53. Brynn
I stare at him. Stare at the man I’ve only read about, had glimpses of, through my mother’s juvenile words. He’s old. Wrinkly. He has grey hair and peppery stubble on his face. He’s nothing like the man I imagined.
I don’t know what this means. What I’m meant to do.
He puts me in the car, straps me in like I’m precious cargo and then we’re driving away, disappearing into the night like thieves.
I have so many questions. Questions. Questions.
How did he find me? Why didn’t he find me before? Why does he even want me now?
I blink, feeling a wave of exhaustion hit me and it takes what feels like my entire strength to raise my hand to cover my mouth as I yawn.
“Try to sleep.” My father says. “We have a long journey.”
“Where?” Where are we going? Will Conrad be there? Has he decided he wants a new home now that I’m fixed, is that it?
He plants a soft kiss on my forehead. “I’ll explain in the morning.” He says.
The morning. That feels so far away. I don’t think I can wait till then. But I don’t think I can keep my eyes open either. My lids are so heavy.
My father’s hand strokes my hair. It’s still in plaits from the way Conrad did it. He teases them loose, letting the now kinked strands fall down over the blanket I’m wrapped in.
“You look so like her.” He says.
I don’t need to ask who. I know who. He means my mother. The woman he loved. The woman they wouldn’t let him be with.
I shut my eyes, lean back and let my sleep take me while the hum of the engine sounds like a lullab,y carrying me away to neverland.
I’m in a bed.
Not my bed.
Not my home.
I sit up as best I can and stare at the strange surroundings. There’re thick velvet curtains covering the windows, and the walls are decorated with elaborate panelling. The furniture looks old. So old. It feels like I’m in a castle, like I’ve stepped back in time.
I’ve been washed. Washed and dressed in a nighty, and that bandage on my chest is gone. I can feel my skin prickling around the cool air. I drop my gaze, trying to get a good look at what my husband did but the angle is all wrong, and my eyes won’t focus.
My bladder feels so full I’m worried I’m going to piss myself but as I try to get up, my legs give way, and I slam face first into a thick rug.
“Brynn.”
A girl rushes over to me, helping me up. “Are you okay?”
I nod. My chin feels like I have a carpet burn, but I’ve had worse. “Piss.” I state. “Need to piss.”
She jerks her head, and another girl takes my other arm. Together they help get me to where the ensuite is. My feet drag behind me, my toes bang on the threshold but I’m still so grateful as I sit down.
The sound is so loud. I wrinkle my nose, wondering if an elephant could piss any louder than I do.
“Would you like some breakfast?” The other maid asks, as if this is all perfectly normal.
Breakfast. I can’t remember the last time I ate. It must have been before I lost my legs. Before I was bad.
I nod again, biting my lip with my enthusiasm.
They help me back up, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look pale, my eyes are so bruised it’s like I’ve been in a fight, but that scar, that mark… my fingers brush against my damaged skin and I hiss for a second at the flash of pain.
He branded me. My husband branded me.
“So pretty,” I whisper. I can see all the detail, I can see how my skin is literally moulded now.
The two maids frown more, whispering something I don’t catch and then they carry me out, carry me back to the bed.
The girl I don’t know disappears off while the other stays, watching me.
Ingrid. That’s her name. The other maid, the one from before. She just smiles at me after propping me up on a mountain of pillows.
I blink back, unsure if I’m worthy of her happiness.
“Where is Conrad?” I ask. It’s morning now, he’ll be wondering where I am. He’ll want to be fucking me again.
Something flickers across her face and then she recollects herself. “He’s away.” She states, like that’s an answer.
I open my mouth to ask for more details, but the other girl comes back with a tray. I can smell the bacon. I can smell all the delicious food. My stomach grumbles loudly as they place it on my lap.
“Can you feed yourself?” Ingrid asks.
“I’m not a dummy.” I reply. My legs might be gone, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to eat.
The other girl stifles a giggle, but they stand there anyway, waiting for me to prove if I’m capable or not.
I pick up the fork and take a big scoop of scrambled eggs. They’re hot. Hot hot hot. They burn my tongue, but I don’t care.
I want the bacon next. It’s streaky and crispy, and I munch on it with my bare hands.
The beans are the challenge. The slippery suckers drop all over the sheets and in the end they take over feeding me. I guess it’s only fair, seeing as they’ll be the ones changing these now that they’re dirty.
Once the food is done the plate is taken away but Ingrid stays there, watching me almost curiously.
“Where is Conrad?” I ask again.
“Your father wants to see you.” She replies, not answering my question. “He asked me to get you bathed and dressed.”
“I have nothing to wear.” That fact alarms me. I’m naked. Conrad doesn’t like me naked around others. He doesn’t like them to see me.
Except he paraded me about through Oblivion. He had me trussed up like a pig, crawling on all fours.
My cheeks flame. I feel the memory of it hit my core and my hand moves, fisting the duvet.
I just need a moment. Five minutes max.
Ingrid’s eyes drop to see where my hand is. “Are you okay?” She asks.
I nod back. It’s okay. It’s all okay.
She lets out a low breath, like I’m acting crazy. “How about a nice dress?” She says, going to what I assume is a wardrobe.
I don’t watch her. I don’t look. My hand slips under the covers and I’m there, touching myself, relieving that need now that it’s screaming in my head.
It feels so good. It feels so necessary. My body thrums, I come alive as my fingers move in that same way my husband touches me.
Conrad.
“Oh my god, Brynn. What are you doing?” Ingrid shrieks.
I open my eyes, staring back at her.
“You, you...” She pulls the duvet back and there, between my useless legs, we can both see where my hand is circling my clit.
“Conrad likes this.” I state. “He wants…”
Her hand slaps my cheek, and it sends a jolt through me.
“He’s not here.” She says angrily. “You’re not his toy anymore. You don’t have to do anything he says anymore.”
“But he’s my husband.” I state. Husband. Husband and wife. He put me in a pretty dress, he took me down an altar, and he married me. Not my aunt, not my horrid, horrid aunt. He wanted me.
She slaps me again, harder. “Enough.”
I don’t understand. This doesn’t make sense.
The other maid appears and looks between us with that same hard expression.
“Let’s get her dressed.” Ingrid says, taking charge.
They lift me up, pull me out of the bed by my arms and place me on the end of it. And I sit there, quiet, and behaved. Like a robot. Like a doll.
I’m in a wheelchair. It’s so smooth. It glides over the polished wooden floorboards and makes me feel suddenly invincible.
They dressed me up all pretty in a nice lace white dress, then they brushed my hair and left it hanging loose.
My legs are propped up on little steps, and my pink toes sparkle back at me. But still, they refuse to move.
As we come to a stop, I look up and see I’m in a room. It’s just as fancy as the one I woke up in. The same panelling is on the walls. Only, there’s a great stone fireplace here, and the windows are on view so I can see they’re made of stone too. The glass is diamond shaped, all put together like a puzzle and held with black bits of metal. It’s pretty, so pretty.
“How’s she doing?”
“She ate all her breakfast.”
“Good.”
“And then she tried to touch herself again.”
“Excuse me?” That’s a different voice. A stranger.
I look up, staring at the stern bald man who’s caught between outrage and amusement.
“She tried to touch herself.” Ingrid says again.
“Conrad wants it.” I explain. Why is it so complicated? I’m not broken anymore. I’m fixed now.
My father shakes his head. “I never want to hear his name again, do you hear me?” He growls.
Why is he so angry? Conrad is my husband. It’s my duty to do what he wants, we all know that.
“Where is he? Where is my husband?” I ask.
It’s Ingrid who slaps me. Her hand strikes the same cheek, and this time it makes tears stream from my eyes and down my face.
“He is not your husband. Not anymore.” She snaps.
“Yes, he is.” I know he is. I know it. He dressed me up and dragged me down that aisle and then the priest…
My father sighs, walking over to me, and kneels in front of the chair. “Brynn, I know this is all very confusing, but we have your best interests at heart. We’re going to protect you now.”
“Protect me from who?”
His hand comes up to cup my cheek. “Do you trust me?”
I don’t know him, I don’t know any of these people. I blink back, unsure what to say. I only trust my husband. But then he took my legs, didn’t he? He took my wiggling toes too.
“Conrad is a bad man.” My father explains. “He has done a lot of bad things, and he’s hurt you.”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Brynn…”
“He did that because I was bad. But I’m not bad now, I’m fixed. I’m all fixed.”
Ingrid makes an exasperated sound, and my eyes dart to her.
“You saw,” I state. “You saw me, at our home…”
“I saw you.” She says. “You were lying in a puddle of your own piss after he’d beaten you so badly you couldn’t even walk.”
I don’t remember that. I don’t… the rug had been so soft. I like soft. Conrad is soft now. Conrad likes me now.
“She’s a nutter.” The bald man laughs.
“What do you expect?” Ingrid replies. “She’s been in his dirty grasp for months now.”
Months. Months. I’ve been with Conrad for months. Magnus asked me how long we’d been married.
“Months.” I repeat.
My father waves his hand in front of my face, catching my attention once more.
“We’re going to fix you, Brynn. We’re going to take care of you.” He states.
But Conrad fixed me. I don’t need more fixing.
The feeling of being held down, of having my eyelids prised open hits me. I shake my head, shake it so violently. There’s something there. Something behind my eyes. It’s pushing too hard. It’s going to break me.
“Make it stop.” I scream suddenly. “Make it stop. Make it stop.”
My hands claw at my skin, my nails dig into those awful bruises. My father grabs hold of me, wrenching my arms back.
“It’s okay.” He says, but it’s not. The doctor is there, he’s right there, digging into my skull, taking out the bits he doesn’t like.
“Sedate her.”
I don’t know who yells it. But the needle jabs me, it pierces my skin and despite the sharpness a calm seems to wash over me.
“I’m good now.” I whisper as my head drops. “I’m fixed.”