My sunken saviour

Enough

I opened my eyes, it was real.

I looked down into the dismal water, the moons reflection shimmered lightly before me. I took a deep breath and as the wind gently blew my fair, blonde hair away from my face, I lifted my chin - it was as if the breeze was telling me to look to the stars... to find hope once more.

I felt the tears well up in the corners of my tired eyes. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't will them to go away. It was no use, the warmth of my tears slowly fumbled their way down my cheeks, caressing my stubborn, sharp jawline which had taken so many hits and punches throughout my short life.

My husband, James, was insufferable. Once the rich son of a pompous lord in the city, he decided to follow in his fathers footsteps and go into the trade business, in which he met my father (my adopted father that is). We had little money and barely managed to get by since my mother died when I was 8, we needed all the help we could get. So, on my blessed fathers deathbed, James asked him for one last trade. He promised to wash our poverty from the family name in exchange for the one thing he could never have whilst my father's heart was still beating. The  terrified 15 year old, Selina Dutoir, me.

From then on, he never let me leave his side. If I did, he would perhaps give me a hard clip around the back of my head, or pinch my skin so tightly it would leave a bright red mark the following day. After three years or so, when I had learnt when to smile or curtsey or just sit in silence, we were married. This was when my punishment really began.

I closed my eyes and reminded myself of the dreadful night when James Barnesly snapped.

I woke to the sound of glass bottles and various pieces of pottery smashing as they flew at the kitchen wall. Getting out of bed, I glanced out of the tower window, by the low positioning of the sun I estimated it was around half past 9  in the evening. I ran down the stone spiral tower staircase to find my raging drunkard of a husband spitting out throwaway insults and curses at nothing in particular whilst hurling my mothers handmade plates at the walls.

This didn't shock me, I  had grown immune to James's temper and the way he always stank of alcohol and old, dirty leather. I reached forward to take the almost empty tankard of whiskey from his hand  when he turned and struck me right across the jaw. I fell back slightly, but recovered soon enough to look him in the eyes as he stared at me, swaying unsteadily on his feet. It was at this moment I realized he had lost a shoe, his trousers were undone and sagging off of one hip and his shirt was ripped and stained, with what I  could only hope was mud.  His brown, ragged hair was knotted and clumped and it was grotesquely clear that he hadn't shaved in weeks, let alone washed. He had dark bags underneath his brown, lifeless eyes which were now seething with hatred and confusion as I stared into them with my own.

"You're drunk" I stated in a flat, deadpan tone. He slowly eyed me up and down before taking a step closer and replying with: "Don't you accuse me of anything. Ever. You're just a stupid girl, who's soul purpose in life is to stay in that tower and keep me happy, like a good little wife".  I slapped him, hard.

He grabbed the collar of my nightgown and shoved me against the wall with enough force to knock the air out of my lungs, I winced at the pain as he pressed his right forearm against my throat, his left holding my clenched fists at bay. He leaned in so close I could smell the appalling concoction of alcohol and vomit on his breath. "Don't you EVER lay your hands on me again" he growled through gritted teeth. "Next time, I'll smash that pretty little blonde head of yours against this wall so hard, you won't wake up for a week". His eyes slowly trailed from my own, down my cheeks, stopping at the neckline of my white nightgown which his right hand was still clenching in a deathlike grip. After a moments hesitation, he shoved me away and went upstairs to bed.

I wrapped my arms around myself protectively as I slowly slid down the wall to slump on the floor. A sharp jab in my leg reminded me that there were broken vases, glasses and plates everywhere. I looked down to see the remains of one of my mothers handmade plates by my feet. I picked it up, turning it over and over in my fingers, taking in the detail that I had seen her spend hours toiling over when I was younger. 'No more' I thought to myself. 'No. More.'

That evening, I decided to go out on the lake where I knew I wouldn't be disturbed, James was asleep. The only good thing about him was that once he was asleep, he was practically unconscious, so he wouldn't notice I was gone. I had always felt at peace on the water, it's so strange. To me, it almost feels as though I am meant to be in the water, it calls to me somehow.. telling me to come back. I still haven't figured it out, but it's nice to feel wanted by something..

Suddenly, the water by my right side began to stir. At first I was afraid, but when his head emerged from beneath the murky surface of the lake and he placed his muscular  arms on the side of the boat, all  my reservations and fears escaped my mind.

His face showed calm, contempt. The dark curls of his hair framed his angular face perfectly. His lips, small and pink and his eyes.. those inviting eyes captivated me instantly. They were the greenest of greens and they shone like the small emeralds encrusted on my mothers necklace, which I never took off. His pale, shimmering skin resembled the pearls that surrounded the emeralds.

I  was still staring when he reached out to touch my hand; the warmth was like a shock as I was surrounded by cold, bitter air. Right there in that moment, the world stopped moving and it was just him, me and the stars. 

I opened my eyes, the boat... the lake.. that's where I was. The reality flooded back into my mind, why I was there.. I had to find him again.