the time I’m done washing both my body and hair, the water is starting to run cold, and I hate cold showers. If I were ever to have my dream home, the water would always stay hot, well in my perfect world it would.

I take my time stepping out of the shower after turning the water off, and sure enough there’s the knock at the door and Miranda’s soft sweet voice coming through the crack I left. “Do you need any help Miss Arianna?”

“No, I’m good, thank you. I’ll be out in just a few minutes.” I call back, before turning to the sink, picking up my toothbrush and toothpaste to brush my teeth.

Once finished I pick up my sling and boot, open the door the rest of the way, and hobble out to the bedroom, while simultaneously trying to keep the towel wrapped around me. No small feat when the towel just barely covers the curves of my body, but I manage to make it to bed before collapsing down on it.

“Miss Arianna, I could have helped you.” comes from Miranda as she steps out of the closet and catches me in my frazzled state.

“I know, I just hate imposing. Especially after what you told me about the threat to your family.” I tell her, guilt eating at me that I’m the cause.

She marches across the room to me, sitting down next to me on the bed, turning slightly to face me as she wraps her arms around me. “No you don’t, you will not cry or feel bad. Their threats to my family are not on you, it’s on them. Now no more blaming yourself. Do you understand me?”

“Yes ma’am.” I manage to sniffle out.

“Now, let’s get your hair dried and styled, your face on, and then we’ll get you dressed. I’m going to help you with all of it, especially with that arm being injured.”

Over the next thirty minutes she takes her time helping me dry and style my hair and apply my makeup, all the while asking about me and what I was doing during my time away in Memphis. This is the woman I wish was my mother, instead of the one I was born to.

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