-3rd pov-
TW: MENTIONS OF ABUSE, SA, ISOLATION, MENTAL ISSUE, TRAUMA, ISOLATION, PTSD, MENTION OF R@PE
Winter was approaching, and the shadow of the coming fall fell over the small town. The change chilled the air, as the leaves blushed with their orange hues. Daisy remembered she has always loved autumn. In a life where there was so little joy, she found herself clinging to the seasons.
Memories of autumn swirled in her mind, her head filled with the smell of the crisp leaves, and how beautifully the sunsets orange melted in harmony with the falling leaves of the land. She remembered back to her farm, back to the livestock she once cared for, and the gardens she once tended.
it was funny, she thought, how even horrible memories became daydreams. The horrors that ensued within the drafty walls of her old farmhouse made her shudder, yet somehow the beauty of the farm seemed so prominent in her memory now.
~flash back- october, 1923 (age:15)~
"March winds and April showers
Make way for sweet May flowers
And then comes June, a moon, and you
March winds and April showers
Romance will soon be ours
An outdoor paradise for two..."
Her angelic serenade came sweetly from her lips, filling the small stable with a sweet melody. She gently brushed at the coarse hair of the horse as she delicately braided her mane.
"March winds and April showers
Make way for sweet May flowers
And then comes June, a moon and you
March winds and April showers
Make way for the happy hours
And the May time, June time, love time and you..."
The horse shook her head softly, her nostrils expanding and restricting with her breaths, her eyes blinking slowly. She huffed, letting out a low, chittering neigh. Daisy stopped her singing, pulling her brush away.
"You alright ophelia?" she asked, looking genuinely into the horse's eye.
Ophelia, the creme-colored mare, bowed her head, closing her eyes.
Daisy smiled softly and got up from where she sat on the stool.
"The suns fixin' ta set, you know I don't like the pitch dark. I'll see you in the mornin' ophelia." she gingerly kissed the mare's soft nose.
Grabbing her tin bucket, she left the stables. Orange fall leaves crunched satisfyingly under her small, muddy bare feet. Daisy hummed softly to herself as she tossed seed to the chickens roaming around the farm.
They clucked and fluttered their wings in their little groupings as she did. Her humming faded with the smile as she approached the house.
It stood threateningly on top of the hill, looming over her as she stood in the valley. She heard the sputtering of a car drawing closer to the old farmhouse, she swallowed hard around the lump in her throat.
"Daisy Mae!" her father's booming voice called.
She saw his tall figure come around the side of the house, his overalls sagging off his shoulders.
"Get on up here!" he hollered, spitting disgustingly on the ground
She looked around as if trying to find an excuse. The fall leaves were beautiful, the farm was tranquil.
"I said get up here! Y'aint worth nothin' standin' out there in the fields now! Get your ass up in the house 'fore I drag you up here by your hair!"
She ran quickly up the hill, and soon stood in front of her father. He took her blonde locks in his hand, slowly feeling them.
"Gettin' big aint'ya..." he murmured, his voice low and husky.
She felt his hot breath of hooch and tobacco on her neck, she shuddered.
"Like your momma..." his hand trailed down her back
Daisy closed her eyes, and her face quivered.
"But you're still my little girl....ain't ya" he whispered.
Daisy nodded slowly.
"Get on inside and clean up now, I got guests comin' to see you."
She walked inside the dark, creaky house, making her way down the hall. She bathed in silence, the water being the only noise she made.
She lathered floral-scented soap over her small, nude body. She knew couldn't ever scrub her damned skin hard enough to be clean, and she knew the filth she would feel in a short time.
She wanted to crawl from her skin and scrub her body inside and out, soaking each and every one of her innards in hot, soapy water until she finally felt clean. But she didn't feel clean, and she never would.
Her body was forever abused, eternally tainted by vile men. She slipped her body under the water and closed her eyes, her head resting against the tub.
"Please..." she whispered, clasping her shaky hands together.
"Please, dear god. Please clean me...make me forget these things, please..."
Her voice shook
"Please let me go, please let me see momma...please either set me free an' give me life or take me home to you god, i'm lost, i'm scared."
A single tear slipped from her eye.
"Please..."
~end of flashback~
She recalled that then, too, even autumn had its pains. She should be happy, she thought. She should be grateful. She was made to believe that Elton was her savior, someone she would forever be in debt to.
BHe took her out of her father's drunken reach, he removed her from the abuse and the sexual exploitation, and he married her, something she was deemed unworthy of.
But somehow, she couldn't shake the feeling that he would never be her savior. She found herself now gazing out the window, romanticizing her most horrid childhood on the farm in desperation to be let go.
Her mind was torn between submitting to the hold of Stockholm syndrome, and the fear and hatred she felt for the man.
Though she was expected to, she couldn't separate the fact that he had bought her. She was sold, trafficked, and he merely bought her. He didn't save her, no, he bought her.
He never married her, he signed a paper and paid in cash for her human body, for her very being. She was never his wife, she was an object.
YOU ARE READING
sweet tea. -tkam
Fanfictionshe was like sunshine for the south, softer than butter and sweeter than sweet tea. she was kindhearted and compassionate, a young woman whose heart was bigger than anything else, even sometimes bigger than her logic. but one thing she adored most a...
