39. Chapter 38
Chapter 38
Eden
I always wondered how my mother felt, lying on that cold floor, a handful of xanax in her hand and a bottle of wine to wash it down.
Dazed and confused, I had always assumed she was trying to numb the pain.
Pain from her failed marriage.
Pain from her failure to be a mother to Aiden and me for most of our lives.
Pain was all she knew.
Every time she cracked open that pill bottle, she was giving herself a fleeting respite from feeling anything at all.
Now, with an IV in my arm, my thoughts muddled by the drugs, I understand her despair more intimately. The pain that once consumed her is now silenced by the same drugs coursing through my veins.
This is rock bottom.
And there’s no fucking way out .
Masked women, clearly patrons of the church who might have watched me grow up, move around me. What do they think as they cleanse my skin and prop me up in this chair, forcing me to stay awake while the drugs weigh me down?
Do they see the washed-up girl, marred by the scars of her own tortured mind?
Or do they see the innocent girl who once roamed the church with a grin, too pure to be in this nightmare?
As they apply mascara and pull my hair into a sleek ponytail, I finally see what they see.
Merchandise.
Just as they are to their husbands.
A disposable woman.
One destined to be sold like a goddamn pig.
“I think she’s ready,” One of them whispers, removing the IV from my arm. “They double-dosed her after her little stunt.”
Two women support my weight as they drag me in this tight red dress across the floor. My eyes lock with Hannah’s among the young girls being prepped. The dread in her eyes is palpable.
I thought I would find a way out for both of us.
I thought I’d escape this hellish nightmare.
Now, I question if there will ever be an escape.
Has Roman given up on me?
Did Aiden flee?
God, I hope he did.
I’ve been hearing that name more in my mind.
God.
I was never much of a pray-er before all of this .
It always felt like something I did out of routine, not genuinely trying to reach out to the divine.
Now, all I feel capable of is praying.
Praying for a way out.
Praying for death.
Praying for any release from this torment.
In my past suicidal moments, I thought my pain was enough to make me want to reach the other side.
Now, I know it can always get worse.
“What happens after the night is over?” I ask in a sluggish tone as the women drag me past the double doors into the main cathedral, steering me toward the confession room.
“They’ll put you on that altar and sell you off. What happens after that is up to God’s goodwill,” One of them whispers.
“Is that what happened to you?” I ask with a bitter grin. “Did you let yourself be sold and used by those men?” The women fall silent.
“That was the case for your mother,” One of them snaps after a moment.
My father.
He bid on my mother.
“What—”
“You didn’t know?” One of them scoffs, her tone dripping with superiority. “God, she really shielded you and Aiden from the truth. Maybe your father will find you a new stepmother tonight,” She snickers.
Nausea churns in my stomach.
All those young wives circulating through the church.
I always thought it was a product of religious tradition .
Like how an army base is filled with young military wives seeking escape from their families.
I never imagined—
“Time to line up and wait with the others,” One of the women snaps, shoving me into a crowded room filled with drugged-up children dressed to impress. “You’re first on the lineup, Eden, so maybe crack a smile.”
“Wait—”
The door slams shut behind me, and I bang my fists against the wood, jiggling the lock.
Fuck.
I sink to the ground, surrounded by dozens of pained expressions.
“Why are you here?” One of the little girls asks, her eyes filled with genuine sorrow.
“My dad is a bad man,” I whisper. “And he hates me for loving a good one.”
“Is the good man going to be here tonight?” The girl asks, a chuckle of defeat escaping my throat.
“If he is,” I whisper, “then God has answered my prayers for the first time.”