Page 86 of Degradation
Every step I take feels impossible. I clutch Ada’s hand, needing her support for guidance. She does her best to tell me where to step, when to raise my feet, when to turn, but I still stub my toes so many times.
And all this does is cement the new horror of my situation; that even if all the doors where open and every guard was gone, I’d never be able to run now.
I’ll never be able to escape.
And with every step, I feel like I’m being watched. My skin itches, it prickles, and I know it has nothing to do with the new adornment.
When we slide the doors shut, it’s almost a relief.
Ada helps me to where the couch is and I sink into it, my panic still causing me to tremble violently.
I just need this to end. I need everything to end.
Something moves in my periphery, fingers brush against my shoulder, and I scream out, feeling like I’ve hit the roof with the amount I’ve jumped.
Hot, stinking breath hits my face. A heavy breathing that I’d know anywhere accompanies the similar body odour to the one my husband has.
Whatever his facial expression is, I don’t know, but I know who’s there, who was probably waiting for me this entire time. Guthrie.
“Get out.” I scream.
What the fuck is he doing here anyway? My head darts wildly around, expecting Gunther to be here, expecting to hear him declare that I have to fuck his brother now.
But my dear husband is notably absent, and that tells me everything I need to know.
“I’m trying to help you.” Guthrie says, cupping my cheek. “I know what’s going on, what this is…”
“What, what are you talking about?” I reply. I’m too exhausted and too broken for this, and my nerves are too close to shreds. My heart is still racing, still going a million miles from how he scared me.
“Gunther is losing control.” Guthrie says, his voice shifting like he’s glancing over his shoulder, but I know Ada is right beside me, does he not care for her witnessing this? “He was always on the cusp, but something has pushed him over the edge.”
“So?” I snap back. It’s more than evident what my husband is. My body bears the scars, my mind bears the haunting memories that I know will never fade, will never ever leave me.
“I can help you, I can help with all of this…”
“For what price?” Oh, I know there’s a price. There always is.
His fingers trace my cheek, “You look so innocent Paitlyn, so young, and yet, I think you’re just as shrewd as the rest of us. If you have half your mother’s wits, then I know you’ve got your own plans in place.”
I gulp, feeling like those words are a threat, not a compliment. What does Guthrie know of my mother?
My stomach twists with bile, my heart seems to beat faster, as though it’s preparing for another fight.
No. I won’t do that. I won’t be that. My husband might force me, but I will not willingly turn myself intothis. I doubt he even knows a thing anyway. I bet he looks at me and see some silly little bitch he can manipulate, some silly little girl he can control.Well, I’m not that, not anymore. I might be all but powerless, I might be almost completely helpless, but I am not yet that weak.
“Get out.” I hiss, my fear turning to a raging anger that for once, I can’t contain.
Guthrie says something but I don’t catch the words. I don’t wait to listen.
I slam my fist into where I think his jaw is, beating him back, turning into some feral beast. And I can’t stop, I don’t want to. I rip open all those wounds again, feeling my skin turn to agony.
The strong arms that I know are the guards pull me off him, pull Guthrie away. He’s shouting, hollering, calling me a good for nothing, ungrateful whore.
“You come near me again and I’ll gut you.” I spit. I have no means to back that statement up, I’m can’t even see, and I have no weapon either, but I want him to fear me, I want him to know that I’m not the weak broken little thing his brother is determined to make of me.
Guthrie stops at what I guess is the door, “Soon, Paitlyn, really soon, I’m going to make you regret those words.”
Pailtyn
