Page 2
Chapter Two
Elodie
I definitely didn’t sleep.
After I laid down in bed last night, someone came into the house shouting about something. I didn’t hear it, and I most certainly did not want to know what it was about. My knowledge of his previous one-sided arguments is limited, but the subject of question always rounds back to one person.
Me.
Usually something about how I am the reason his accounts are slowly running dry, or something about how no one wants to purchase a virgin anymore because they can get them for free elsewhere. I have no idea what that last comment means, except that my father can’t sell me right now. Comments about the black market were overheard, though I do my best to keep away from Father when he is on the phone. Nothing good comes from overhearing him, and the feeling of worthlessness soaks back into my heart.
Before Mother died, Father was a joyful man. He spent a lot of time out of the house with Mother, both of them dressed to the nines to go to some club down the way. I remember vividly that Father came home, dropped to his knees inside the door, and sobbed the day she died. I did my best to comfort him, but instead, I managed to make him angrier. The realization dawned on me more than a year later that I look almost like a replica of my mother. We have the same vivid hazel eyes and reddish-blonde hair. I got my facial structure from my father, strong jaw, and high cheekbones, but the rest is all her. From that day forward, I was never treated the same again. Instead of being cherished like Mother had done before her death, Father now treated me like his burden.
Most days, I feel like his burden, too.
His routine was always fairly easy to maintain. He left home around noon only to return in the early hours of the next morning. Never did he check on me to make sure I was okay, but he rattled my doorknob to make sure I was in my room. There’s no outward locking key to my door, only a one-way lock, so he knows I’m in here but away from him. From what I have also gathered, I am some sort of insurance for him. It’s not hard to see that I am merely here to make Father money in the future, maybe pop out an heir or two for his winning bidder. He hasn’t expressed any exact reasons for my solitude, and I can’t make sense of it.
Once Father retired for the night, I stared at my ceiling with a mixture of eagerness and trepidation. Eyes and ears scout these halls. Elton has been my sidekick for several years, but he can only keep the potential whispers at bay for so long. They are bound to get out at some point, but I would rather live in the moment than in the future. Punishments from Father have not been as severe as before, but from the heat rolling off of him with each agitated conversation, they are bound to start up again soon.
Throwing the covers off of me, I pad my way to the bathroom to freshen up for the day. I stare at myself longingly in the mirror, saddened by the way I have let go of my appearance. Glancing down to my stomach, there is a small pooch that peeks out and there’s cellulite on my thighs that taunts me with each step. One of my more recent punishments was getting the home gym taken away. After I got caught talking to my male friend, Father later decided that taking my phone away wouldn’t be enough to make me upset. So, he removed access for me to use the gym until I was able to see the error of my ways. When I was ready to apologize for speaking to males without his explicit permission, then I could have the gym back.
How shocked would someone be when I say that I apologized and Father didn’t think I meant it? So, now I’m stuck without relief of any sort, and I swear it’s making my body molt. Alright, let me not be so melodramatic. If I were kinder to myself, I would say that I look a little better with the added weight…but my dresses are no longer fitting right and Father makes sure to comment on it every chance he gets. He knows exactly how both his comments and not having the gym are affecting me.
Clearing the nasty thoughts from my head, I turn around and get ready for the day, not bothering to look in the mirror again.
“Again!” Ms. Petrov shouts from where she is perched. Internally rolling my eyes, I let my body feel the music coursing through my veins. My foot lifts and falls with each particular note as I play a melody Ms. Petrov supposedly wrote from scratch. A dark tune is played to create a deep ambiance, though it’s closer to feeling as though impending doom is on the rise versus candlelight sonata. Halfway through the song, her chair shrieks as she stands quickly.
“You stupid girl! The pedaling is off, your speed does not follow the sheets, and your numb little fingers are deft on the keys!” Before I can react, the fallboard of the piano is slamming down on my hands. There’s no holding back the scream of pain as the heavy wood crushes my fingers beneath its weight.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Petrov!” I shout as tears prick the backs of my eyes while struggling not to move. From previous experience, I know that trying to get my hands out will only make it worse.
“You always say you’re sorry, but when are you going to prove that you’re sorry?” Her hand lands on the hood of the fallboard and applies pressure. My knuckles crack under the heaviness, and tears finally move from my ducts to roll down my cheeks. “If your father wasn’t paying me to keep going, I would have quit by now! You’re a useless waste of energy, and our ancestors would be rolling in their graves to see how disgraceful you are.”
The words weigh heavily on me, but I don’t acknowledge it or her. My eyes remain forward on the sheet music, tears streaming down my cheeks as a pulse is suddenly gained in my fingers. Blood rushes to my head as a dull thrum takes over my senses, everything in me goes dark as I wait for her to release me. Several deep breaths keep me steady while the dark, mostly silent part of my brain threatens to take over.
Skin her.
Kill her.
Make her suffer as she has made you.
Two pieces of my brain struggle for dominance, and Ms. Petrov is none the wiser. She may think I’m only waiting for her to let up, for her to release me from her crushing grip, but she doesn’t realize that I’m internally battling to keep her alive.
“Breaking your fingers may be the only way to get you to stop. Twenty-three years is far too old to be this unaccomplished, though talent is chosen, not learned, and you, little girl, are talentless. Maybe your father is right, the only potential you have is between your legs,” she spits at me as her saliva lands on my cheeks, mixing with my salty tears. Anger rages through me, my body shaking as the war waged inside of me is slowly being lost to the evil. Finally, she removes her hand from the fallboard and lifts it, slamming it back into its place. “Disgrace,” she mutters as she stomps out of the room.
I wait until the large double doors slam behind her before I stand, kicking the stupid bench backward as I move. Clobbering to the ground, the wood cracks against the polished tile. A scream bubbles up in my throat, and I choke it down.
“ A lady shall not show emotions. She must be strong, silent, and concise for her male counterpart. She will be perfect at all times, with hair and makeup complete before she shall show her face. The perfect lady will swallow her pride, and place her needs behind her to keep her male happy. A lady shall not curse, shall not speak unless spoken to, shall not disagree unless the lady or her offspring are placed in life-ending danger, and shall not place her sexual needs above her husband. He shall be the ruler of the female, she will smile and say thank you when he gives her anything.”
Sniffing as I remember the stupid saying that was literally slapped into me, I straighten my spine and recompose myself.
“A lady shall be vulnerable, shall make herself open to her husband’s needs, his desires and pleasures are to be available for her husband at any time. A lady will not place her material desires above her husband. He will discipline the lady as necessary.”
Gliding from the room, I don’t even acknowledge Elton as my body rages without an outlet. The gym was another way for me to let go, but now that is off the table, I don’t have anything else.