Page 72 of Do It For Me
Help. I need help.
The priest speaks, but everything feels like it’s in slow motion—or maybe the ceremony is just dragging on forever.
I need to call Dante. I need to charge my phone. I need him to find me. He’ll rescue me again. He’ll get me out of this.
I say “I do” without even realizing it.
I don’t want to beg anymore, but here I am, begging for someone to do something. Dante can’t leave me like this.
Please, Dante, you promised.
The man presses his lips against mine. They feel disgusting. They don’t belong anywhere near my body.
My father must be lying. I opened my heart for you. I trusted you. My mum told me I should do it. Please, Dante.
He drags me to a white car while everyone chants around us.
This is where everything ends.
I’ve found myself these past few weeks, and now I’ll have to bury that part of me again.
I look around, desperately searching for his face, but I don’t see anything. Only strangers.
“There’s been a m-m-mistake,” I whisper as the chauffeur starts driving.
My new husband doesn’t speak for several blocks. I’m painfully aware of the cleavage in my dress and how tight it feels, especially under his lingering gaze. He’s staring at my breasts, even as I try to cover them.
I want to take this off. I want to run. I want Dante.
I need him.
Please, wake me up. This has to be a nightmare.
His hand wraps around my throat, squeezing hard enough that I can’t breathe. He pins me to the window, and pain shoots through my spine.
“Listen to me, because I’ll only say it once,” he growls. “You are mine. I don’t care what you think happened. You aremyfucking wife. We’re going to that party, and you’re going to act like my happy and beautiful wife. And if you don’t piss me off for the rest of the evening, I promise I’ll be careful on our honeymoon,püppchen. Or else, I’ll fuck your brains out, using your own blood as lube.”
He releases me, and I gasp for air.
The chauffeur smiles.
I have to find Dante.
I’M BEGGING YOU
This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, but all I can think about is that I’m already living in hell.
My phone died yesterday. I don’t have a charger, and no one will lend me one. I’m not even supposed to have a phone. I haven’t been able to speak to my mum. My husband won’t let go of me, and my father looks thrilled, of course.
I wish I had something to hold over him, but even spilling our secrets wouldn’t be a bother. It would only hurt my mum more, and I can’t let that happen.
I’ve got nothing.
“Don’t eat much,” my husband whispers in my ear. “I don’t want a pig for a wife.”
I haven’t eaten. My plate is untouched, so what he’s saying is ridiculous. How could I have an appetite when I was left at the altar?
He didn’t. Something happened to him.
