I cut the beloved rosary beads from my wrist, letting them fall to the floor. God couldn’t be with me for what came next.
I put the knife on the table, my hand dwelling above it, flattening it into the wood.
I leaned over Jolie, my entire body hurting with the abuse it had endured today. Abuse, I deserved for what I was about to do.
I descended close enough to smell the scent of her skin, fresh like the daisies outside. I pressed my lips to her ear. I played with her hair, and she nuzzled against my touch, not shying away or loathing it. It was still comfort.
“It’s better that it’s me.” I blinked twice, hoping to convince her. Hoping I had the fucking strength to do this, and hoping that she wouldn’t hate me for it. “I’m so sorry, but it’s better that it’s me.”
This time, she was the one blinking.
I placed a single kiss on her wet cheek, the table abused the other.
Fuck, I hated seeing her like this.
My legs almost gave out, as thoughts began speeding around my mixed-up brain.
Can I do this?
Will I be able to live with myself?
I didn’t have those answers, and deep down, I knew the possibility of me living up to the horror my father wanted Jolie to face was slim. . .and then what?
They’d hurt her anyway.
A single tear dropped from my face to hers.
“I love you, Woodrow. I love you,” she stuttered, causing my heart to do the same.
More of my tears fell on her.
“Hopefully, you’ll still love me tomorrow.”
“I will.” She smiled, but it was sad. Sad enough to break my crippled heart. “Always.”
And I almost found myself backing out. The only thing dragging me back was the idea of someone else doing worse.
“Me, too. Always. You’re mine, and not in the way he says. You’re just mine.”
She nodded, accepting my words and the awful situation.
My father dragged me up by my collar, granting a warning, “Enough. That kind of talk isn’t getting anything wet but your eyes.”
He let go, and I stepped back, stumbling out of my clothes, feeling too exposed under watchful glares. I didn’t look away from Jolie, from the way her body trembled, to the way her touch replaced my phantom caress in her hair.
“No wonder you thought he’d be good for this.” Sylvia snorted, his eyes on my cock.
I ignored him, too. Kicking off my shoes, pants, and underwear.
Back at the table, I wrapped my fingers around Jolie’s wrists. I didn’t want anyone else dragging them above her head or to her sides, holding her down for me to violate, touching her during this moment.
“Keep these here,” I requested.
I placed her hands behind her back, arching her body on the wood. I kept her floral dress low, hiding her modesty.
I eyed the cross on the floor, broken and ruined, like so many other things would be today. My hands traced her legs, stopping at her ankles. Her bare feet were cold, toes curling with dread as silent tears continued to fall.
“Remember how this should be. She’s no different from any other whore.” My father moved closer.
