10. Brynn
D ance class is the worst.
We’re all there, standing facing the mirrors, dropping and jiving our hips.
It’s sensual, sexual - and I absolutely hate it.
I know above us on the balcony, Professor Jude is sitting there, watching every second. We’re not allowed to look up. We’re not allowed to look anywhere but ahead.
Those are the rules, that we have to pretend that our future husbands are watching us. That this dance is for them.
The music plays out and it sounds so tinny.
Clara is beside me. Dancing and muttering. As she meets my gaze, she rolls her eyes. She must be just as sweaty as I am. She certainly looks it, with her skin all flushed and that hint of a scar showing on the side of her top lip from where it didn’t join properly when she was a baby.
“Now, pirouette,” The dance instructor says loudly.
We all spin as one, like a bunch of dancing robots, turning on the spot before we’re back bucking our hips once more.
When we’re finally announced into society, they’ll hold a great ball where we’re presented to the Senate. All the Brethren Lords will be there, watching. And then I know we’ll have to dance, to perform. To sell ourselves as potential wives.
It’s how my step-grandmother was chosen. She’s not even thirty, and yet she was forced to marry a man over twice her age.
Paige is from a good family, the youngest of six daughters. She had a nice little dowry to entice a would-be suitor, not that our family needed the money. I know my grandfather has no care for more children, not now anyway. Paige has miscarried so many times he’s given up on the idea.
No, all his plans now rest on my aunt, on her great match with the Blake’s.
I guess I should be relieved that he’s not selling me off to secure our family’s future. But then, I’m the unwanted one, the unworthy one. I have no illusions as to what my marriage will be. I’ll be lucky if I’m even given a match at all and not sold off to be a breeder.
“Brynn Monclere,”
The voice rings out and we all freeze.
My stomach literally drops as I realise I’ve been called out. But I was dancing, I was.
The teacher beckons me over, and I try so hard not to tremble as I make my way from the very back. Some of the girls whisper and make snide remarks as I pass them, but I don’t react to it.
“Yes, Miss?” I say, trying to sound well-mannered, contrite. My backside has only just recovered from the last beating I got. I don’t want another one. Besides, I’m acutely aware that Mr. X is there, observing all of this.
“Your family has requested you.” She says.
“Excuse me?” What does that mean?
She huffs, immediately annoyed by my apparent stupidity. “It means, they want you at home, stupid girl,” She swats me over the back of the head as if that will knock some sense into me. “Get your things, they’ve sent a car for you.”
Home? But why? My stomach turns with unease.
It’s not uncommon for my grandfather to have me sent home early. He’s paranoid, more so in his old age. He’s convinced that I’ll do the same thing as my mother, that I’ll fall pregnant and bring shame on us all. As if I have the freedom to even look at a man.
I glance back, saying a silent goodbye to Clara and then I practically sprint out of the hall. My things are all in the lockers and if there really is a car coming, then I’ll have to hurry to get round to the front or I’ll be in trouble for keeping the driver waiting again.
I don’t understand why I’ve been called back early, but I keep my mouth shut and don’t ask questions. With my grandfather away on business, Giselle is in charge, which means absolute hell for me if I’m not careful.
The only shining light is that her fiancé left three days ago, so at least I don’t have to face that horror.
As I walk through the side door, the house is a hub of activity. The maids are rushing about with their arms laden with boxes.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
One of them glances at me before she scurries away like I’m infectious, and I decide that it’s better not to know. Whatever this is, it isn’t meant for me anyway. My aunt does this regularly; she has nice little soirees with her friends whenever my grandfather is out of town. She probably wanted me home early so she could lock me in my room and ensure I was well out of her way. Not that I’m complaining, mind due. Even a night shut away on an empty stomach is better than having to endure the abuse that usually comes my way.
When I get to my room, I shut the door, ditch my bag and then take a shower. I have nothing else to do tonight but simply while away the hours so I take my time, washing my hair, cleaning myself, even shaving so that I follow all those nice little rules expected of me.
I then dry myself off, get into my pyjamas because why the hell not, and then settle in with a book. A safe book. A permitted book.
My stomach grumbles in protest, and I rub it absentmindedly. You’d think it’d be used to these moments of starvation, but I guess not.
When the door opens, I half expect it to be one of the maids, that she’s snuck me out something while no one was looking.
But my smile dies the minute I see her instead.
Giselle comes waltzing in, with her friend right behind her. My eyes dart between them, wondering why the fuck they’re in my part of the house? In the shit part. And especially why, when she’s supposed to be having her party?
My stomach drops like I already know something horrible is going to go down.
“Wha, wha, what do you want?” I ask, trying to sound far calmer than I feel.
“Wha, wha, wha..” Milena teases, mocking my speech while Giselle smirks.
I sit back, feeling cornered as they both sit on the end of the bed, looking like vultures.
Milena mocks my pyjamas and Giselle pretends to tell her to stop, as if she’d ever defend me.
Giselle then starts making small talk, acting like this is normal, as if she regularly hangs out with me, as if she likes me. I look between them, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.
“You’re almost done with school,” Giselle remarks, twirling her hair around her finger. “Have any plans for what you’re going to do after?”
I shake my head. Like I’m allowed such a thing as a job. Being a Monclere means we have a standard to set. If my grandfather wasn’t trying to pretend I didn’t exist, then I’d be officially up on the list of eligible debutantes this year. I guess that’s one thing I can be grateful for.
Milena reaches across, snatching the book that’s still in my hand, “What is this?” She asks, as if she thinks I’d be stupid enough to have anything forbidden out with all the activity in the house downstairs.
“A book,” I reply.
“A booook,” She mocks.
Giselle bats her hand, “Stop it,” She says, “My niece is a smart girl, reading is good for keeping her mind occupied.”
What? Since when is she playing nice?
Giselle lifts the bottle that’s in her hand and takes a swig of it. It’s got a bright plastic wrap around it so I can’t see the contents, but I’d guess from the look of it that it’s alcoholic. We’re not technically allowed to drink. As unmarried Ladies that is, it’s a privilege we’re only granted when our Grandfather says so.
I bite my lip to stop myself from saying anything
“Oh, shush,” Giselle laughs, when she sees my face. “It’s just vodka lemonade,”
Milena reaches for it and takes a big dramatic swig but when she brings the thing back down, I can see her lips are dry. Why would she fake drinking it?
“You try,” Giselle says, grabbing hold of it and practically shoving it in my face.
I shake my head quickly. Do they really think I’d be so stupid as that? They might be able to break the rules, but I certainly can’t.
“Don’t be a bore, Brynn.” Milena moans,
“I, I, I think you should leave,” I stammer. I don’t want them here, I don’t want them sitting there, acting like this is normal.
Giselle snorts. Milena laughs even louder. “Brynn the bore,” She states.
“Take a drink, Brynn,” Giselle orders.
I shake my head again. No fucking way.
It’s like they move in unison. Milena is suddenly there, pinning me back, using her entire weight to hold me down as Giselle holds the bottle to my lips, pressing it to them.
“Just a sip,” She says, “You’re twenty-one, you can have a sip. It’s not a big deal. Neither of us will say a thing…”
I roll my lips together, pinching them together tightly. In my head it’s like I’m screaming, but I can’t get them off, I can’t fight them both. I’m outnumbered.
Giselle pinches my nose, shutting off my air supply and then she rams that bottle so hard into my mouth I swear she chips a tooth. Liquid pours down my throat. It tastes fruity, and then sharp.
I start choking up, my lungs protest, my eyes stream but she doesn’t pull it back, she just holds it there until the contents spill over, down my cheeks, down my face and onto the covers underneath me.
“Fucking hell,” Giselle huffs as she stands back up, “Was that really so hard?”
I lay there coughing it back up, feeling I can’t get enough air. My head is spinning, my eyes are streaming.
“Give her a minute,” Milena says in a tone that puts the fear of god into me.
I look up and they’re both standing there, watching me with what I can only think is morbid curiosity. God, have they poisoned me? Am I going to die?
My head spins more, and my eyes start to blur. What they fuck have they done?
Giselle leans down, staring at my pupils like she can see something in them. “Damn, that was quick,” She says.
“You did give her half the bottle,” Milena laughs. “Poor bitch will be out till morning now.”
Giselle smirks, before she starts yanking at my clothes, stripping them off me.
“Wha, wha, what are you doooing?” I can barely string a sentence together. It feels like I’m now surrounded. That there’s an army of them, a gang of Giselle’s and Milena’s here, in my room.
“Stupid slut,” Giselle says, slapping my face so hard that I swear my brains slam into my skull.
“Put this on her,” Milena says, holding something lacey and black up. My mind seems to reel as I realise what it is; lingerie. They’re dressing me up.
“No,” My mouth barely makes the sound. My lips seem to be frozen. Whatever this is that they gave me, it’s taking over everything. It’s like I’m locked down, trapped in my body.
“You wanted to play games,” Giselle says, “Well, now we’re gonna play on my terms.”
I don’t know what that means. What any of it means.
I’m pulled about, my legs forced into the black lace thong and then I’m rolled over as something is done up over my breasts.
More material is then shoved over my head, shoved onto me. But it’s not covering, it’s not covering at all. I feel like my entire legs are exposed, that my cleavage is exposed.
Panic floods my body. I try to scream, but no noise comes out.
I’m yanked up, dragged by my arms, with my legs scraping the floor.
“Let’s get this bitch in place,” Milena says as they pull me from my room.
I don’t want to go. I don’t want to be wherever the hell it is they’re taking me.
But my body won’t respond and I’m dragged down, passing all those paintings, and into a room I don’t recognise.
I’m dumped onto a bed. Milena takes my legs, spreading them wide while Giselle leans down, staring once more into my face.
“How does it feel now huh?” She says, “How does it feel to know you can’t do anything to stop this?”
I don’t even know what ‘this’ is? What is she talking about?
My eyes dart between her and her friend. Apparently, that’s the only part of my body that will respond.
Giselle slaps me again, slaps me hard. “Stupid little whore,” She sneers, “Tonight, you’re gonna learn. Tonight, you’re finally going to get what’s coming to you.”
I try to shake my head, I try to lift my arms. I try to fight, and nothing happens. Nothing.
They both move back, standing there laughing at me, and then Milena tells Giselle that she needs to get ready.
As they turn to go, my aunt looks back at me and tells me I’m a whore just like my mother, before she slams the door shut and I’m left there, in the darkness, in my fear, unable to do a thing to stop whatever this is.