15. Delilah
DELILAH
“There are no other options, Cynthia. The girl is tainted goods. She has to be dealt with, and this Pastor is offering to help. He’ll overlook her situation, and we can’t be sure anyone else will,” my father’s voice carried up the stairs in our home.
“But she’s so young,” my mother protested.
I sat tucked away in the dark on the top step.
My hair hadn’t been washed in days, and it clung in greasy clumps around my head.
I had no motivation to do anything but breathe.
Exist. News traveled fast about my condition, and before I could gather my things, my parents had been called, and I was escorted from the building. Only this time, for good.
It wasn’t long after that Pastor John arrived at our house, the fucking devil himself, offering a solution to my circumstances. Only his solution was to take me as his wife. I’d been in my room crying and hadn’t even heard him arrive.
I couldn’t believe my parents were downstairs entertaining this at all.
Planning my future without any input from me as usual.
In our house, we always looked to my father’s guidance, no matter how misguided it might be.
That’s how it was in the Bible, so that’s how it was in our house.
Women were always seen as less than. Put on earth to serve the male species.
Our purpose little more than pushing out babies and making meals in the kitchen.
While my mother ran the entirety of our house and held down a full-time job, she still was seen as the lesser gender in the eyes of my father and those in this town. Everyone was expected to fall in line. I was no exception.
Any thoughts I had of escape were dashed the moment those two pink lines appeared.
A shudder ran through my body. The fact that they were even considering the idea of having us marry churned my stomach.
I wasn’t even eighteen yet! Not for another month.
Was that what my life was to become? Just another subservient wife chained to an abusive husband?
Never allowed to dream for herself or do anything without his approval?
I already knew the depths of his cruelty, and that was just as a student. As his wife ?
I couldn’t imagine it.
Didn’t want to.
“You want that thing in her stomach to be born a bastard, Cynthia?”
I flinched at my father’s callous words, fingers digging into the wooden rails.
That thing.
I’d always been told there was a God, though all my prayers had gone woefully unanswered, but fuck if there really was a God out there, I prayed that my uterus would shrivel the fuck up and not produce any children to that monster of a man.
“She’s getting married, and that’s that,” I heard him say, and a rage that filled every crevice of my soul lit inside me.
I stood on shaky legs and walked down the stairs, feeling the embers of my anger growing into a full inferno with each step.
“Don’t I get a say on this?” I asked, watching both my parents’ head whip in my direction.
Both of them were visibly pissed at my interruption.
“Young lady—” my father started, but I had something to say .
“I am so tired of everyone not listening to me! You heard me say he raped me, and instead of believing me, you want me to marry him?”
My father’s face turned downright deadly and all that ire I was feeling retreated inward.
It took him two steps before he was on me, and my mother was screaming.
His fist nearly crashed into my face, careening off to the side at the last second when my mom yelled out, “Craig! Stop! She’s pregnant.”
Tears welled in my eyes, knowing that an unborn baby had more empathy from my father than I did. Now he stops? Now? Not all those years prior when I was growing up? Unbelievable.
My feet carried me back up the stairs and into the familiarity of my room where I broke apart. I should have known speaking up for myself wouldn’t do any good. Maybe I should just stop trying.
The decision was made for me. Marry Pastor John or end up on the street.
I paced back and forth so many times in my room, I was surprised that I hadn’t worn the carpet down to bits.
Or maybe the earth could just swallow me up whole and solve all my problems. Veggie Tales never covered this in all their wise vegetable knowledge.
Not one Sunday school teacher touched on this particular problem.
All their preaching and still I was left feeling more confused, lost, and angrier than ever.
Could I pack my bags and leave? With no high school diploma and no money, that option didn’t feel plausible. My brain felt like it had turned into a permanent scream. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus on anything. How was this my life?
Was Cain thinking the same thing? Both of us had our futures ripped away by one man’s selfish actions. But that wasn’t enough. No. Now he wanted to haul me away and keep me like a trophy.
I wasn’t anyone’s trophy.
But it seemed just like the night I was ripped from my bed and taken against my will. I once again found myself stripped of my choice. And at the hands of my parents. The people I was supposed to be able to trust most in this life.
Well, I hope they all burned in the hell they feared so much.
The next week was a blur of plans and fittings that I floated through feeling untethered to reality. It was like everything was happening all around me and I was observing it.
My mother, while initially opposed, seemed to warm to the idea of handing her only child off to her rapist. How she could hear the accusations against him from my own mouth and choose not to believe me made her dead to me in my eyes.
After today, I wouldn’t speak to either of my parents again.
The wedding dress my mother picked for me itched and rubbed my skin raw.
It was stark white, full of lace, and felt more like chains being wrapped around me, dragging me towards a life I couldn’t fight, than a wedding dress.
It had enough fabric to disguise the small— but noticeable bump I’d started to sport, despite how early in the pregnancy I was.
I pulled at the neckline with my fingers trying to loosen it up. It sat high and dug into my flesh.
“Would you stop fidgeting! You’re going to tear the lace.” My mother scolded, smacking my hands.
I couldn’t care less if I ripped the entire thing right off my body and ran naked out of this godforsaken church.
“Ladies. Ten minutes. Oh, don’t you look beautiful, Delilah!
” My mom’s church friend, Tandy, said. She was the same age as my mother, only she had chunky blonde highlights and a sharp, sleek bob that cut at her jawline.
The diamonds that she wore around her neck and in her ears were enough to sink a small ship.
My mother jabbed me with her elbow, and I muttered a small thank you as Tandy left us in a cloud of Chanel No. 9.
I hadn’t seen Pastor John since that fateful day. Or I guess I should call him John now, since he was about to become my husband. My stomach threatened to empty my breakfast of toast and butter all over the front of my dress as that word slid across my brain.
Husband .
Actually, vomiting might improve the dress.
My eyes were rimmed red from crying all night, and I’d spent the better part of the morning considering how I could escape. I made elaborate plans in my mind, each one more preposterous and untenable than the next.
Since joining the circus and becoming homeless weren’t feasible options, I pulled the gauzy veil down over my face and wished it would smother me.
Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as I was imagining. A life with Pastor John… John. I could learn to tip toe around him. I had a lifetime of practice and knew the steps well. Though all that practice still hadn’t saved me from frequent lashings.
My mother handed me a fresh bouquet of white roses that looked like they were being choked to death with baby’s breath. I’d never related to a flower more.
In a daze, my feet carried me forward, stepping through the arched doorway with my father gripping my arm. I blinked hard at him, but he wouldn’t even look at me.
In his eyes, I was damaged goods now. A problem to be solved, and what better way to solve it than to hand me off for someone else to deal with.
At the end of the aisle stood John in a black suit and his signature slicked back hair.
He wore a smile that could rival a politician’s with how fake it looked to me.
Not once did his gaze leave mine as I walked as slowly as I could manage.
He looked utterly triumphant. It made me want to punch him square in that smug, stupid face.
Music swelled all around me as onlookers watched with mixed reactions. Some seemed judgmental, and others appeared delighted. None made a move to stop this monstrosity from occurring. No one jumped up and yelled out any objections either as the pastor declared us husband and wife.
It happened so quickly that when Pastor John…
John, went to remove my veil, I flinched.
That self-assured smile he’d been wearing faltered, his lips folding into a hard line before catching himself and smiling again with more force.
Only his eyes didn’t join him in the smile.
His eyes were hard and the right one twitched, but then he le aned down and my heart thundered so hard I couldn’t hear anything but the whooshing in my ears.
My body wanted to run. But I froze. I felt the heat from the audience’s stare.
Watching me. Expecting this to be a beautiful moment when two people become one.
But it wasn’t beautiful. It was heinous. It was wrong.
And then, in front of everyone, I fainted right as his lips met mine.