SEVEN DAYS, six hours and twenty three minutes. That's how long it's been since I was forced back here. How long it has been since I last spoke to Arlo.
There was void in my heart and it suffocated me from the inside out. I missed waking up to the smell of toast in the morning, now I have to wake up and make the toast. I missed listening to Cams fashion updates on the bus to school or how Henry used to give me the fright of my life whenever he silently appeared behind me.
Secretly I had a fantasy, it was the only thing keeping me going. Arlo chased me to Fresco, climbed up my drainpipe and stole me away in the dead of night.
I made sure to always keep my window unlocked just incase. But in reality I knew that wouldn't happen and it wasn't fair to either of us to think that way.
My life and happiness didn't rest on him. Besides, data protection meant that they probably didn't even know where I lived now. If they were fighting my father for custody it would go through lawyers and social workers. I personally would hear nothing.
As we walked into church this morning I could hear the lulling strums of an acoustic guitar flowing through the air. A low, gritty voice sung a sweet harmony softly into a microphone. I didn't recognise him which was strange because I knew everyone in this town. I picked at the sleeve of my cardigan and sat quietly on the pews next to my father, blending in like an invisible ghost.
He had instructed me to dress nice this morning because he wanted to introduce me to someone. I picked a pale yellow sundress with a small floral pattern. I paired it with a white cardigan because the dress had short sleeve straps and I couldn't disrespect my body by showing my shoulder. The sunflowers reminded me of performing arts class and Arlo's dancing.
Everything reminded me of him.
"That's Immanuel, Pastor Blues son. He attended boarding school and now he's studying the bible." My father whispered, I nodded in acknowledgment. "You're going on a date with him this Friday." My head flipped to my father with wide eyes and he nodded sternly, letting me know this was not up for negotiation.
Looking from afar Immanuel seemed alright, I suppose. He sung quietly and kept his head down, not interacting with the congregation. His cheeks blushed pink under the church podium lights and I got a shy vibe from him. Once the service started he hung his guitar around his neck and took a seat at the front.
Pastor Blue was ageing rapidly, every time I returned back to town it was like he had ten years of wrinkles added onto his face. Yet he still couldn't grow a decent beard, it was as patchy as a lawn in summer.
During his sermon he preached the usual. Forgiveness, sinning and abstinence. I looked around the room, there was not a single person of colour, I never noticed that before.
Everyone faced the front and chewed up every word, digesting it and praising it. Sophia sat with her family, following along the bibles stories with their own personal collection of books.
Aiden and his brother looked bored, holding back a few yawns but still he paid attention to the words being spoken.
Even Dylan, the weird kid faced the front and seemed to listen despite the ear defenders he wore on his head. My eyes narrowed at him, he held a spring in his hand and quietly flicked it backwards and forwards. It reminded me of Henry and his various fidget toys. I smiled to myself.
I listened too but this time I heard things differently.
I heard how a man was shaming me into keeping my body a temple. No sex. Dress modestly. Eat gracefully. He taught me about hell and how I would go there if I committed terrible sins. Scaring me into complying with the rules he set out under Gods name. It was manipulative and brainwashing.
Once the service had finished, concluded with another velvety hymn from Immanuel my father ordered me to accompany him while he introduced us. He was packing away his guitar but immediately rose to his feet and smiled sweetly.
"Pastor Blue, that was a wonderful sermon." My father shook hands with the pastor and they exchanged small talk. "Immanuel, meet my daughter Fearne. She is truly honoured that you've accepted her request to court." I am? "Fearne?"
"So nice to meet you Immanuel." I said awkwardly.
"Well, I'm going to let you two kids chat while I wisk Pastor Blue away for communion." My father placed his hand on the pastors shoulder and left me alone with this boy. Awkward silence fell over us and I twirled the bracelets on my wrist.
"So Immanuel..." he was tallish, with neatly combed dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes. Not bad looking but also not overly attractive. Average. Immanuel was average. "How long have you played guitar?"
"It's Blue by the way, I go by Blue and not long. A few years. You play?"
"Me? No. I don't play any instrument. I guess I can sing but my voice isn't anything special. You're good though."
"Thanks, my confidence lets me down I guess. I don't like being the centre of attention but my father insists that I use my talents to spread Gods word."
The conversation started dying, he was quiet and shy and awkward. There was no spark between us or excitement in his eyes. I felt nothing and his vibe bored me.
"So besides music, what else are you into?" I was trying hard to keep this conversation flowing.
"Uh, books."
"Books are cool." I ran my fingers along my pearl necklace wondering what else to say next. He made no efforts to carry on the conversation. "Which ones?"
"Uh, the bible mostly." Okay. That was it. I officially exhausted every conversation avenue I was going to have with this boy.
"Cool." I muttered. "Well, uh... my friends are over there. It was nice meeting you."
"Yeah, you too. See you on Friday."
"Sure, Friday." That'll be... fun.
I bounced off to talk to Sophia and Aiden, they were at the refreshments table sipping down a weak cordial. I stood quietly while they bounced back and fourth their thoughts on today's sermon. I had my own thoughts but non I could share so I sipped an orange juice quietly.
"So I've planned our date out Fearny, little dinner at Sally's then we'll star gaze in the field." He brushed his arm up against my shoulder and my body stiffened.
"I have to go on a date with the pastors son on Friday." We looked back at Immanuel, or Blue, and he was talking sweetly to one of the old ladies.
"Immanuel? Lucky! He's hot and in college and sweet. Plus, he's the pastors son so you know he'll treat you right." Sophia gushed. Aidens face fell.
"Looks like I missed my chance with you again." He said sadly, dropping his hand off my arm.
I smiled at him apologetically, I didn't like Aiden - not like that but he was my friend, someone I knew. I'd rather be trapped into an unwanted marriage with someone I knew rather than a stranger I couldn't connect with.
"Get your dirty hands off of my daughter!" All our heads turned and my stomach dropped with dread.
My fathers heavy body stomped across the church and grabbed my arm, yanking me out of the doors and across the lawn. "I've told you to stay away from that boy. Why don't you listen, whore? Why don't you listen? I'll make you listen."
•••
I am whore.
Or at least that is what my father told me for three hours straight, he said it enough to make me believe it. He made me repeat it, drummed it into my brain.
I was a mistake, a regret, a slut, a burden, I should've stayed dead, ugly, fat, a waste of space, a financial drain. You name it, he probably said it.
Maybe I am those things.
This man is programmed to love me, to support me and see the beauty in the things that I do. But he only lives to put me down and improve me in areas impossible to improve.
I have shamed myself.
I have shamed him.
And I have shamed Jesus.
I can't take back what I've done but I can pray for forgiveness and live with the fact that I'm now tarnished and will most likely end up in hell burning in the devils flames for all of eternity.
I can be honest with Immanuel from the start and let him decide if I'm worthy enough to carry on dating.
"Get up you fat bitch!" He grabbed my arm again, pulling me around like a dog with his chew toy. He climbed the stairs, step after step. Each one closer to the bathtub.
"I'm sorry father! I'm so sorry! It won't happen again. I won't talk to him again. Please! Please!" I begged with all of my energy.
The water filled higher and higher.
"I only do this because I love and care about you." His dark brown-almost black eyes hardened on the water. "Your virtue is the only precious thing about you. No man is going to want to pluck the flower that every other person has touched, sniffed and stepped on. Your virtue is what makes you beautiful, without it you might as well be throwaway trash." He turned off the faucet and dunked his three fingers into the water testing the temperature.
"No, please father. Please no!" I tried to pull away but his grip around my arm tightened.
"Immanuel will hopefully become your husband. When he wants to make love, you will make love. The act of sex is for men not for women. Only sluts enjoy it and only bad wives say no."
He grabbed the nape of my neck and used to it push my whole body into the bath tub. His hand now moved round to my throat and pushed me beneath the surface.
Water claimed every inch of my body, it pushed through my nostrils, into my mouth, into my ears and into my eyes. It blocked off every sense. My body was flooded, fighting for air it wasn't able to get. I thrashed around, trying to escape this invisible prison but my father was too strong and I was too weak.
I no longer had the strength to survive this life. There wasn't a single positive thing to live for. Every day I came home to fear.
I didn't really like myself here. The clothes I wore, the company I kept, the views creeping back into my mind. I didn't have the strength to survive the heartache and grief I felt from missing someone or missing my old life. So when I saw the exit coming, I no longer tried to fight.
I wanted him to kill me.
Cold water filled my lungs and blood pumped behind my eyes. My whole body was strained and only he had the power to take it all away. He chose when I lived. When I died. Who I dated. What I did with my body. Who I was friends with. What I ate. What I watched on television. I was his property and I always would be.
In the rashness of the moment I calmed my frantic movements and lay still, opening my mouth, no longer fighting it. Letting the water pour in. My throat burnt like a thousand needles had penetrated it. I gasped for my last breath before everything went black.
"You live with what you've done whore!" My chest lunged and I coughed up water. "You live with what you've done!" He slapped my face as I coughed back in oxygen. "You live with what you've done bitch!" He stood up and left the bathroom.
I was laying on the floor, soaking wet and gasping for air. Somehow my whole body hurt, it always did. Like I was constantly carrying around a weight inside of me that was breaking me little by little. My bones were stiff, my heart was brittle and my throat always felt constricted.
I didn't want to leave or move, too frightened to breathe. I leaned over and got a hidden compact mirror out of the cupboard and held the sharpest shard of glass in my hand.
My wrist, full of scars looked too bare.
It was comforting to know that all of this could just disappear. The hollowness, the beige bathroom tiles, the yellowish bathtub, the cream under sink cabinet and the floral toilet roll holder along with my thoughts and feelings. It would be peaceful and eternal.
I didn't feel a thing when the glass pierced my skin, blood slowly dripping down my arm and soaking into my white cardigan.
It was thick and maroon but spread easily and I watched it, fascinated by the flow. Like a gentle stream, winding into a lake. I smiled soothingly, this lake I wasn't afraid of. This lake I welcomed.
I wanted to cry but I couldn't. I had no tears. I just felt hopeless, drenched in darkness. Drowning without the water.
My heart was on fire but I couldn't feel the heat. I turned to my other wrist, my grip on the glass tightened. It was slippy now thanks to all of the blood but I had enough hold and willpower to make another slice through my arm.
That's when my father burst into the room and froze at the scenario playing out in front of him.
"Stupid girl!" He grabbed the glass and wrapped a towel around my bleeding wrist. I was woozy and weak but I watched him tape up my wrist and elevate it. "Now we're gonna have to get you checked out at the hospital."
•••
I didn't bleed enough to warrant in-patient care, just a big ugly bandage that basically alerted everyone to what I attempted.
My father drove us home silently and then instructed me to clean up my mess in the bathroom and cook dinner.
He leaned in and kissed my cheek.
"I like to see a lady in the kitchen where she belongs." He muttered to me as he appreciated the smell of the food.
I didn't answer him, I felt lethargic and heavy, ill even. Anything I said in reply needed to be said with caution. I couldn't relax in my own home, I was constantly walking on eggshells and at this point my feet were bleeding.
My father was a hard-faced man, he showed no compassion or love. Only order. One look from him would have even the strongest person cowering in fear. He radiated power and authority. His eyes were often bleak and soulless. His facial hair dark and precisely cut into a sharp shape.
I was completely and utterly trapped by him.