Page 4 of Depravity

“I’m ser, ser, sorry.” I sob. “I’ll do- do better. I’llbeeebetter.”

I know I’m on a precipice, caught between my hateful grandfather and my jealous aunt. I’m the piece of cannon fodder they bat between them. I’m the punching bag when they’ve had a shit day. All it will take is one comment, one tiny push and they will pack me up, they will pack me off and I’ll be condemned forever because no one escapes Oblivion.

I know that.

Everyone knows that.

That’s why they use that threat, why it’s so effective. No one wants to end up there. It’s a cross between a prison and a sex dungeon. The Lords, the ones in favour, get to go there and indulge while whoever is incarcerated there is forced to cater to their perverted desires as if we’re not a religious sect, as if God above doesn’t judge us for it. No, we call it penance instead. We call it justification for sins. It’s bullshit and we all know it, but the Lords hold the power and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.

As my grandfather drops his grip and I slump further onto the floor, he starts reiterating the rules. My rules. That I’m not allowed out unsupervised and without a good reason. That I am not allowed to wear anything but the clothes he provides. That I’m not allowed to visit anyone without his consent beyondattending services at the Chapel itself. And then he turns on his heel and storms out like he’s had enough to deal with already.

But my aunt stays where she is. She stands there in that tight, sexy little dress that is in such stark contrast to my own nun-like outfit and she taps her heel in irritation while tossing her bleached white hair over her shoulder.

She’s only seven years older than me. In truth, we look far more like sisters than aunt and niece, and I think that’s half the problem. She despised my mother, absolutely loathed her, while my grandfather used to dote on her. In his eyes he only had one child, and he spoiled my mother, favoured her in everything until she did the unforgivable; she got pregnant. And at sixteen years of age. No one knows who my father is. The shame it brought our family was enough for everyone to close ranks. My mother ran away, fled before anyone knew the truth and for years, no one knew where she was. I was handed over by social services when I was five, passed back to her only living relatives, and they’ve made my life a living hell ever since.

It was a tragic accident that killed her. An unfortunate mistake. Wrong place, wrong time. She just happened to be travelling on that road when the ice was too thick, and she didn’t stand a chance when the truck crashed into her rusty old car. At least that’s what I tell myself, because my aunt and my grandfather call it divine intervention. God’s will. He punishes the wicked, doesn’t he? And who could be more wicked than a woman who had sex outside of wedlock?

As my aunt’s hand stings my face, I yelp.

“Pay attention when I’m talking to you.” She hisses.

I glare back. It’s reckless, especially given the circumstances but I know she made some shit up. I know all of this drama right now is because she woke up this morning and decided to stir the pot. No doubt she’s got her reasons.

“You’re to go to your room and stay there. I don’t want to even see a glimpse of you for the remainder of the day. And if I hear from the servants that you’ve been out, I’ll have you beaten properly, do you hear me?”

I nod, biting my tongue. It’s not like what she’s asking is a hardship. I like my room, as basic as it is. I like my peace. I like my solitary existence. I have enough books stashed in there that I can hold up there for weeks if necessary and besides, why would I want to be around people that hate everything about me?

As she jerks her head for me to go, I scramble to the door as happy to be away from her as she is me.

But she’s clearly not out of her foul mood. She starts bellowing orders, demanding that the floor is clean because apparently, I had the audacity to bleed on it.

“My fiancé is coming for dinner.” She declares. “This house has to be immaculate…”

And there it is. I can’t help but smile. That’s the reason right there. Conrad Blake. Her fiancé. He’s the reason she’s stitched me up, the reason I just took a beating, the reason I will now be under house arrest for the remainder of the week.

I should have seen it coming, should have known.

Theirs is an arranged marriage. He’s meant to be one of the most eligible bachelors this Chapter has. He’s also an arrogant piece of shit in my opinion, and he regards my aunt as he does the whole notion of matrimony; a tick box exercise. A means to an end. He’s never once shown her any affection, barely pays her any attention from the little I’ve witnessed. But then, that is the norm for our type of marriages. We don’t marry for love. We don’t marry who we want. We marry who our parents tell us to, and to whom will most elevate our family name and fortune.

It's generational trauma, inflicted from one generation to the next. Our grandparent’s weren’t happy in their marriage so theyensured our parents weren’t, and in turn our parents ensured we aren’t. The cycle just continues on and on. Except, I have no intention of continuing it.

No, as soon as I can, as soon as I’m able to, I fully intend to get away from this place. To escape. I won’t live my life shackled to rules intended to keep me quiet, keep me subservient and submissive. Oh, I know the Brethren rule everything. I know they control everything, every election, every politician, every piece of this world that matters, but I intend to do what my mother did. I intend to disappear entirely. To go somewhere so remote that it won’t matter that they’re in charge, because I’ll be free of them.

Another day, another torturous event with my damned fiancé. Only this time, it’s not just a few precious hours of my time that she’s stealing. No, my brother and her father have decided a nice little stay over would help us get to know each other better, and seal this god-awful deal. It’s all chaperoned, of course, though I don’t doubt the damned witch will do her best to sink her claws into me any chance she gets. Oh, she thinks I don’t know. She thinks I can’t see it, that under that beautiful, immaculate exterior is an ugly, spiteful little bitch who will do anything to get what she wants.

I should admire that, really. The Blake in me should recognise that as a strength, and yet she’s such a conniving bitch that I find everything she does detestable.

As my car pulls up to their monstrosity of a house, it’s hard not to hide my sneer. Sure, their family is as respectable as mine, has as much history and heritage as mine, but I’m a Blake. My brother is going to be Chapter Lord. My ancestors were Chapter Lords and members of the Senate, dating right back to the very first. We outrank them in every way, and nothing makes it more of an obvious show of new money than this building.

Our own ancestral home is Jacobean, standing on the ruins of a Norman fortress. This was clearly a knock down and rebuild. Maybe they had woodworm, maybe the whole damned house fell down in the night from the shoddy workmanship but instead of admitting that fact, they’ve rebuilt it piece by piece. Turning what was once a majestic piece of architecture into a farce. Gone is the character, gone is the history, replaced by pretence and forgery. Even the gargoyles have lost their muster.

As I stare up, I catch a glimpse ofher- the only thing that makes this experience worth getting out of bed for.

She’s on the fifth floor, tucked away, half obscured by the thick curtains.

In my head, I’d like to think she’s done this on purpose, that this is her silent way of acknowledging my presence and welcoming me here. But that’s ridiculous. We’ve never even exchanged a word. Sure I watch her, but even those times have been fleeting, stolen. The girl is more of a mirage than an actual human being.

Perhaps that’s what makes her so appealing though, better a fantasy than the horrid reality that is her aunt.

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