Sweet Satisfaction (Purple UGC Winner 2014)

Sweet Satisfaction - Fifteen

Fifteen

It was just under a week later that Susanna, dressing me for dinner with the Bringhams, noticed the bruises I had been hiding. I remember her gasp of horror, her thumb pressing against my aching bruises, which were mangled, grotesque shades of angry black and blue on my back. I closed my eyes, wishing it was a nightmare.

“Elsie?” Susanna’s voice was scared and frightened, the pins in her trembling hands dropping one by one to the floor, “Who did this to you?” I clenched my teeth together, shaking, eyes swelling with tears. Letting out an ugly retch, I collapsed into my padded-back chair, stiff, throbbing back welcoming the softness.

“John,” I responded, and clutched the sides of the wicker chair. I didn’t need to answer to her, but I did. The flashbacks were coming on, which taunted me in bed until I writhed like a screaming, dying snake. And it wasn't just flashbacks of that. The Zeppelins came closer and closer to me every night.

John’s hard fists slamming into my legs like bricks. My yelp of pain as I turned around, trying to crawl on my hands and knees. My head cracking against the cold metal floor as hard edges swiped against my spine. The pain, the searing, stretching feeling of terrible pain. Crumpling, cowering, crying. Why is he doing this to me? It was an accident; I didn’t mean to punch him. His hand clamping firmly over my lips, the other striking and striking until I was so sore I was crying inside, broken and bleeding. John feeling up my skirts, squeezing my thighs. My mouth open, screaming silently. Someone help me. Someone please help me from this monster.

The pain inflicted on me was shown as my face creased up and Susanna flew at me, arms outstretched. I hesitated for a moment; was it proper to accept her gesture?

“You have to tell your father,” she said firmly.

“No!” I cried, “You don’t understand, this marriage has to go through.” I shook my head violently but I was by now questioning myself. Should I tell Father? Or Mother? Would they even believe me. If they didn’t, would I really be able to marry a man who sliced women’s dignity apart?

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Susanna argued softly, “You can learn to defend yourself. There is a rumour they will teach the art of ju-jitsu. Hang on.” She raced out the room and up the nearby attic stairs, leaving me slightly confused. She returned, leafing through a newspaper until, with a triumphant flick, she found what she was supposedly looking for.

The Brighton Herald                                                                                                      Sat, 13th March 1915

WOMEN POLICE VOLUNTEERS

Public Meeting

THURSDAY NEXT, MARCH 18TH, AT 8PM, AT ATHENAEUM HALL, NORTH ST.

I ignored the smaller print, turning slowly to Susanna. A spark of rebellion had been ignited in my now dancing eyes. It was glowing inside me like a staircase to freedom and justice. Why shouldn’t I live a more interesting life? Why shouldn’t I become a suffragette as well? Women should have more rights: education, jobs, the right to vote… and not to be beaten.

I stared at Susanna, who was gleaming with hopefulness.

“Let’s do it,” I smiled determinedly as a fire of hope warmed inside my racing heart.

“Let us?” Realisation dawned on Susanna’s face. I squeezed her hand; I barely knew her, yet I knew I would need her by my side every step of the way.

The Bringham’s dinner was rather tedious. My back ached against their stiff, high, wooden chairs and the curtains were drawn, giving the room a musky atmosphere. The wine was too sweet against my throat and the meat overcooked. I was surprised Mary wasn’t complaining, for the cloves were overstuffed with garlic.

Where was Mary, anyway? I frowned, scanning down the table as the adults burst into uproarious laughter over another petty joke. (Thankfully the Knowlbodyes weren’t present. How could I bear to look John in the eye again, let alone be in the same room as him, let alone be married to him?)

I found her laughing with Gracia Gascon, swinging her glossy brown hair. I was quite shocked – and a bubble of sadness beat onside me – no plaits, no rosy cheeks, no spindly legs but Mary had hips, curves and a glowing beauty that suddenly, definitely rivalled mine.

AN: The newspaper article above is real, I don't own it.