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My father huffed. “She can eat and drink in the car. Prepare her something now.”
I heard my mother’s shoes tapping quickly out of the room and down the stairs.
A hand grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. I gasped at the pain and opened my eyes. My father stared down at me, snarling. “I don’t care how weak you are. You will walk down that aisle, you will say ‘I do,’ and you will lie in your marriage bed with your legs spread and please your husband. If you do not please him, he will have no reason not to share you with his friends.” He let go of my hair and pushed my head forward. I stopped it from hitting the dressing table. “It’s your choice, Claudia.”
I don’t remember much about the journey to the courthouse. Father dragged me down the stairs and into the car. Mother handed me a sandwich and water, which I gulped down. My stomach felt sore, but the throbbing in my head lessened ever so slightly.
Unfortunately, a clearer head meant that the fear I couldn’t think about slipped into my mind like a snake and poisoned everything.
Like a lamb going to slaughter, they had set me free of my room and could beat and abuse me no longer, but I was trading one cage for an even worse prison.
While the journey was a blur, I remember walking into the courthouse in vivid detail. My mother shoving a bouquet in my hand and pulling my arm to wrap through my father’s. She walked down the aisle to take her seat at the front.
I remember my father’s tight grip on my hand, which was sweating and trembling.
I remember the white empty chairs and the smell of the roses in my hand. My dress itched and scratched over my skin and bones as though ants covered me instead of white lace. There was a roaring silence in the room, yet my heartbeat sounded like drums in my ears. My breathing was shallow. I counted down my steps as I walked toward the man standing by the officiant.
He was well dressed, well-groomed, and looked to be the perfect gentleman, but his black eyes and twisted smile were cruel. I swallowed thickly, looked away, and held back a shudder.
I was glad we weren’t at a church. I didn’t want God to see this, although I was sure He had abandoned me a long time ago. Praying in my bedroom was a habit rather than a cry for help. I didn’t expect Him to help. After all, if my father could treat me so poorly, why wouldn’t my Heavenly Father?
My father transferred my hands from his to my soon-to-be husband’s, and at their icy touch, I gritted my teeth and tried not to flinch.
His smile widened, and my heart cried as that horrible pulling sensation started. My legs, already weak, wobbled and gave Mr. Jenkins an excuse to pull me into his arms with a laugh and whisper, “So much fun.”
Bile rose in my throat as he righted me, and I spent the rest of the ceremony concentrating on not vomiting. I repeated words with a cracked voice. I signed a paper with a trembling hand. Two other people signed it too, although I did not know who they were. All the while, I convinced myself to keep breathing steadily. I didn’t look up. I blocked out the sound of his voice. If it weren’t for the fact he held my hands captured in his tight grip, I could ignore him entirely.
It will all be over soon. Just keep standing, keep breathing.
“You may now kiss the bride.” The words seemed to boom around the room and echo.
My eyes flickered up from the floor to his lips immediately and saw them approaching as he tugged me closer. I flinched as his lips pressed against mine. My first kiss.
And it was revolting.
His lips were as cold as his hands. They parted, and his tongue forced entry into my mouth, jabbing and swirling. I almost choked. His hand moved to my hair and pulled my head back sharply. His teeth bit hard on my lips, making me whimper. He chuckled.
While my mouth was assaulted, the pulling sensation that usually followed his touch intensified. Something inside me traveled up to my mouth and met him. And he took it with the rough kiss. I felt a loss. A loss like he was taking my very soul from my body.
I pushed against his chest, and with another painful bite, which I was sure drew blood, he moved away. He looked satisfied. The smug smile chilled me, and I dropped my gaze, my lips stinging.
I walked out of that room as Mrs. Margaret Claudia Jenkins.
So much had been taken from me. My career, my money, my freedom, and now my name. I knew there was more to take. That my new husband would take as his right. I feared it more than a fist, more than starving, more than death.
If that kiss proved anything, it was that the worst was yet to come.
My parents didn’t say goodbye. They walked away without a backward glance. My last memory of them is the back of my mother’s blue dress and jacket, her hat flapping in the wind, and my father opening the car door for her to get in.
Their complete and total abandonment of me was the final nail in my coffin.
I’d long since learned that a heart could break many times. Broken parts continued to crack and shatter, leaving holes that got bigger with each painful puncture. But in that moment, it didn’t shatter; it disintegrated. It died in my chest, fell to pieces, and now I was nothing.
Between them, my parents and Mr. Darren Jenkins would make me a doll. A person with nothing inside. An empty shell.
I couldn’t even cry because I was still so dehydrated.
With another blurring journey, I found myself in my new home. If I cared at all for the man, if this were what I wanted, and if I had any ambition to marry, I would think the home was nice. It had a large front garden full of plants and a back garden that had plenty of room for children to play. The rooms were tall and spacious, and the kitchen was fully equipped.
