Delilah
Present Day
“You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.' You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” ―ELEANOR ROOSEVELT
I can’t get the feeling of Maverick’s body on top of mine out of my head.
He’s a large man—massive, really—but not once this morning did I ever truly feel threatened.
I know he would never use his strength against me; it was easy to tell how gently he took me to the ground.
It just felt so good to have his weight on top of me, and when I noticed him growing hard against me, everything else faded away.
I thought for a moment he might’ve leaned in and kissed me, and I hate myself for wishing that he would have.
But maybe it’s all in my head. Maybe any man would’ve become aroused in that scenario.
I strip and feed my dirty clothes through the small opening in the top of the tent, which Maverick holds for me.
I wet my hair and body with the cold water, hearing Maverick’s chuckle as I let out a small squeal.
I wash as quickly as I can manage, shivering all the while, until Maverick hands me my towel and clean clothes through the opening.
My period is still going strong but thankfully the cramps have lessened—they’re usually only bad on day one.
I unzip the tent, holding my arms out for Maverick to hand me the dirty clothes in his arms. Instead, he plucks the wet towel out of my hands and adds it to his pile. This man.
“All good?” he asks as we walk back toward the tent.
I want to snap and tell him to stop treating me like an invalid, but that would eliminate the emotional space I desperately tried—and failed—to put between us this morning.
I know Maverick’s not like the men in New Athens, but I’m hoping that by treating him like he is, it will help tamp down the feelings that are inevitably growing for him. “Yes, thank you.”
“You hungry?”
I shrug, keeping my eyes on the ground.
He grabs my bicep gently, stopping us both and turning toward me. “You know you can talk to me, right?”
A single, pathetic laugh bursts out of me. “No, I can’t.”
“And why is that?”
I finally look up at him, a fresh wave of irritation flowing through me. “You know exactly why.”
“I really don’t, darlin’. I could take a guess, but I have a feeling you’re not actually interested in what I have to say.”
I pull my arm out of his grip and cross my arms since I can’t seem to focus on anything when he’s touching me. “By all means.”
He runs a hand through his sandy brown waves. “I think you’re scared.” He steps toward me, and I take a step back. “I think you’re putting distance between us, treating me like I’m some Brotherhood asshole because you’re terrified of whatever this is between us.”
I take another step back, and my back hits a tree. “Is that so?” I ask, my voice coming out pathetic and breathy.
The clothes in his arms drop to the ground, forgotten. He puts a hand against the trunk above my head and leans down to speak low in my ear. “You’re lying to yourself, darlin’. But you can’t lie to me.”
I swear this man’s like a furnace with the amount of heat coming off his body. He’s so warm, pulling me in like a moth to a flame. “I’m not.”
He leans back and looks down at me, the golden flecks in his eyes blazing. “I see you, Delilah.”
We both know he’s pushing the boundary by using my name, but I don’t correct him.
“What do you see?” My heart is pounding so hard I feel slightly faint. Not because I’m afraid of him, but because I’m afraid of his answer.
“I see a woman who’s always made herself smaller for the sake of men.
A woman who’s afraid to embrace freedom because oppression is more familiar.
A woman who’s been through hell and made it out the other side.
” His other hand reaches up and cups my chin, his thumb running along my bottom lip gently.
“You finally have a choice, have control over your own life. I want you to forget about what you think is best for everyone else and think about what you want.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he silences me with a stern look.
“Please, for once in your goddamn life, be selfish,” he whispers pleadingly. This man is literally begging me to go against everything I’ve been taught, who I was raised to be. To betray the core of who I am.
My chin quivers. “I can’t.”
“You have to. Otherwise you’ll spend the rest of your life resenting the choices that others will inevitably make for you.
” He steps back with a disappointed shake of his head.
“I meant what I said before. If you really want to go back, I’ll honor that decision.
But I’m not gonna choose for you, and I sure as hell am not gonna let Gabriel decide either.
” With one final imploring look, he turns his back on me.
“Maverick!” I call out as he plucks my clothes off the ground and walks away.
“Let me know when you’ve made your decision,” he says, not even bothering to turn around.
A frustrated scream rips from my throat. If I had a door to slam like an insolent teenager right now, I would.
He doesn’t get it. But he’s a man, how could he? Even if he’s not a member of the Brotherhood, he’s still afforded privileges that women aren’t.
Since I was ten years old, every decision has been outside of my control, every choice made for me, all for the benefit of men.
Now, he wants me to suddenly have autonomy over every aspect of my life?
The sheer amount of choices in front of me every day is paralyzing.
What he expects of me is not only unrealistic, but almost cruel.
And on top of the revelation that I’m suddenly the one deciding everything for myself, I have to consider what I actually want.
Be selfish, Maverick said. A dry laugh slips out as I sit down on a fallen tree.
Aside from our tenets, Headmistress drilled the idea that women are naturally nurturing, and therefore, selfless, into our heads.
Anyone who says otherwise is deluded, she’d say.
Now I’m supposed to disregard all of that and “be selfish”? It’s laughable.
My conversation with Maverick’s father comes flooding back.
Loyalty that’s been coerced isn’t true loyalty at all: it’s manipulation.
Have I been manipulated by the Brotherhood?
By my husband? If I examine the events of my life as objectively as possible, look strictly at the facts and remove the emotion, I might be inclined to say that I was manipulated.
Before the Reckoning, I had a home. I had parents and friends who loved me. I remember my childhood fondly, and even though we were told to forget about our lives before, I never could fully let go of those memories.
Then, at the age of ten, I was ripped away from the only life I knew in the middle of the night and put on a bus, never to see my family again.
I became Gabriel’s bride the same week I started my period.
At the age of fifteen, I was expected to behave as an adult, to be someone’s wife, to bear children because I was told it was my highest calling.
But, if the movies I watched in my youth are any indication, teenagers are supposed to hang out with their friends and have their first kisses and learn to drive, not be wives.
My hands find their way into my curls as I start to hyperventilate, coming to grips with the reality of what was done to me.
I was a child.
I was a child, and they married me off to a grown man who saw me as nothing more than a body, a vessel to carry and rear his children. My hurried breaths morph into sobs as I wrap my arms around myself, sinking down from the log onto the forest floor.
For the first time in my marriage, I’m grateful I never became pregnant. The idea of having Gabriel’s children is suddenly revolting. Whatever love I thought I had for him is replaced by resentment as my panic and confusion melt away and are replaced by a newfound sense of clarity.
Gabriel doesn’t love me.
Perhaps he isn’t even capable of love in the way that a husband should love his wife, in the way my father loved my mother. Gabriel sees me as an object, as something to be owned and possessed, not as a partner and certainly not as his equal.
For eight years, he’s used me in whatever way he’s seen fit with no regard for me or my feelings. Being here, getting to know Maverick, has proven to me that men are capable of caring about more than a woman’s ability to serve them. They’re capable of kindness and compassion and gentleness.
I cry for what seems like ages before the paralyzing sadness turns into something darker.
I’ve spent the last decade being subservient, numb to anything and everything that’s happened to me.
But really, I’ve always known; always felt deep down that everything I was experiencing was wrong.
I refuse to let the devastation, the guilt and shame I feel for not seeing through the Brotherhood’s bullshit hold me hostage for even a moment longer.
I let myself feel the anger I’ve kept buried for so long, let it fuel me. I won’t be a victim, not anymore.
I stand from the damp ground and brush myself off, wiping my tears and pulling my shoulders back. I’m done being used by the Brotherhood. By Gabriel. By anyone who sees me as nothing more than a servant.
It’s time to take back my life, and I know exactly how I’m gonna do it.