Chapter 14
Avidya
It wasn’t even a week later before father brought another man by to meet me. Three days to be exact. For some odd reason, my mom was determined to have me dress nicely. I wanted to roll my eyes at such a thought. Wasn’t what my parents deemed to be my clothing style dressy? I always had to look my best, for whatever reason that I could never understand. Most of the clothing I didn’t like, yet I had no choice in it. My mother did all the shopping from online, so I never knew what I would be wearing until it arrived. A few things in my closet were left untouched for months, though.
This time, I wasn’t so lucky on what I was forced to wear. Even with being eighteen, I still had to follow my parent’s rules and would have to until I moved out.
Yeah, that thought was extremely depressing.
“Cheer up,” mom said, although she didn’t sound all that pleased with the turn of events either. I knew she was in a dark place and had been for years. As the days went by, I could see her fall farther into depression. She didn’t hide it from me anymore like she used to, either. Maybe my disappearing for two weeks gave her the chance to stop hiding from me.
“What’s the point?” I asked bitterly. I could only take so much. I never really put much thought into how my life was, and what would become of me. Not until I was kidnapped by a man that now claimed me as his.
“To make your father happy. Now go put this on,” she replied, pushing the garments into my hands.
I couldn’t help but let my disgust show as I slipped on the dress. It may be pretty, but not me at all. I no longer knew who I was. The dress was white with a white soft netting at the top around my shoulders, and the rest a silk like material. Vines with pink flowers had been stitched on the lace covering the entire dress. It was a bit older fashioned, and not me. No matter what the price tag may have been, I wasn’t thrilled with it.
I had been careful of what I wore the past few weeks since my return, knowing that the burn mark on my inner forearm would be easily seen if someone knew what to look for. I couldn’t put it past my father, and I didn’t want to test his mood either. Now, I would have no choice but too. At the same time, maybe I could get some sort of information out of him.
When I finally made my way downstairs to the kitchen, I could hear father and another man talking. I put it off as long as I could, knowing I would make my father upset on purpose. I just couldn’t help it.
With one last deep breath, I stepped into view and came face to face with my parents and the man that would try to win my hand in marriage.Good luck buddy.I nearly snorted at the thought. There was no way I’d willingly marry him. Even if Zachariah was not an option.
This man sat straight in the chair across from my father in the living room. His dark eyes took me in from head to toe with a look of thrilled pleasure. His nose was too long and small for his clean shaven square face. His greasy dark hair fell across his forehead, nearly hiding his eyebrows. His skin was darker than my father’s and made my skin crawl with a shiver.
He made my stomach twist in knots. This man here was not the typical type of people my family ever associated with. Once, I thought it was because they didn’t like anyone different colored, but now, I was positive that there was more to the story than just that.
“This her?” he asked as his eyes met my widened ones. He didn’t seem all that impressed, and the feeling was mutual.
“Who else would she be?” my father breathed out in annoyance. “Avidya, this is Miquel.”
“Not what I was expecting,” Miquel stated, his eyes hardening just a tad. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. She is a sight to behold. So, light and would bruise easily, though.”
I remained there, not saying anything. I wasn’t sure if I could say anything nicely; it was better to not say anything than speak my mind.
“Come check on dinner with me, Avidya,” my mom said, standing up from her spot she had sat beside my father.
I followed her as my father mumbled something about me being a bit quiet most of the time, as any lady of the house should be.
“Can you be a little more sociable?” mom asked once we were in the kitchen. Her voice was quiet so it wouldn’t carry farther than where we stood in front of the stove. “He’s here to impress your father, and can offer you more than any other man can.”
“What do you expect from me? I mean, come on, throwing men my way for marriage. Father cannot make me go through with it,” I huffed out, not entirely caring if my father heard me or not. Actually, let him hear. I’d like to see what he would do if he did hear.
“Watch it,” mom said, shooting me a worried, helpless look. “He’s in a mood today, so please, go along with it, alright.”
Taking a deep breath, I stood there beside the counter. My mind raced with why I was suddenly acting like this. I had never really acted out when my choices have been taken from me my entire life. I went day by day doing whatever was expected of me.
And now, I was fighting. Although I was pissed with a new sight on how my life had always been, I felt stronger mentally. Consequences be damned.
“What has gotten into you?” mom mumbled, mostly to herself.
I wanted to answer. It would have been so easy. So, easy to ask right then and there about where I really came from too. Instead, I remained quiet, seething and thinking.
“Don’t answer that,” she said quickly, afraid to know herself. “Set this on the table. Please, Vidie, don’t make your father punish you for the way you are acting.” Her look turned sad as if she knew what would happen with the next hour.
I nodded, taking the casserole dish filled with some sort of vegetarian mix to the table after slipping oven mitts on. I would rather eat dirt than this food that already tasted like dirt. I would try to not test my father, knowing what he was capable of. My mouth seemed to run on its own since my return. I just couldn’t stop it most times.
It didn’t take long for mom to call the men in for dinner and for us all to be sat around the table and food on our plates. Thankfully, there was an empty seat between Miquel and myself. I kept my eyes on my plate, fearing to be seen. I felt forced to sit here and I couldn’t help but compare it to when Zachariah sat beside me, including me in the conversation.
