I couldn’t imagine it.
Didn’t want to.
“You want that thing in her stomach to be born a bastard, Cynthia?”
I flinched at my father’s callous words, fingers digging into the wooden rails.
That thing.
I’d always been told there was a God, though all my prayers had gone woefully unanswered, but fuck if there really was a God out there, I prayed that my uterus would shrivel the fuck up and not produce any children to that monster of a man.
“She’s getting married, and that’s that,” I heard him say, and a rage that filled every crevice of my soul lit inside me.
I stood on shaky legs and walked down the stairs, feeling the embers of my anger growing into a full inferno with each step.
“Don’t I get a say on this?” I asked, watching both my parents’ head whip in my direction.
Both of them were visibly pissed at my interruption.
“Young lady—” my father started, but I had something to say.
“I am so tired of everyone not listening to me! You heard me say he raped me, and instead of believing me, you want me to marry him?”
My father’s face turned downright deadly and all that ire I was feeling retreated inward.
It took him two steps before he was on me, and my mother was screaming.
His fist nearly crashed into my face, careening off to the side at the last second when my mom yelled out, “Craig! Stop! She’s pregnant.”
Tears welled in my eyes, knowing that an unborn baby had more empathy from my father than I did. Now he stops? Now? Not all those years prior when I was growing up? Unbelievable.
My feet carried me back up the stairs and into the familiarity of my room where I broke apart. I should have known speaking up for myself wouldn’t do any good. Maybe I should just stop trying.
The decision was made for me. Marry Pastor John or end up on the street. I paced back and forth so many times in my room, I was surprised that I hadn’t worn the carpet down to bits. Or maybe the earth could just swallow me up whole and solve all my problems.Veggie Talesnever covered this in all their wise vegetable knowledge. Not one Sunday school teacher touched on this particular problem. All their preaching and still I was left feeling more confused, lost, and angrier than ever.
Could I pack my bags and leave? With no high school diploma and no money, that option didn’t feel plausible. My brain felt like it had turned into a permanent scream. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus on anything. How was this my life?
Was Cain thinking the same thing? Both of us had our futures ripped away by one man’s selfish actions. But that wasn’t enough. No. Now he wanted to haul me away and keep me like a trophy.
I wasn’t anyone’s trophy.
But it seemed just like the night I was ripped from my bed and taken against my will. I once again found myself stripped of mychoice. And at the hands of my parents. The people I was supposed to be able to trust most in this life.
Well, I hope they all burned in the hell they feared so much.
The next week was a blur of plans and fittings that I floated through feeling untethered to reality. It was like everything was happening all around me and I was observing it.
My mother, while initially opposed, seemed to warm to the idea of handing her only child off to her rapist. How she could hear the accusations against him from my own mouth and choose not to believe me made her dead to me in my eyes.
After today, I wouldn’t speak to either of my parents again.
The wedding dress my mother picked for me itched and rubbed my skin raw. It was stark white, full of lace, and felt more like chains being wrapped around me, dragging me towards a life I couldn’t fight, than a wedding dress. It had enough fabric to disguise the small— but noticeable bump I’d started to sport, despite how early in the pregnancy I was.
I pulled at the neckline with my fingers trying to loosen it up. It sat high and dug into my flesh.
“Would you stop fidgeting! You’re going to tear the lace.” My mother scolded, smacking my hands.
I couldn’t care less if I ripped the entire thing right off my body and ran naked out of this godforsaken church.
