The Obligator's Daughter

Pain

Bem walked to her tenement, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Above her, muddy clouds gathered, locking the sky away. Her head reeled with the day's events, jostling and pushing each other for space; none could remain long before being cast aside and replaced. She had trouble recalling what had happened since they were taken, each time she found a memory of the House of Security, it slipped away like a stick of lye on the washroom floor, never to return. Questions had been asked, but she could not say more than that.

She absently figured the slash in her leggings, holding on to it like an anchor to the past. It was almost dinner time, and a twinge shot through Bem; she would barely have time to prepare the meal before her father returned home.

Entering their rooms, she swiftly changed into a fresh blue shift, grey leggings, and lavender apron, tying her hair back with a ribbon and fixing it beneath a white cap. Then she opened the allotment and bustled about setting the table, laying out biscuits, dried cod, broad beans, and a tub of fermented cheese.

Just as Bem was filling the tankards, she heard footfalls, and the familiar gnawing began within her. The rattle of a knob, the creak of the hinge, and her father's rounded silhouette filled the doorway, gloomy against the sconce-lit hallway. He entered without a word.

'Hello, father.' Bem wrung her hands together and waited for him to sit.Her father cleared his throat and sat, the chair creaking in annoyance. Bem sat also and they began to eat. Wet chewing emanated from her father's end; his expression implacable.

Where to begin? Bem wanted to tell him everything, but the futility of doing so shackled her tongue. She wanted him to share her fears, her joy, her anguish; to console her, hold her even, be outraged with her but tell her everything would be fine. Above all, she wanted him to listen. Her father had a way of making her feel like a little girl again. A stupid, feckless, irresponsible little girl. Bem stared at her plate and numbly forked a chunk of fish into her mouth.

'Brillington,' her father grunted.

'Sorry?' The room shifted sideways. She had forgotten all about the Connubial Committee.

'Did I slur? Brillington. You will marry Brillington. It is decided. An advantageous match I believe. You are very lucky, girl.' It was as if her father was talking about his supper, not the rest of her life. The room shifted further. Bem's face felt cold.

'Oh,' was all she could manage.

'The committee will solemnise the marriage on the Twosday after next. That should give you enough time to make something nice to wear.' Her father did not stop feeding cod into his mouth as he spoke, the fish adding a furry edge to his words.

'So soon...' Numbness crept up Bem's spine and down her arms. She sat motionless.

'Is that a problem?' grunted her father. He finally stopped chewing and fixed her with his milky eyes, as though daring her to rebel.

Bem simply stood and walked stiffly to her bedchamber, shutting the door behind her. She threw herself face down on her bed, her breath coming in great hot gusts that shuddered in her chest, but no tears came. The horror of it all rolled over her, through her, and she realised her feet were wriggling like flippers as if to propel her across the bed. Forcing long slow breaths, Bem felt herself regaining control of her mind and her feet slowed their antics.

Her door swung open with such force the doorknob punched a hole in the plaster and stuck fast. Bem rolled to face her father. He wobbled into the room, glowing scarlet beneath his white stubble.

'How dare you walk away from me girl,' his voice sounded like he was straining on the privy. 'You ungrateful trollop - after all the sacrifices I made so you can have a life, a future...' he sputtered, hand clutching at his brass belt buckle. 'Well, as I clearly have failed to teach you humility or obedience, now you shall have a lesson you will maybe not forget. Your husband will not tolerate impudence, and I will not have you going to him a churlish, unbroken whelp.' The belt slid from its slots with a whispered promise of pain. He folded it over, gripping the two ends together so it formed a loop, then snapped it together with a crack. 'You will thank me for this, girl,' he whispered.

Bem lurched to her feet. A humming inside her head told her to stop, but she ignored it.

'How dare you, father,' she met his eyes and thrust her shoulders back. 'Why do you hate me so much?'

'Hate you? I am your father. I decide what's best for you. There are things beyond your understanding, girl. So, you will do what you are told, including marrying who the Committee and I have decided.'

'I know why you're so miserable Papa', Bem felt suddenly calm, her voice even. 'Inside, you died with Mama, and now you don't believe in happiness, you don't believe in being free, and you don't believe in love. Well, I died too, but I need to, hear me, I need to believe in those things,' hands on hips she leant towards him, 'I will not marry Swandon Brillington. I feel nothing for him, and what's more, he is cruel, just like you.'

Bem's father looked like she had slapped him. He paused a moment, gaping like a landed carp. Then, with a roar, the belt went up.

The first blow landed across Bem's ear and cheek. A high-pitched whine pierced her skull. The room shook and spun. She fell toward her bed, leaning on her forearms, somehow still on her feet. The next took her across the buttocks. The force knocked her flat. Then, lying face down, Bem felt the strikes fall one after another across her back, buttocks, and legs. There was pain now, terrible burning pain, and pressure up and down her body. She could hear her father's rasping breaths along with a disturbing sound like someone repeatedly slapping a raw steak, which she realised, was her. She was the steak. He shrieked as he struck her, mostly incoherently, however occasionally Bem could make out a curse or an insult.

She found herself wondering if her father had been waiting for this moment awhile.

After what seemed like an hour, but must have only been a minute, he left, huffing and grunting. Bem just lay there, her mind adrift as her chest heaved, the pain was severe at first, and took an age to die to an all-over ache. Slowly, her shuddering sobs died to quiet whimpers. Her cheeks were dry. Still, the tears did not come. She had not cried since her mother died and would not do so now.

Eventually, she crawled into bed, and let the darkness take her.