Astray

05 / Tradition

The next three days were blurry for Emerson.

It became clear, in this time, that Felix wasn't surprised by her reaction following their talk; on the contrary, it was as if he had practiced and prepared for it.

Mainly she was left alone, one wrist always chained up, confined to the small room where she sat huddled on the bed or curled up under the blanket. She only called out for Felix when she had to use the bathroom or wanted a shower. Her dreams were filled with memories of her parents, and images of herself in a blood-stained wedding gown.

Four times a day, her captor brought food: breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks, but Emerson didn't have an appetite.

"I don't want to pump food into you forcibly," Felix sighed, frustrated, as he entered her room one night and found all four trays untouched.

"I'm not hungry," Emerson muttered, turning away from him.

"Well, honestly, I don't give a shit," Felix snapped. "You have to eat, baby. I'm giving you as much space as I can while you process this. But if you don't eat, I'll get a feeding tube and give you food that way."

Emerson turned back to him, her eyes welled up with angry tears.

"Fuck. You," she spat.

Felix brushed off her words, and said, "I'll give you until the end of the night to eat. If I come back and you haven't touched your food, we'll do it my way." He slammed the door as he left, and Emerson began sobbing into her hands for what felt like the thousandth time that day. She hated him.

She did eat eventually, although she couldn't finish even one tray of food without being overwhelmed by waves of nausea. Ever since the wife discussion, her stomach seemed to be permanently tied in a knot.

She couldn't relax. Trying to wrap her head around everything she had learned that day was near impossible. She cried. She screamed herself hoarse. She spent a lot of time sitting emotionless. She pushed herself through anxiety attack after anxiety attack. It was as if she was grieving in a way, but stuck in the first four stages, never reaching acceptance.

Felix saw all of it. He too felt unable to relax, mentally begging her to finally accept her fate, as he watched her through the camera feed from her room.

"She's eating again?" His father's voice made Felix jump a bit as it rang out behind him.

"A little, and begrudgingly," Felix sighed, tilting the screen so they could both see the footage. They watched in silence for a moment as Emerson picked at her dinner.

"Good," David said approvingly. "That's good. And today is...?"

"Day three," Felix answered, still watching the screen. "I told her on Tuesday."

His father gave him a firm pat on his back, and said, "Right on schedule. So you're ready for tomorrow?"

Felix only nodded. He did feel ready, and there was no excuse anyways if he didn't, because he'd practiced and studied this timeline for weeks. There were stages for everything; all meticulously planned, backed up by generations of evidence. Emerson was, of course, nowhere near the first young woman the Holloways had kidnapped.

On Felix's thirteenth birthday, his father had sat him down and explained their traditions.

"You're a man now," David had said. "A Holloway man, which means it's your birthright to choose a proper wife. Someone you've chosen carefully, with whom you will carry on our legacy. Your woman must be perfect, and she must be obedient."