Page 79 of Was I Ever Real

I’m finding new ways to soothe instead, however small and benign they are. Like the feel of the buzz cut underneath my palm when I distractedly smooth my hand over my scalp while thinking.

Although. I would rather not think.

But I don’t have much choice. It’s either succumb to my own thoughts or read the accursed book taunting me on the bedside table. The shredded one was replaced. I would rather gouge my eyes out than read my father’s hypocritical lies ever again.

So I’ve built a small cove in the recesses of my mind. I don’t let myself enter often. Only when time has slowed to a stop and I can feel myself sinking, do I enter. It’s where I’ve tucked Connor away. He waits patiently for me there. The sun caressing the striking angles of his face. His eyes glinting with mirth as I approach him. Here, I don’t let myself doubt that he will come for me. Here, I have faith.

But it always hurts the most when I leave him behind for the four cracked walls of my punishing reality. Waiting for the torment to continue. Wondering what humiliating punishment my brother has for me next.

When I can’t hold it in any longer, my thoughts stray into dangerous territories—like how I could turn the bed sheets into a noose.

But even those morbidly comforting images don’t ring true.

I refuse to give up.

I will never lethimwin.

I’m lost in a daze when I hear the now familiar slide of the deadbolt. My eyes snap to the turning door handle. It could be anyone. It could even be Lucy.

But it isn’t. Of course, it isn’t.

Instead, it’s just another faceless sneering acolyte who I would probably recognize if I gave a shit. I stand up and approach him before he even spits out an order. I’m preserving my strength for more important things than to resist a useless command from a small man.

There’s a small shift within my inner turmoil today. The hopelessness feels less palpable. It’s slowly being replaced with anger. It cloaks me like chainmail, helping me stand a little taller than before. Instead of a nervous shuffle, my feet move forward in strides, my shoulders high and tight and not curved inwards. Maybe knowing—hoping—Lucy will be nearby is what’s giving me strength. I’m not alone, no matter how loudly the loneliness throbs inside me.

I know I’m walking towards more of the same punishment—probably worse. But today, I don’t swallow the shame as usual. I imagine myself spitting the putrid feeling at their feet. It belongs to them, not me. It doesn’t prevent my limbs from shaking from apprehension, as much as I wish they didn’t, I can’t control it.

Eventually, we turn the corner into the town square. Or the closest thing the commune has to it. Shops, if you can even call them that, circle the area. The ground is simply dry-packed dirt, and sitting right in the center of it is a large tree, helping with shade.

Like before, people overflow the square, but this time I don’t see any children, and somehow that detail sends an ominous shiver burrowing down my spine. At the foot of the crowd, my brother stands. Hatred roils in my stomach at the sight. He sports the same satisfied smile on his face as before while he watches me near him.

“Sister,” he says softly as if just for us, tilting his head.

“Fuck you,” I respond through clenched teeth.

Humming, his eyes travel down my body and then back up. “I see your will has not yet been broken.” He looks over to a small wooden stage that seems hastily built, and my gaze follows. I notice a trough on the raised platform before my eyes jump back to Frederick. “Hopefully, today will rectify that,” he says assuredly.

He snaps his fingers and suddenly more than one set of hands are on me, pulling at my dress. I struggle but it’s useless, seconds later the dress is over my head and I’m left with just the thin cotton slip covering my heaving body.

I fight the urge to cross my arms around my waist and bare my teeth instead.

“The sins left for you to atone are enumerable, Penelope. Stop fighting it. It will only make it worse. Give in. God is waiting,” he commands in a devout tone.

“I’d rather burn in hell,” I hiss, and take comfort in the small dismayed gasps rising from the crowd.

He lets out a frustrated sigh as if this was expected of me. “Very well.”

Waving to the men still surrounding me, a familiar rope tightens my wrists behind me, my shoulders burning at the strain. But I keep my head tall, my glare latched onto Frederick's repulsive gaze. He nods towards the stage and the men push me up the shoddy stairs, forcing me to kneel in front of the trough full of water—facing the crowd once again.

My mind filters through all the possible humiliating scenarios that could involve what’s in front of me but I don’t have to wait long. I have just enough time to sweep the crowd for Lucy and find her pushing her way to the front. A small relieved smile ghosts my lips before my entire head is dunked into the frigid water.

I thrash against the hands holding me down, the precious breath I should be holding in lost while I scream. My knees slip against the ragged wood, splintering my skin while my body tries to fight against their tightening grasp, but still, they keep me underwater.

My lungs burn and I choke. And finally,finally,I’m lifted back up, my vision blurred from the water and tears. I wheeze and cough trying to regain my breath, but before I can do any such thing, my head is dunked back in. Thankfully, this time, my survival mode kicks in and I keep my mouth closed, fighting to keep in as much air as possible.

They keep me down for as long as the first time and by the third, I’ve stopped fighting it. I’m near blacking out, water sluicing down my head and throat, gasping for air over and over. Through the ordeal, I lose the wherewithal to find my sister’s gaze, but I hold the image of her tightly in my mind.

She’s the only thing that matters.