"You think I don't have control over you?" He asks darkly while looking at me like he could rip me to pieces.
I stare at him with fear, "I-"
"Every fucking night, you lay under me, screaming my name at the top of your lungs, making it pretty clear...
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NAVEA. NAMES HAVE SUCH beautiful meanings, as beautiful as the heavens. Although, my life and I were as ugly as a disfigured troll.
My mama named me after finding out I was a girl. She thought that as long as I was a girl, I would remain innocent and unsophisticated. Ingenue.
Although I had a father— like every human. I was born out of wedlock. In the great city of Paris. Like every child, I had a father— although mine wasn't interested in my life like normal fathers. He wanted nothing to do with mama and I— At least that's what I've been told.
My mama told me a story every night for as long as I can remember— the words always lingered in my ears, "You can blame no one but yourself for this mistake." The words struck me like a hurricane no matter how many times she had repeat it to me, it still pained me.
Not only that but I've been told and forced to believe that women only exist to give pleasure to men. Us women were born and raised to live under the obedience of men. We needed to fit into their standards— and we didn't get to have a say in it. We needed to be petite but have a big bust, we needed to have plump lips, and our innocence to be snatched any time.
We couldn't keep anything for ourselves, not even our innocence.
My mother was menace to society. Labelled un-pure because she was with child without being wedded. She had her innocence snatched by a man she had not been wedded to and now that was her fault.
Shopping at the market place was just as hard as the will to live, in every second, every corner, every nook and cranny, I was reminded by wedded women that she was a disgrace to the society, that she didn't follow the rules. They blamed her for loving a man who didn't love her back.
My mother couldn't handle it. Raising me by herself was hard enough, and listening to peoples gossip and whispers only made her life harder than it already is.
I would always be the one shopping for groceries and helping mama with everything because she was too afraid to go out. People's judgments are petrifying. Their words and glares pierce into your skin, much worse pain than actual needles piercing into your skin.
Which is why mother was raising me to be exactly like those wedded women. She has told me far more times than I can count that being like those people are far better than being the victims of their words. But I didn't want to be anything like them, and I've established that I was a people pleaser so of course I've followed my mother's orders. I did whatever she wished for me to do. I took my dancing classes, learned how to serve proper tea— I still need lessons on that. I've learned how to use appropriate language while talking to the proper men in town.
I knew that the moment I turn 18 mama will start hunting the town for an eligible proper man for me to wed. She would be scorching through the rich, the young, the old men, any man that would exceed her standards.
