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My body shakes with anger at his inflexibility. Not even a day back and he’s punishing me. He extends his hand, his expression hard at the edges. I slap my phone in his hand. My sister’s shoulders drop, and I turn on my heel, taking off toward my room. I can go without food, but he won’t let me starve myself; he needs me healthy in order to marry me off.
With a grin on my face, I close the door. It felt good, my little rebellious act. I rummage through my closet to find my treasure—my jewelry kit. Strings, wires, beads, clasps, and various stones, along with my trusty wire cutter, scissors, pliers, and a crimping tool. I lose track of time, giving into the pull of creation, stringing a bracelet. Lacing one Swarovski crystal followed by one black pearl through the fine soft flex beading wire, everything else ceases to matter. Stringing on the little tube crimp, I pick my flex cutter and cut two quarter of an inch pieces of the delicate French wire. Then I thread the wire right through the clasp and move to the crimper. I squish gently creating a crimp looking like a small kidney bean.
Snipping of the tail with a soft flex cutter, I slide the first beads through the remaining tail of wire ignoring my stomach growling. I cut the wire, leaving around two inches and stick on the crimp bead. I cut another piece of French wire and thread the wire through the loop of the other side of the clasp. Pulling it all tight together, I glide the first crimp bead, crystal, and pearl through the tail. A bit of the tail sticks out so I grab the clasp and pull at the little part sticking out, pulling down, tightening the bracelet up. With the crimper tool I squish a little for the kidney bean to be perfectly upright. Checking the resistance, I cut the remaining wire. Feeling the weight of my bracelet in my palm, satisfaction and contentment settle in my chest.
Viviana tiptoes inside, carrying a ham and cheese sandwich.
She’s too good for this world.
“Try for me, okay? Papa is not that bad.”
To her, perhaps. She’s his dutiful daughter.
“Thank you,” I say and bite into it. She takes a seat on the plush carpet next to me, fidgeting with her fingers.
“I don’t want to lose you again . . . Why do you always push Papa?”
I sigh because there are still some traces of that hurt child in me.
“I hate this life, and I hate how comfortable you are in it.”
“I don’t want to fight like you every day, and for what? We both know you’ll end up doing what he wants anyway.”
Is she supposed to be this wise, considering she’s only seventeen?
I squeeze her hand. “Fighting means you still haven’t given up.”
Viviana tilts her head to the side. “It’s hopeless, and it will only end up hurting you and the people that love you.”
With that, she kisses me on my cheek, leaving me to wallow in my thoughts. My little sister will be just fine, but if I stay, this life will destroy me.
Walking in my walk-in closet, I put the bracelet next to all the other creations in a box and remember how I promised Mother Theodora I would behave if I could continue doing jewelry and get a driver’s license. Compromises, always compromises, as if my very nature has to be tamed.
***
When the sun’s rays poke through the curtains, I rub the sleep from my eyes. My mother steps inside and says, “We have to get you ready. You’ll get your phone back, if you behave.”
Her attempt at conditioning me has me rolling my eyes, but I hop out of bed anyway.
Three women step inside, one of them carrying a dress, the other a makeup bag, and the third one, hairstyling products.
I’m like a farm animal, getting ready to win the top prize, only to be slaughtered the next day. Epic shit, better known as my life. My mother insists I wear the elegant ivory dress, but I choose the off-the-shoulder, red silk midi dress with a sweetheart neckline, fitted waist, and a slit. Red is much more appropriate—it’s the blood they have on their hands, and the blood I will spill if Cato goes ahead with this wedding.
When the stylists are done, I slip into metallic gold heels, inspecting myself in the mirror. My dark hair flows down my back in shiny curls, the makeup enhances my eyes, and the gloss that paints my lips makes them look even fuller.
“You look beautiful.” My mother’s eyes water. Nothing else matters, a possession has to look beautiful. That’s the whole point of wanting to buy it, own it.
“Is she ready?” My father appears in the doorway. “They’re about to arrive.” He glances at me, and for a second, my heart jolts at the warmth in his eyes. It’s been years since he’s looked at me with any kind of approval, and it makes me want to rip this dress off and smudge my makeup. I don’t, though, proving how stupid I am for still longing for his love.
“Bellissima.”
I take one last look in the mirror, mouthing at my reflection,Go get first place, you glorified cow.
My father gives me a warning look as he hands back my phone. I force my vocal cords inside my throat into silence. I release a long breath, and it gradually eases the tension.
In the hallway, Viviana grabs my hand, squeezing it, offering me her silent support.
“Oh, I don’t need the strength tonight, but they will.”
