Hold On

| 05 |

I imagined my wedding day being really romantic. I imagined the balloons, and the rice being thrown. I imagined the traditional Puerto Rican way, mixed with my modern, new traditions. I imagined mama there, and my dad, and Paco, Paola, Hector and Louise. I imagined it under the cathedral, or perhaps if it's sunny, outdoors in my grandfathers vineyard.

I especially imagined the wedding night. Not because I am a virgin, but because, I loved putting on a show for the man I loved. Because I'm the type of person to love love. I love the energy, and the passion, I love the idea of pleasing my significant other, giving them what they want.

It was strange, I felt like John and I bonded a little bit more during the wedding. And the fact that it was a forced wedding truly wasn't all that bad.

He smiled a lot, and not in a cunning, ha-hah I've got you kind of way. But in a sympathetic kind of way. Like he really felt sorry for me, but happy at the same time.

I guess I'm some ways I also was happy but sorry too. We shared that feeling, and everyone around us was seemingly oblivious to our truths.

I glance down at my aching hand. The man who married us made us mesh blood together. Cutting our palms and forcing our blood to become one.

When two people become one family, he said, justifying the cutting. It was different but it was beautiful. He pronounced us husband and wife, and we kissed. My lips still tingle from that kiss. Not because it was meaningful, it was nothing but a soft chaste kiss, but the idea of me being married was profound.

He took me to his home, it was still a shack, but it was different than the other home. I asked him about that, "Whose home did we go to before the wedding?" I asked, looking down at my wedding ring.

"That was Tom's house."

"Oh." I regret not looking around.

I pressed my lips together as I sat on the bed. I looked down at my fingernails, long but unclean. That embarrassed me. I wonder if he'll be rough with me, if he'll force himself on me and pin me to the ground as he had his way with me.

I muster up the courage and slowly unzip the back of my dress. I hold my breath, and look up at John who smokes his cigarette and watches me with a narrower gaze.

"What are you doing?" He asks as I am about to push my arms out of the sleeved dress.

I choke on my dry mouth and stare up at him. "Don't you want to– I thought."

Glowing crimson, he shakes his head and walks toward the door. "I-I'll be leaving then."

"What?" I press my sweaty palms on the bed.

"I won't force myself on you." He scoffs. "I told you, Alma, I'm not a bad guy. I've got you, I'll wait until you love me to have sex with you." With that, he smiles small. "You're worth the wait." He walks over and kissed my forehead. "Goodnight then."

In the morning, I sit across from him staring at him. I chew on my bottom lip.

Before, I've bathed twice, twice. The luxury of showering twice was remarkable. For as long as I wanted too! I was blessed.

I entered the closet and changed into a nightgown, silk and a peachy pink. I smelled of lavender and couldn't stop raising my arm to smell myself. I put my hair down and smiled as I made my way downstairs. Excitedly made breakfast with the little things that were in the fridge.

"What is it?" He asked finally, after noticing my gawking.

"I've got questions." I tell him.

"Go on then." He encourages me and puts down his tea.

I chew on my piece of toast, and swallow. "You're so young. Why do you want to be married?"

"I had a wife, but she died carrying my child. She kind of took care of me and I miss 'er." He said, nonchalant, like he really was talking about the weather.

My eyebrows pulled together at his apparent disconnection with his emotions. It was like I was talking to a machine, explaining these things without feeling.

"I've got abandonment issues." He adds, stiffly.

I swallow, "So you decided to marry a whore?"

"I wanted to marry Lizzie Starke. An ex-whore, she turned out perfect for me."

"Oh, lovely." I choke.

His eyes narrow, he might kill me. "She changed."

Fuck. "Why didn't you marry her, then? If she was perfect for you."

"My brothers didn't want me to. Hell, no one wanted me to."

"So they bestowed on you to marry me?"

"No, they wanted to me marry anyone else but her." He sounds hurt, "I chose a whore, a proper whore from a whorehouse. You."

I laugh, blushing this time. "You're like my saviour then." I sarcastically murmur.

He nods, all happy with my words. There is a knock on the door, but before he gets up, I put my hand over his.

"John? I thought you were a bad guy." I tell him, staring into his eyes, "I thought you were going to hurt me, not protect me."

John hums, and stands, making his way to the front door. He doesn't take my words with his strides, doesn't really reflect on them. He only gets up and walks away, which makes me doubt what I said to begin with.

I gather our plates and walk over to sink, hearing voices go back and forth from the front. I heard that Ada will have her baby soon, that she's in active labour and I want to excited. I want to put that nurse suit back on and prepare Ada for the arrival of her baby but I fall short.

"Alma," John walks over. "Ada's having her baby, you ought to be there for her."

"And you." I say, "You should go too. Be there for your sister."

"I won't be the room but the boys and I are going out for drinks."

"Oh."

"My aunt Pol will be coming 'round for you soon. Get dressed." He says and kisses my cheek.

"Okay." I whisper once he's gone.