Page 23 of Under His Rule

Almost.

Because the prospect of being put back in that suffering hut wipes out all existing regret and replaces it with horror of unimaginable proportions.

I’m there again … in that concrete cell.

Alone. Scared. And hurting.

And the door is closed on me once again while I scream into the darkness.

Chapter 8

Natalie

I wish it was only the darkness that kept me company. I wished so hard.

Wished it was only the swooshing of my own blood being pumped through my veins that I heard.

Wished it was only my tears that dripped onto the floor.

Instead, there is a ruler, and my hands are covered in red marks.

A nameless woman stands before me, slapping the palm of my hand. At first, without a warning, without a word. Then came the questions, to which I had no answers.

Why did you slap her?

Why did you not repent?

Why do you not obey?

Why do you not follow rules?

I don’t know why I am the way I am. I just know that when I hit Emmy, I broke a little. I’ve been losing chips of myself here and there, but the moment she asked me why I wasn’t happy, it made me snap.

And now I pay the price.

Love your brothers and sisters.

Love your fellow believers.

Love everyone around you.

Love.

If you do not love, you get punished.

Even if you don’t mean it, show love, or you will feel pain instead. That’s the message they are giving me, and I have listened well.

For the past hours, all I’ve felt is the sharp pain of a ruler coming down on me, making me hold back the screeches I wish I could let out. But I know the more I hurt, the more they smile.

That’s what they do. These women are trained to belittle, subdue, and punish girls like me, girls who are forced to become part of the community just because some man wanted them.

I wonder if these women, these “sisters” who have made my life miserable, have husbands. If that’s how they learn this behavior.

Punish or get punished.

Maybe that’s how they keep the women in check.

Make them the ones dishing out the pain, then they know what happens if you try to defy the rules.

It’s working, though. Slap by slap, I’m enforced to believe that what I did was wrong. That I am truly sorry for hurting her. That I want this to stop, but I won’t say that out loud. I am a sinner. Sinners will be punished. Repent and you will be forgiven.

“I am sorry!” I yell out loud as she takes a break for a few seconds. “Please, forgive me …”

I feel defeated. Hurt. Wounded.

Betrayed by my own conscience … persuaded by my own guilt.

“Good.” The woman taps her own hand with the ruler, each snap a powerful reminder of what she can do if I don’t comply.

“You think about that.” The woman gathers her belongings and leaves me here in the dark, alone, crying.

I wasn’t even chained up. They didn’t need to.

I knew they were there, waiting behind that door, ready to pounce on me if I tried to flee. So I just accepted it and held up my hands when she asked.

I cooperated in my own punishment.

The bruises on my hand are so painful it makes me shiver. These are marks that won’t leave scars on the skin, but they will leave scars on the soul.

Suddenly, the door opens again. Is it that woman? Has she come for more?

When I look up, my jaw drops.

It’s him; the patriarch.

I push myself into a corner, shuddering. I can’t let my guard down. He goes to his knees in front of me. “Give me your hands.”

I reluctantly hold them out. He grabs both, and warmth instantly flows through me as though he’s siphoning energy through his fingers. It’s a figment of my imagination, and I know that, but it’s a powerful feeling that I find hard to ignore.

He slides a single finger across my palm, and I hiss in agony.

“Damn …” he mutters.

I didn’t know they were allowed to swear here. Maybe he has a free pass. He’s a patriarch, which means he must be powerful in some way. Powerful enough to bend the rules? Powerful enough to get me out of here?

“That elder’s wife really did a number on you, didn’t she?” he asks.

He reaches for my face, and I cower in place, but his hand on my skin feels so soothing compared to the rough beating I just had that I instantly melt in the palm of his hand.

He sighs and then gets up. Suddenly, he picks me up from the floor with both hands and carries me toward the door.

I’m stunned, completely frozen in his arms as he brings me back outside. My eyes squint as I get used to the daylight again.

The woman seems to appear out of nowhere. “Patriarch, what are you—”

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