Page 2 of Our Monstrous Hearts

“This is whatcha get for sayin’ no, Cassandra.” His words are quiet, but the threat is unmistakable. Something I do not recognize flares within me as my hands clench into fists, my talons slicing my palms.

He toys with her chestnut-brown hair as the others tie her to a tree. Cassandra winces at the way the sisal fibers cut into her skin, and the man smirks, seeming to take pleasure from her pain. I can see from here how tight the rope is, and knowing it must hurt stokes an unexpected anger in me. I want to rip out their throats.

“Five dollars that she don’t make it through the night, Clayton. You’ll need a new wife,” the second man says with a sneer.

The third slaps his shoulder, laughing. “Do we reckon a wolf or the monster will eat her?”

My eyes narrow. How dare they speak of me.

Face turned towards hers, Clayton ignores his friends in favor of jeering at the woman. “If you make it through the night, we’ll come take you home in the morning.” Clayton grips her throat, digging his fingers in to cut off her circulation, and her hazel eyes pop wide with panic. “Next time, I won’t be so easy on you, little girl.” Clayton hisses the words before he lets go, stepping back.

“Night, Cassie!”

“Sleep tight!”

Their vitriol follows them as they carve their way through the night, leaving Cassandra with only the eerie sounds of Deadwood Forest to keep her company.

And me.

Cassandra peers through the inky black of the forest that surrounds her, though I know her human eyes cannot see anything.

She does not yet know that she does not need to see, because I will keep watch until the sun rises. Cassandra is no longer alone.

An everlasting knowing settles within my bones—our souls were destined to collide. Inescapably, she is mine.

Chapter II

Cassandra

Present day

Glass shatters, the sound of violence reverberating through the air as pain slashes against my arms.

If anyone were listening, I wouldn’t ask for the abuse to stop. I would ask for death. It’s the only way I’ll find peace, because I am not built for the world into which I’ve been condemned. Others have made me suffer more pain than I can bear––there is no other way out.

My heart pounds in my chest as I stare blankly at my husband, my hands hidden below the surface of the wooden dining table, secretly tearing at my nails so that I’m able to remain stoic. What has happened already isn’t the worst of his outbursts, which I know means it’s far from over.

“You’re a useless, worthless bitch, Cassie,” Clayton screams, spit spraying from his mouth.

He throws another plate, our dinner flying off to splatter around the room. The plate shatters against the wall behind me, and I clench my body, every muscle wound tight in an effort not to flinch. Clayton likes it when I’m scared. The fear feeds him, fueling his descent into rabid fervor.

I glance down, tracing the knife gouges in the wood. Every mark holds a memory, like the time Clayton severed the tip of my finger while playing a drunken knife game. It wasn’t a game that I wanted to play, but I had no choice. I never have a choice where my husband is concerned.

Though my heart races, urging me to flee or fight, all I can feel is a debilitating numbness weighing me down in my chair.

After the tenth time I’d been hit, the harsh lessons were carved into my soul, and it was easier to keep myself like this. Empty and lifeless on the inside. A walking, living corpse. It also meant that I could wake up each morning to the sun taunting me with its warmth and radiance, and do everything Clayton wanted, while still hating my life and myself.

Clayton and Cassie—we were meant to be perfect together.

I believed I would have a happily ever after on the arm of the most charming man to ever visit our village.

The first time I met him was the day he took off his wide-brimmed hat while standing on my father’s run-down, rotting porch and asked to marry me. Clayton held that hat in his hands earnestly, looking at me with warm, honey-brown eyes that sold stories of love in starlight. After a life of being ignored, I was instantly enamored. It didn’t matter that his family would pay for me, or that I was much younger and being promised to a much older man. Clayton wanted me.

Like all those stories of fearless heroes saving the damsel in distress, he rescued me from my terrible life, whisking me away to this small town with the kinds of extravagant promises that make young girls disregard warning bells.

When he smiled at me under the arches of holy matrimony and told me that he would love me and keep me safe—until death do us part —I believed him. My naïve younger self thought perhaps I had suffered enough through childhood with a distant mother and a violent father, and that I was finally getting the happy ending I had earned.

That we would get to know peace and love.