Page 22

5 Years Ago - Aged 18

This burgundy tailored dress clings to me like a second skin. One that isn’t mine. It’s like I’m looking at a completely different person in the mirror—the daughter that Mother always wanted me to be. The obedient, Christian daughter that does whatever she’s told and lives to please men. Like all the other girls in Blackcastle. Like her.

The skirt tightens around my knees when I take a step away from the mirror and I let out a sigh of frustration. I don’t know why I allow her to control my life like this because it doesn’t reward me with a shred of care from her like I once hoped it would. It’s always merely contentment. If I do as she says, at least she won’t berate me. I thought turning eighteen two weeks ago would grant me a little bit of reprieve, but it only made her tighten the leash. Apparently, being a woman now means I’m ready to conform to the town's traditions, or so she says.

I click my door shut softly, and at the same time, a door behind me opens, kickstarting my heart into a rapid rhythm. I gather all the strength I have to turn around.

“Haven’t I told you about those atrocious tights?”

My fishnets—the one thing about my attire that makes me feel a little bit like me. I thought I’d try wearing them again to see her reaction, but it’s all the same.

If she acts this way about my tights, I can’t imagine the way she’d react to the small rose tattoo I have between my breasts. A permanent mark she can’t remove. Yet, I still instinctively cross my arms and grab the opposite ones with my hands, attempting to hide tit from her, despite her not being able to see it. Luckily, all of Kain’s are also in inconspicuous places, and I just hope Asher never gets caught with his tattoo gun. I don’t want to think about how that would unravel.

Immediate regret settles in my stomach. I shouldn’t have asked Asher to do it.

“Take them off.” Her blue eyes pierce through me as she scans me from head to toe.

I want to say no. It’s at the tip of my tongue, but I can’t force it out. She’ll have the clergy beat the word of my vocabulary. Just like Heath does to Kain.

My palms begin sweating before a beep fills the brief, strained silence, and she checks her watch, sighing. “We’re late.” She cuts me a threatening look. “I will cut your monthly funds if you continue to dress like a whore. Do you understand? No one will want to marry a prostitute.”

A lump cramps my throat and I try to swallow it down. Sometimes I think she says these things to get a reaction out of me. Fear. She already has it.

Her heels click around me, and she digs her fingers into my back, pushing me forward down the short, glaringly white, landing to the car. “Go.”

Our house is by no means big, but it’s nice enough for the two of us. Still, it doesn’t compare to the literal castle the Westbrook’s live in considering my mother is deputy mayor. I guess beggars can’t be choosers. Not that Mother talks to me much about her life before me, but from whispers at the town civic functions, she had nothing before she came crawling to Heath Westbrook, the town mayor, begging for help. She was nearly thrown out on the streets for being pregnant out of wedlock.

Mother clips her belt in before turning the engine on. “You will learn self-respect. I will not have my daughter be the town whore. People whisper enough about us among the clergy. I will not have you embarrassing me any longer.”

There goes that stinging feeling in my eyes and the heat in my cheeks.

I hate it. I hate that she has the power to make me feel like this.

Worthless.

Not good enough.

Scared.

My chin trembles as I fill my thoughts with the only safe person I know—Kain.

We arrive outside of the paved forecourt of Blackcastle Church. It’s situated in the town centre where it stands tall and menacing. It’s a metal grey with sharp spires around the roof. The clouds move slowly across the sky, some darker than others. It looks hauntingly beautiful, holding millennia of whispers and forgotten prayers. The air here always feels taut, like a storm approaching on the horizon, and the calm before it hits. It seems like it always rains too, the sky is forever grey, and though it’s only two in the afternoon, it’s dark. Still, the view of the sunrises from my room are always beautiful.

“Move,” Mother demands from behind me, poking her finger into my back and guiding me up the granite steps towards our new priest.

Father Michaels’ chocolate eyes crinkle in the corners at me as he shakes her hand but they linger on me for a second more before he finally regards her. “My utmost pleasure.” He can’t wait to focus his attention back on me as it’s my turn to shake his hand. Out of politeness, and because I don’t want the repercussions like last night, I walk forward and place my hand in his outstretched one. Her cutting a small strand of my hair short as a warning was enough.

He takes it and brings it to his mouth, kissing my knuckles only sending uncomfortable shivers over my spine. I tug my hand away and subtly wipe it on the back of my skirt.

He smiles, his bearded cheeks dimpling.

“Well, we best get inside and make sure everything is ready for the guests,” Mother says, ushering me along.

“Oh, yes.” Father Michaels turns to open the door, his black Alb swishing against the floor. The doors creek open, revealing the glum inside with vaulted ceilings. The red lancet windows provide next to no light inside, only red streaks with floating dust particles manage to punch through.

We step inside, our heels echoing on the polished, marble floors. The oak pews have been decorated with bouquets of roses, and candles have been spread around every inch of the intricately carved space. The altar at the back of the church is decorated in shining gold, with a large cross with Jesus hanging over the communion table.

My knees quiver with a chill every time I’m in here.