Amy looked pensive. “I think Father would have let us grow up together. I heard him arguing with her about it once. That it was no good for you to be isolated, you’d be weird, he said.”
I snorted a laugh, and visions of what I’d done to the man who’d given us his DNA flickered across my vision. I still had mud under my fingernails. Blood too, I guessed. Splatters of his blood decorated my clothes, but the darkness, the black cloth, camouflaged it. I itched for a proper shower, though, for Theo and hot water and soap. Soon.
“Weird is the least of my problems,” I said. “He’d shield me from my sisters, but not from the monster he forced me to marry…”
“That was a privilege!” Margaret spat, straightening up, anger heating her expression in an instant. It was the strangest thing. She changed her posture, the tone of her voice, and even her eyes sharpened, grew colder. Her brainwashing slapped me round the face once more.
“It was nothing of the sort,” I told her, keeping myself as level as I could. But god, I wanted to slam her face into the wall and make her see reason. This is why I wanted to talk to them right away. I needed to see it through, get into her mind and twist it back to normal. Amy… she’d been away from it for a bit now, with Connor, but Margaret. She was always the one to believe things more, to sink deeper and live by our parents’ words. It was showing itself now in a disgusting, brutal comparison.
“Did they try to sell the church to you, too, Amy?” I asked, turning to my middle sister. They hadn’t with me. I’d known so little about it when I was married in, which, on reflection, seemed a stupid idea. Margaret was indoctrinated. Why wasn’t I?
Amy nodded her head. “Not like… yes, but– Margaret…”
“It’s okay,” I stopped her spluttering. They’d both been preached at and taught. More questions rolled around in my head.
Then Margaret opened her mouth to spout some more churchy nonsense, and I held my hand up to stop her. She bit back her words and seethed instead.
In the uncomfortable silence, while all our minds whirred, we could hear movement elsewhere in the house. A shower running, pots and pans clanking. The murmur of a voice, maybe on the phone, maybe from a radio.
Amaryllis whimpered and clasped her hand to her mouth. She’d been in this place a few days, almost a week, I guessed, but right now seemed like she’d just stepped foot inside. As she welcomed us in, there’d been a warmth, but it was shuttered away now. Probably because we were frosty right back. She looked on the verge of a panic attack out of nowhere, taking unsteady, shallow breaths. Margaret only rolled her eyes and shuffled away from our scared sister.
“Amy,” I said, using the nickname I knew she didn’t hear often. Nicknames were gauche, after all. I stepped closer and fell to my knees, reaching for her hands, holding them in her lap. “We’re safe here. You realize that. Why the panic?”
Margaret scoffed, and my eyes darted to her in anger, finding her scowl deeper.
“What? Margaret. What?” I asked, still gripping Amy’s hand. She gave mine a tiny squeeze.
“What makes you so sure we’re safe here? What makes you think this isn’t bad?” Margaret questioned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Away from the church, from the—”
I cut her off. “Don’t even go there again. You know nothing of thechurch.” Images flashed through my head of everything that had happened in the name of Rafael and their messed up cult of a church. Again, she brought it up again. The pain. The grief and injury. She had no idea. None. But I didn’t tell her that. I didn’t lose my temper because she was only sixteen. Amy was only seventeen. We were damn near children. We all needed to heal. Learn normal.
None of us knew what it was like to be normal. I certainly didn’t, wouldn’t ever, because I was in love with my brother and would never stop. Even now, I craved him. If he were here, I’d be braver. He bolstered me. But this wasn’t good enough. I had to be brave on my own to get through this. I’d asked for it, had to follow my ass through.
“I know all I need to,” Margaret continued. “I saw. I was with Rafael. He told me.”
My gut clenched at the idea of her with him. With my evil husband and his desires, his urges and his men. I didn’t like her, not one bit, but she was still my sister. No, she was still a woman. A person. No one should exist near a man like that. Be under his thumb in any way.
I had to take another steadying breath, bracing myself for my next question.
“Did he do anything to you?” I asked, voice low, dropping Amy’s hand and leaning back, terrified to hear the answer. I was shaking, my veins vibrating, making my skin tingle and my eyesight wavy… Margaret and I didn’t get along, but I—
Margaret looked at me for a few moments, fire behind her eyes. “No,” she replied, almost seeming disappointed. “Of course not. That wouldn’t be proper while he’s married to you. He’s a… he’s a proper man.”
I tipped my head back and burst into loud, bitter laughter, before standing, unable to be still. “You’re also achild,” I emphasized, ignoring the roll of her eyes. “And he is an adult man, a full grown, well into his adulthood, man. An evil man who hurts women. He was not proper with me for even a single second of our time together.”
“Well, maybe you weren’t good enough!” Margaret stated, standing up too, breathing through her nose like a bull. Fists clenched. “Maybe they made the wrong choice by giving him you. I would be perfect for him. For all of them!”
Amy began to cry, soft sobs slipping from her as I stepped closer to Margaret.
“I wasn’t good enough for him,” I said, trying and failing to keep my voice calm. “He’s not something you can be good for. He has no good, Margaret. Only evil.” I lifted my top to show them the scars across my stomach. “Evil.”
Amy cried harder at the sight. Margaret’s eyes dropped down then back up, her jaw clenching, muscles tensing.
I turned with my top still raised. “Evil,” I said again. “And it’s like that over my entire body.” I didn’t tell them that the wounds were replaced with those from Theo, that the cuts they saw came from him too, and those were precious. That was just for us.
Most of Rafe’s cuts were internal, anyway.
“You want to look like this?” I asked Margaret.
