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Oh my God, please no.
He smacks Megan’s leg, forcing her raise her buttocks further, then takes her cruelly, causing her to cry out. Her knuckles turn white from gripping onto the cushion beneath the book as he ruts on her like an animal. The old man salivates, waiting his turn.
My jaw aches from clenching so hard, and tears race down my cheeks when I see them pouring from Megan’s eyes as the old man takes his spot behind her. He’s only inside her for three thrusts, then falls over her back, grunting his release.
I wish I could fly her away from here, grow a pair of wings and whisk her to a better place. Where is that?
Eli is last to take the position, his eyes cutting to me.
I glare right back, my eyes slits, my hatred coming off me in waves.
I’ll never forgive you for this.
His apology pours from his eyes, but he’s not sorry. If he were, he wouldn’t be up there. I die a little when he enters her abused, sore body. She lets out a pained whine, her eyes closing, teeth gritted.
Small, fragile bones poke out of her hip as he holds her there, his thrusts slow and torturous. Echoes of her pained grunts fill the toxic atmosphere, searing into our brains. My nails burrow into my skin with every passing second of his skin slapping against hers. Pain fires up my leg, giving me a reprieve. We’re trapped in an endless loop while he tries to finish his duties, fully aware I’m here watching. I wish it was easier for him just so Megan doesn’t have to endure his administrations any longer than necessary.
Finally, he grunts and pulls out, a coat of sweat leaving a sheen covering his skin. My father beams a smile over at him. I want to kill them all.
The curtain finally closes, announcing the ritual is complete. I rush out of the place before anyone else. I want to tear from my skin and dissipate on the breeze. I can’t live like this, with these traditions. It’s sickness wrapped in belief. How can any Lord, any God, want his children to suffer such a thing?
“Are you okay?” Mary asks, chasing behind me, a downward tilt to her lips.
I want to scream in her face, but I catch myself before I do. She’s a believer, devoted and true. “I’m fine. Just queasy from the sickness earlier.” I nod and wave goodbye.
I have a couple hours before my father will return to the house. I need those hours.
Eight
Mona
The cold water from the shower punishes my skin. I sob and scream into the stream, conscious of the fact I won’t be heard.
Opening the bathroom door, I poke my head out to ensure the coast is clear, then make a run for my room and slam the door closed. My heart hammers in my chest as I sit on the bed, pulling the matchbox from my pocket. A few sweets fall to the floor with a soft clink.
A rap on the window startles me. I quickly stuff the matchbox under my pillow and go to the window, edging it open.
“Mona.” Eli sighs, standing there still in his white robe. I want to expel vomit all over him again. “Are you okay?” he asks, furrowing his brow.
“No, I’m not feeling very well.” More lies. “Nice outfit.” I gesture to his robe, grimacing.
“I’m sorry. You understand it’s not something I can refuse.”
“Yes, it is.” I shake my head in disbelief.
“About the proposal.” He fidgets, pulling out the box with the ring inside. Was that in his pocket while he was defiling poor Megan?
“Eli,” I warn with a shake of my head.
“You didn’t exactly get to answer me earlier…well, not with the answer I was hoping for.” He laughs, but it’s awkward, nervous, fake.
“I’ve told you I’m not ready to…”
“To what? Be with me properly? Is there someone else you see yourself with?”
Yes! Anyone else after what you did. You make me want to scrub my skin until your touch bleeds from it.
“No, it’s not about anyone else, it’s about me.”
His eyes scan past me into the room. “Has Claudia been here?”
I follow his gaze to the sweets. “I saw her earlier. Why?”
He’s aware that she brings me things—us things. Like birth control in the form of condoms Eli keeps hidden for our nights together.
“How is she? There are talks of a union between her and Andrew Miller.”
“Really?” Andrew already has two wives. “I’m not really feeling great, Eli.” I rub a hand over my stomach for emphasis.
“Eaten too much candy.” He smiles, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
“Maybe.”
“Your father will want to hear your answer to my proposal. He’s pushing for this.”
I hate you for this. A dark cloud descends over my head, the rain imminent. I have nothing I could appease my father with and he will force this on me. Eli knew that when he got down on his knee. It produces an ache in my soul. He was supposed to be my friend before anything else, and this feels like the worst kind of betrayal.
