Page 69 of Catalyst


Font Size:  

Neither my mother nor father had allowed me to leave my room unless to wash or use the outhouse. I cringed as I placed my hand on the cold metal knob. Twisting it, I took a deep breath and opened my door. I winced at the creakiness and paused, waiting for … something. Someone to stop me. Mother, to guide me to the washroom. Father, to shove me back into my room. But nothing happened. The house was silent.

I tiptoed to the stairs, my heart pounding, my eyes scanning furiously and my body awaiting attacks. Creeping downstairs, I could feel cuts reopening along my back, the material of my dress rubbing against the wounds. I prayed I didn’t bleed through. Father really would kill me.

And on the stairs, I stopped. My breathing hitched. Because I realized that the thought of Father killing me didn’t scare me like it should have.

“Claudia,” Mother hissed when she spotted me motionless on the stairs. I knew then that the guest wasn’t there; they didn’t have to be on their best behavior. I swallowed hard, released the tight grasp I had on the stair rail, and continued walking down to the dining room.

I didn’t look them in the eyes as I stepped into the room. “Good evening, Father. Mother.” My voice quaked slightly. I clasped my hands to stop them shaking.

“Sit, Claudia.” He nodded at the dining chair opposite him, and I did as I was bid, wincing slightly at the feel of hard wood against my tender skin. “I have good news,” he said calmly. He wasn’t looking at me. He took a graceful sip of his drink. It set my heart racing even faster.

“Sir?”

He turned his icy gaze on me suddenly, and I froze, a breath caught in my lungs. “You aren’t smiling. I’m giving you good news. You should be smiling.”

My stomach clenched in fear, and my lips stuttered. “Forgive me.” I etched a brittle smile on my face. “What is the good news?”

“You’re to be married.”

I gasped, and my heart started racing. “Marriage?” I squeaked. Shock held me rigid.

Marriage. My heart turned itself inside out at the thought, having always longed for something … else … someone else. Someone I had never met. Meanwhile, my mind was soaring with possibilities, whispering reassurances to my heart. I could escape here. Escape my parents. This house. My room. Maybe go back to nursing. I’d find myself again. Learn to be unafraid. I’d be more independent. Try to help others who suffered as I have.

But I’d be married.

Perhaps that man didn’t want an independent wife. A wife with a career or hobby. Maybe he wouldn’t be kind at all. Perhaps I was just swapping one prison for another. Perhaps I’d break with another kind of abuse, one my father doesn’t do.

I shuddered.

“It’s about time you made yourself useful. You need a husband,” my father continued.

I nodded agreeably, my mind still swirling even as my heart felt more and more removed. Cold crept over me, and I jumped at the sound of a knock at the front door.

“Margaret, if you will,” Father addressed Mother, who immediately stood and walked to the door.

When Mother closed the dining room door behind her with a quiet click, Father turned back to me. “You are not interested in who your marriage partner is?”

I swallowed. “Of course I am, Father.”

“He is a good friend of mine.” My stomach dropped. Any friend of Father’s could not be a kind man. “His name is Darren Jenkins.” My world swirled. The thoughts in my brain drained away like dirty water in a sink.

Darren Jenkins. The same man who beat his wife to death only ten weeks ago. A woman I tried to help. But ultimately failed.

Is this my punishment?

“He’s in the market for a bride and likes them pliable and … well, for lack of a better word, broken.”

I heard the words but didn’t process them. “Broken” echoed around my empty head. I felt nothing. Cold seeped into my skin and creeped around my bones, making them hard, brittle, aching.

“He’s had wives in the past that have let him down. But you’ll understand the consequences of letting him down. And letting me down.”

A soft knock at the dining room door sounded, but it didn’t open. Mother would not enter with our guest until Father told her to. She knew better.

Father, in a flurry of movement, pounced over the table, knocking cutlery and plates to the floor with a clatter. He grabbed my face with a large hand and turned my gaze from the door to meet his, so close I could smell the wine on his breath. I tried to pull away, an instinctual movement I hadn’t filtered quickly enough, because his grip on my cheeks tightened, and rage flashed in his eyes. I held still and waited.

“It is important that you do not ruin this dinner with womanly weakness. You will be agreeable and silent. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered through squished cheeks and tried to force back the nausea rising in my throat.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
Articles you may like