Verboten

5.

You jog to the window with the memento of his pillowy lips haunting your mouth as you watch him disappear into the darkness. Your hands tremble as you slam the window shut, spinning on your heel with your eyes squeezed closed, preparing to face your father with sweaty palms curling into fists.

Your doorknob rattles and you gasp as you press yourself into a corner to make your body as small as possible. He uses his key to fling the door open, pacing over to you and grasping your biceps in the same spot that your attacker had. His voice is a shout shrouded in thorns, "where is he?"

You wince and try to remain neutrally innocent and harmless, "who?" He shakes you as fury boils his blood and you yelp when your head knocks against the wall behind you, the pads of his fingers digging painfully into flesh that's already sore, "no one was here, daddy."

He shakes you again, his voice rising in volume and tone, his face developing a chilling red glow at your incredulous patronizing, "you are to remain available to our customers at all times. You do not have permission to take a man if I do not have money in my hand, do you understand me?"

He squeezes one final time before shoving you away, your back making contact with the wall as the air leaves your lungs. You drop to your hands and knees to pull in a trembling, restoring breath, pinching your eyes closed and willing your tears to stay hidden from your father.

The metallic sound of keys jangling has your head whipping up to meet the sight of your father sorting through his key ring. You make eye contact for a second and flinch away, worried he will raise his hand and strike you with the threatening evil arresting his glare. He marches to your bedroom door and steps through the threshold, closing it shut behind him with a slam that rattles your bones and chills your blood.

You scramble to your feet and sprint across the room, grabbing onto the doorknob an instant too late as you hear the turn of the key from the other side of the door. You scream and pound against the wood with your fists, begging him not to leave you here as tears unabashedly streak your cheeks, but he ignores your overture as he stomps down the hallway and back to the saloon, wishing he had gotten a better look at the man you ran up the stairs with.

You spend the majority of the evening pacing your bedroom with your fingers tucked into your hair and pulling on the tresses, considering jumping from your window to escape but the fear of being checked on and discovered absent keeps you grounded. Your father opens your door every hour or so to instill terror and confirm your presence, sending the bartender a couple times in the middle of the night and in the morning as soon as the sun rises.

The bartender seems to take pity on you, catching your eyes from your doorway and biting his lip before shaking his head in clemency, whispering a question of whether or not you need anything before disappearing again after being silently brushed off.

You don't bother getting dressed or leaving your bed on Sunday. You know that you will be trapped here for the entire day since your father doesn't need your services on the Lord's day and your meager attempt at serving tables can be easily replaced. You read through book after book to distract your parched mind, rolling from your side to your back with dried tears on your face and the tingle from Harry's mouth rekindling every time your thoughts slip from whichever novel you're reading at the moment.

You wonder if he will come into the saloon today and notice your absence, if he will be curious enough to inquire with any of the waitresses or the bartender about your whereabouts. You dream about the thump of a boot against your door once, twice, then three times, only to watch it fly open with shards and splinters propelling in all directions. You dream about Harry stepping through your doorframe and picking you up from your bed bridal style, kissing your mouth and strolling out of the saloon doors to save you.