After Max's out-of-the-blue declaration of getting married, right then and there, everything that occurred in the next hour was a catastrophic blur.
Sofia remembered walking after Max, following his long strides into the magistrate's office, signing some papers that she didn't bother to read. But there was some kind of a post-nuptial Max had announced in an emotionless tone that said how much she was about to get if she were to divorce him. His voice had been full of sarcasm, but for the life of her, she could only see his lips moving and no word made any sense to her ear. It was almost as if he had been looking forward to having her divorce him soon. Well, she didn't care anymore.
Sofia found herself not bothering about the twists and turns of Max's mind, about his misunderstandings and games anymore. Perhaps because she had surrendered herself to the woes life offered, for she simply had no other option.
At some point, she felt her brain shutting down from all kinds of sensible thoughts. It might be the effect of the magistrate congratulating them on the wedding ceremony being completed.
"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Max Wilder. Wishing you a very happy married life ahead."
Her ears rang.
"Thanks," muttered Max with a smile as fake as Botox. The magistrate seemed satisfied anyway. Clearly, he was used to performing impetuous weddings like this.
Sofia couldn't bring herself to say anything out of gratitude when the magistrate gave her a glance, though he looked away after a while, an act of politeness. She was one of the Wilders, after all. People were bound to give her respect from now on—all people, she thought, except herself.
From next to her, Max cleared his throat. "Let's go."
Sofia knew she should have said something in return, like—"sure, honey! Let us step into our eternity filled with love and happiness."
Cheesy.
A part of her mind that found hilarity out of everything, chuckled. But Sofia only sighed.
Was she going insane at this point?
The magistrate, on the other hand, threw her a small but earnest look of worry, seeing the absence of any emotion on her face.
And that tiny bit of worry from a stranger seemed surreal to Sofia. It made her feel an overwhelming urge to cry.
This world is a pretty weird place. Sometimes, people from whom we expect a lot turn their backs on us in time of need. But then, surprising us, mercy comes from strangers instead.
--
Max's car came to a screeching stop.
Sofia looked out the window to see a duplet house, which was definitely not the Wilders' mansion.
It was dark outside now, but there were enough lights around the house to light the gravel driveway they were parked in. But most of the yard inside the walls that now separated them from the outside world was still in the dark, it gave off an ambiance of mystery.
Sofia's face probably had given away her confusion because Max said from the driver's seat, "We're going to live here from now on. If I'm going to have to settle down here in Asthel, I would rather have my own place. Besides, it would be impossible to spend twenty-four hours pretending to be a happily married couple at home."
It didn't go unnoticed how he called Wilders' mansion—home. Sofia came out of the car, eyes staring blankly at the house in front of her. And she found she agreed with him on this matter.
This was not home. This felt anything but home.
Only when her eyes registered Max's retreating back storming down the driveway towards the house did she realize that he had come out of the car.
Wordlessly, she followed him.
Max pushed the double doors open and got inside. But Sofia—she just stood outside the threshold.
Despair marred her insides at that moment.
If this had been a normal marriage, out of love and happiness, she would not have been hauled straight to this dreary house but proceeded to the reception—with the smiles of her kin and in-laws, donning a gown as white as snow, walking alongside her husband while he held her hand. She would have then tasted the sweetness of the cake and sparkles of the champagne, then she would have floated about in the arms of her husband in their first-ever dance. People would have looked on in admiration, even envy.
And then, she would have been brought to her marital home and carried across the threshold in loving arms toward a new life filled with blessings, hope, and joy. Fairy lights would have lit the entire house like stars in the sky.
"Are you going just to stand there all night!" Max's voice was filled with annoyance.
And just like that, her daydream shattered to pieces, making her fall back to reality. She glanced up at Max to see him shuffling his feet in irritation.
Her eyes then wandered around the house to see he had switched on all the lights. The interior, as much as she could see, was—bland. Clearly, it was the work of a professional interior designer.
Most things money could buy had barely any life in them.
Sofia stepped over the threshold and put her foot for the first time inside the house—her dusty flip-flop a shame to the spotless wooden floor, and that very moment, all lights went off.
She stood dumbfounded, engulfed in darkness, while Max cursed aloud from somewhere.
"Fu*king hell!"
Sofia's stomach dropped.
What was this—a bad omen?
But then, she shook her head at the irony. How would any bad omen affect a marriage further that was already doomed from the beginning?
This darkness—this perhaps represented her life from this step onwards.
"It's probably the fuse, don't move. Stay where you are," Max instructed her gruffly, his voice coming from a distance now.
Sofia guessed he was going towards the main switchboard, wherever that was.
Disregarding Max's demand, Sofia walked ahead slowly. Like a blind person, her hands felt around for any furniture.
It was no moon, and the sky was the deepest shade of black. Sofia was devoid of any light that could show her the way.
She tripped over something—most likely a tea table, but she managed to keep her balance, saving herself from falling face-first. Her ankle, however, throbbed in pain. The bruise there had again been hit.
Her knees hit something soft, making her bend down. She felt the furniture with her hand to realize it was a sofa. She sighed, her shoulders slumping. For so long, she had been feeling so exhausted it would feel good to sit down a little.
She had just sat down when the lights came back, making her squint in the sudden brightness.
"I told you not to move." Max spat out from somewhere. When Sofia looked up at him, still in silence—still her face as blank as it had been for hours, Max scowled. "And why are you not talking?"
"I heard noises. Did you trip over something?" he asked further, not really waiting for her to answer, and Sofia didn't bother. "You got yourself hurt, didn't you?"
And then, muttering under his breath, he walked down the distance towards her and lifted her up in his arms. It all happened so fast that Sofia didn't find the time to react.
As he moved towards the stairs, she tried to squirm out of his grip, but then her midriff protested, making her stiffen automatically. She had to take the painkiller, but the blessed pills sat next to her bed back home.
Home!
With her chest constricting, she wondered what was going on over there. Grampa, Skyler, Sam, aunt Marla—what would be their reactions knowing—when she would tell them...
Before her brain could go berserk with the endless questions and possibilities, she found herself inside a bedroom.
Max put her down and stood beside her, watching the room like she was. The king-size bed, the floor-to-ceiling tinted glass separating the medieval-style balcony, the vanity across the room, the furry carpet, and that love seat—it was the master bedroom obviously, and once again without any homely touch but screaming money. Every corner was too proper, too organized, and too luxurious.
"Our families have already been informed about—" Max said quietly a moment later, "our Wedding. I called Neil after exiting the magistrate's office."
When? Oh!
It might have been when she was busy zoning out of the harsh reality that was her life now.
Sofia snapped her head up, staring at Max, who also turned to look back at her at that exact moment. She had meant to ask him questions such as what their family's reactions were about their elopement—because that was what they were going to think it to be. Were they angry? But at whom—her or him? Would her family ever want to see her face again after this stunt? What about the scandal?
Her family might be cursing her like the unholy plague that brought them nothing but trouble and disrespect. But what she actually asked Max was unexpected to even herself.
"What happens now?" And that was the first time she talked in hours. Her tone of voice seemed bizarre to her own ears.
For a moment, she thought she saw amusement in his eyes, but the very next moment, he was looking at her in that same cold way, making her conclude that she had perhaps imagined it.
He moved to stand facing her ultimately and stepped closer to her.
"Do you really want to know what happens now?" He smirked. "It is, after all, our wedding night."
Sofia froze. The blank mask she had been wearing for hours now, she felt it slowly beginning to slip off.
He took steps closer to her, the corner of his mouth curving up with malicious intent.
"It's only normal to consummate our marriage," he stated. "Tonight."
It all happened too fast. The frustration of the whole day was finally caught up and blended with soul-numbing apprehension, and instinctively her hand shot up to connect with his cheek.
The noise of the strike resounded throughout the room.
There was a stretch of silence between Max and her in the midst of which they both stood stunned.
And slowly, raw fury smoldered across his face.
She watched his jaw tick, eyes narrowing, and muscles stiffening dangerously.
"You just did not—" muttering, he charged a step ahead, impossibly close to her.
As he gripped her upper arm, a hot flash of fear burned down her spine—an age-old disposition tattooed to her system. She recoiled backward, trying to get away from this proximity. But it was the wall that hit her back. Her escape was blocked.
He wouldn't hit her now, would he? She thought, fighting the ringing in her ears.
And perhaps they were all the same—her father, Mevil and Max.
Horror clawed at her vines when he raised a fist.
Squeezing shut her eyes, she flinched away her face.
The side of her throat that faced him was now hard in resistance. She pressed her cheek to the wall as though wanting to pass through the solid material somehow and away from the strike about to land on her flesh.
Time seemed to have slowed down.
She jumped and let out a small shriek when the crunch finally sounded.
But for some surprising reason, not a place of her body hurt.
With her heart beating in her ear fast and hard and in sync with the buzz of furiously flowing blood, she opened her hazy eyes.
She felt, more than she saw, his existence surrounding her, looming over her with great height and power. As she turned to look at him with disoriented focus, she realized he had punched the wall instead, right next to her face. From the corner of her eye, she could see his hand still there as both of them heaved to catch their breaths, and as they did so, their chests almost touched.
But just because he hadn't done it yet, didn't mean he wouldn't do it next.
Max had been so much full of severe surprises since his return that, at this point, Sofia's faith had gone feeble.
It seemed more sensible to place Max alongside all evils she'd discovered till this day.
And that was why when he began to move next, for whatever purpose, her feet stumbled over each other to slide to the side and out of his reach. But her knees gave up simultaneously as pain shot throughout her injured foot. Like a limp doll, she fell back.
Max leaned in hurriedly, and a loud gasp of shock and fear left her mouth, disobediently rushing past her trembling lips.
One of his hands stretched out. "Sofia, what—"
Her mind chose that exact moment to show flashes of an incident so similar, taking place just yesterday, in a hotel room. Like her nightmares, they blended with one another—from a distant past.
Shades of memories settled heavily.
She was too shattered to expect anything else.
She slapped away his hand. "No!" she managed to squeak out.
She didn't look up, but she knew Max must be smirking some more seeing her this weak, this vulnerable. She hated being like this, and she would hate herself for this moment for a very long time in the future.
There was a stretched silence. Only the sounds of harsh breaths could be heard.
Sofia didn't need to look to know Max was still there. She did a moment later, though. It was as if an instinctive action when she looked up.
Surprisingly, she witnessed something unexpected.
Max was looking down at her fallen form with sympathy, with helplessness. But then, like all the other times, he blinked it all away, making his face an emotionless mask.
Sofia just had had enough.
There was a limit to her endurance, and she felt herself reach the edge. Any more, and she would surely break, and she feared that if it happened, she would never be able to pick herself up again, so that, she could fight the cruel world like always—head on. So she closed her eyes tight, confining the pool of tears within for a bit more.
"Please, leave me alone." And she hated how her voice croaked, how it gave away the secret tears clogging within.
The sound of a heavy sigh, footsteps thundering away, slamming of the door close behind—announced Max's departure.
And finally, Sofia allowed the tears to stream down freely, still fallen on the floor like a collapsed fortress.
~
A/N:
Did you like the "Max punching the wall" scene?
Do you think his knuckles are intact? Because, come on, he's not an iron man!
Now, how many of you want to give Sofia a hug here? She really needs it...
But this is just the beginning of her "getting hurt" saga.
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Thanks to all the lovely people who've been voting, commenting, and supporting Bitterly Sweetly. I'm nothing without you guys, so thanks from the deepest part of my part for your love! In my overly dramatic life, you guys are my place of peace. (yep, I love drama, that's why I write so much drama)
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Lara.
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