Beloved

Prologue

*Reagan*

When I was seven years old, I conjured up a dream of living in the Wyoming mountains with an eloquent ranch that is one broken fence away from being poor. I had always wanted to live on the cusp, wondering if the next paycheck will be enough to get us through the month. It would put the world into perspective and bring to life the things that are important.

Cell-phones are luxurious, but not necessary. Neither are flat-screen televisions or the latest Apple Macbook. Driving in a Rolls Royce is nice, but a Honda works just as well. Going on vacations to Spain is beautiful and a once in a lifetime opportunity, but it's also nice to enjoy a family dinner around the table.

It is safe to say that the only time I have ever eaten with my parents is when we had guests over and we have to put on the facade that we were a happy family. The reality of it is that my parents don't know me. They don't know my dreams and aspirations. They don't know that I long for the freedom that all the jewels and money are snuffing out.

As I grew up, my dream life in the Wyoming mountains seemed to be growing farther and farther away from me. I was beginning to understand that it was unrealistic. My parents were never going to allow me to leave. Especially not when they arranged my engagement to Wes Preston.

I thought arranged marriages were only in movies... and India. But I guess I was just naive, because when I turned 18, my father called me to his office. I stood before him, my finger nervously twiddling as I awaited the news he had for me. He then lifted his salt and pepper head to reveal an expressionless face and cold, dark eyes. I didn't stand before him as his daughter, but rather as his bargaining chip. His tool to gain whatever it was he wanted. He told me that in two years time, I was going to marry Wes Preston and be the dutiful wife expected of me.

And just like that my dreams to go off to college were shattered. My home in the mountains destroyed by a storm. My desire to photograph the world completely dismissed.

And so, I lived those two years preparing for the life I was going to have. I spent most of my days at a library, trying to find solace before all of my privacy would be taken away from me. I found my solace in books, reading romances I knew I would never have the opportunity to experience.

Wes and I were to publically make appearances. We would walk around in the city with my hand in his. He will sometimes place chaste kisses on my temple. He was overall a kind man. He never said harsh words or tried to speed up our physical connection. He respected that I wanted to wait until I was married to have sex.

So, everything was civil. Even though I didn't love him, I figured I should be thankful that he wasn't angry or abusive.

At least, that was the case until his mother passed away unexpectedly. Wes slowly grew cold and detached. He told my father that he insisted I move in with him before our wedding, or the deal they struck would be void. So, my father packed my bags and sent me to live with a man that seemed to have a short fuse.

As time went on, the fuse continued to sizzle shorter. He would yell at me for the smallest of issues. He would grab my arm and angrily shake me if I ever tried to shrink away from him in fear. He yelled obscene words at me, verbally attacking me. It soon became my norm to clean the house and make dinner for him and then get shaken around for a small mistake.

It has been engraved in me to cringe at the sound of a door opening or closing. To downcast my eyes everytime he walks into the room. To shrink away every time he approaches me. To flinch every time he raises his hand.

One night, Wes came home drunk with a heavy slur to his words. I didn't understand what he was saying, therefore I couldn't right the wrongs he believes I had committed. That angered him even more.

He grabbed me by the hair at the back of my neck, his nails digging into my scalp. The pain brought tears to my eyes as he shoved me back against a wall, covering my body with his. I saw the desire in his eyes and I knew immediately what his intentions were.

I had let this go on long enough. I had let him frighten and harm me. But I wasn't going to let him take this from me.

And so, I fought back. I managed to get him off of me for but a moment, taking the opportunity to run for the front door but was halted when he grabbed my shoulder and threw me to a china cabinet. I screamed in pain as broken glass sliced through my right bicep, whimpering as I fall to the ground. I felt blood trickle down my chin from cuts I'm sure marr my face. But I don't hesitate.

As Wes sauntered toward me, I grabbed a large shard of glass, not feeling the ripping pain as it cut my hand. Once he was close enough, I lunged forward and stab it straight into his thigh and jerked it to the side, twisting it and snapping it in half. Wes growled in pain but I didn't wait to see if it immobilized him as I had hoped.

I just jumped to my feet and ran, my poor feet getting cut on the pieces of glass. I ignore the burning pain as I flee the million dollar condo, not for a second missing the luxury money had bought.

Curse money for it blinds and corrupts the mind. People say money buys happiness. Well, if what I had been living is considered happiness, then I don't want even a penny of the corrupt money.

Without wasting a thought, I hail a cab and drive straight to the Greyhound bus station where I purchase a ticket and head to where I have been dreaming of living my whole life. I will dye my hair, change my name, wear colored contacts... Whatever it takes to ensure I will never return to this city.