Unnatural Instinct: Alone

1.

'She's useless! She's too old and she's useless!'

Your heart is thudding as you listen to your father's rage through your bedroom door. Your back is pressed up against the wall, as though you can push your way out through the wood and get away. Escape.

To freedom.

Your mother says something. You strain to hear but her voice is barely more than a murmur. As usual, she has no power against your father.

'It doesn't matter if she likes him or not,' he snarls back. 'He is the only suitor who wants her. She doesn't have the right to refuse.'

You hold your breath as your father's footsteps thud heavily down the hallway. The whole house seems to shake with their fury. He stops before your door and calls your name. You don't answer.

He twists the handle. 'Open the door. Open the Goddamn door or I'll break it down!'

With a shuddering breath, you obey. You're sweating and shaking so hard you have to use both your hands to turn the handle.

Your father is a big man and he towers over you.

'What is the meaning of this?' he hisses, eyes aflame.

You back away as he storms inside. Behind him, your mother stands upon the threshold, hunched over, hair shielding her tears and the bruise on her face. She's gripping the doorframe with her long slim fingers.

You can't speak as your legs bump up against the edge of your bed and you sit down.

'You're lucky he wants you at all, you little slut.'

The words burst out of you. 'I'm not a slut!'

His slap knocks you backward. The blood rushes to your cheek. Your ears thud with the sound of your racing heart. For a moment your vision turns black. When it returns, you're lying shaken upon the bed and he's standing over you.

He sneers at you. 'And a liar. You're lucky he wants you at all. A little lying slut.'

Your tears run thick and fast. They sting your cheek. The sobs make you choke. Your father has never been a pleasant man but ever since your "purity" examination two years ago, he's been a complete and utter monster.

You can't explain why you failed. The minister shouldn't have been able to get his fingers inside you the way he did. You remember the look on his face. That shocked, disgusted look. It's the same look your father is wearing now.

Ever since that moment, your whole world has turned upside down. What is the point of you? The whole village knows and no man will take a corruption as his wife.

No one—except Tate Rankin.

And that is no option at all. You'd rather be dead than have someone like him as a husband. You would be dead. His two dead wives suggest as much.

'You will take his offer,' your father continues in a low voice, 'or I'll throw you out into the woods where the bears will have you instead. Understood?'

You gaze up at him, your chest aching with the pounding of your heart. You can't answer. Unable to say that one little word that means so much; that means the end of your life. He frowns. He raises his hand again.

'Yes,' you say.

He lowers his hand slowly.

'Good,' he says in a low voice. 'I will inform him of my approval. You best make a good wife. He is the only chance you have.'

And he turns and stalks away, taking your mother's arm as he leaves your room, throwing the door shut behind them. You stare at the door a long time as the tears roll down your face.

Later that evening, you join your mother to make your family dinner. Your mother is quiet, a second bruise marking the left side of her jaw as she moves skilfully through the kitchen. She is sad. So sad. She touches your elbow and hand and lower back in a show of support. No words are exchanged. She can't. There's not enough room left on her face.

As you sit down for dinner, the family is quiet. A clock is ticking on the wall. An owl is hooting from outside. There are the soft sounds of your mother, father and younger brother slurping up their soup. The tension is palpable. It's always palpable.

Your brother knows nothing of what's going on but he can sense enough to keep quiet and stay out of it. Your father watches him proudly as they exchange a few words. A pride he's never expressed to you.

'Why are you not eating?' he suddenly snaps. You shake yourself out of your gloom and quickly spoon in a mouthful. He watches you with a frown. 'The last thing I need is for Tate to accuse me of starving my own daughter.'

You keep your head down, finishing the bowl as he watches.

You don't leave the table until everyone is done. Both you and your mother are quiet as you wash the dishes and stoke the fire and make sure the chickens are properly sheltered for the night. Once that's all done, your mother turns to the pile of clothes that needs cleaning and mending while your father and brother sit by the fire, reading.

'I'm going to get more firewood,' you say, exiting through the front door.

Nobody acknowledges you.

You steal a few moments of peace as you stand outside your family's little house. The village is quiet. A large full moon brightens the sky. It feels like the other homes are glaring at you, judging you with their dark windows as you pull your shawl around your shoulders.

It's a cool night. Winter is coming fast. Your breath is a mist. You step out onto the street, peering down into the distance where you can see the waving branches of the surrounding woods.

Shaking your head, you turn back home. Going around the back, you bundle up the firewood. By the time you return, your father and brother have already gone to bed and the flames are low. Your mother is still mending her pile of clothes in the dim gloom.

The flames hiss and dance as you stoke them back up. Then you stack in more firewood. Your mother is quiet. You look over your shoulder, watching her for several long moments before she raises her eyes to yours.

She pauses in her mending. You open your mouth, wanting to say something, wanting to say so many things, but your thoughts aren't cohesive. Instead, you turn back to the fire, the tears building in your throat until they spill down your cheeks.