an Everlasting Pursuit

thirty two

TW; brief scene of non-consensual sexual content

thirteen months ago

"Oh, Ailia, you are going to make the prettiest bride." Jenny cooed.

I forced a smile onto my face as she pushed yet another piece of jewellery onto my skin. The silver necklace hung around my throat. The heaviness was a reminder of its value. I thanked Jenny politely, agreeing that this necklace was the one to go with my dress. I had said that about the previous seven, but thankfully she had agreed with me on this one.

Jenny was Darius' mother. With bright, wild eyes, the blue blended effortlessly with the pale winter jumper she wore. She primed her hair as ever, slick against her head with only a few wisps curling at her temples and nape. The bun was tight and down-right painful, and I would know because she had forced the same style on me yesterday. I could still feel the ghost of the bun even now with my hair down.

Eying myself in the mirror, I stared down at the silver necklace in the valley of my breasts. With the heavy weight of a tiara on my head and the diamond ring on my finger, I felt so out of place. They properly primed and scrubbed me from grime when I first went out in public..

My hands were too rough, my nails too chipped.

It was baffling how a little secluded town like this could have so many beauty standards. I was a whole different person.

Staring in the mirror, I didn't even recognise myself anymore.

Jenny raided the jewellery store for a further fifteen minutes before deciding that we were done for the day. I happily gave all the jewels back, leaving Jenny to reserve them, whilst silently wishing I could pawn the engagement ring and run away with the cash.

I'd rather be anywhere else other than here.

Walking all the way home, I acknowledge Jenny's light chatter as we approached the dead end that held our homes. She was kind enough, a little faux for the show, but she was nothing like her son or husband. I think she had been raised this way; to accept the rule of the men, and she didn't mind it. I had nothing against that, being a housewife, but I wanted my own freedom.

Forcing a smile to Jenny as we departed, I hovered by my front door. She continued her way up the small hill to her house that sat proudly on top of the village beside my own. Waving at me from a distance, she rushed inside. I did the same, bracing myself for anything that may lurk inside. It was late in the day, meaning Darius had probably started drinking by now.

Shutting the door softly, I hung my handbag up with my coat and felt my shoulders sag with the burdens that sat upon them. It was winter, so I was glad the house was so warm against the bitter cold of the outside. Kicking off my shoes, I placed them on the shoe rack neatly, as Darius preferred, before wandering into the kitchen.

Swinging the door open, I should've been more prepared.

A hand clamped down on my shoulder, and my body reacted swiftly. Swinging my right arm out, I knocked my fist into a firm hand. My eyes widened as soon as I made the contact, my brain realising who I had tried to punch, later than I liked.

Darius sneered down at me, his hand tightening on mine. "Were you about to punch me in the face?"

I swallowed nervously, my eyes becoming wide with terror. "N-no, it was just a reflex. I promise."

"You are getting fast. That one stung a little. Like a little bee." He sneered, his breath clouding my face as he laughed.

I grimaced as the smell of liquor washed over me, a sense of dread pooling in my stomach. I felt my adrenaline kick in the longer I stayed there, my hand stuck in his firm grip. He suddenly grimaced, moving until he pushed me against the wall.