Page 6 of These Eternal Bones
Delirious andalone.
Ripping my eyes from my gaunt reflection, I wince, adjusting the bodice of my dress, trying to ease the uncomfortable stabbing between my breasts before I remember my rock. My fingers are weak and clumsy as I undo the back, digging the sweaty treasure from between my breasts, my smell making bile rise in my throat. Nothing would come within throwing distance of me right now. Surely, my stretch alone isan apt repellent, even to me. It takes a fair bit of snooping, pacing, and deep breaths before I muster up the courage to step outside; the wide clearing in the woods is lightly touched by the most sunlight I think I’ve seen since we docked here. Tall trees surrounding the clearing on all sides as if they were standing guard.
Hopelessness slams into me so roughly that I bring my arms to my middle, hugging myself as if to keep the pieces together. A thousand thoughts swarm my mind, and yet, I can’t decipher one from the other.
Perhaps the bright side will seem brighter when I don’t smell of decay and excrement. I scan the dark woods, wary as I make my way to the creek; my body moving with a will of its own. Desperate to release myself from the disgusting garment, I jerk and pull at my dress like it's on fire, kicking myself for not doing this sooner.
I set my rock carefully on the pile of soiled clothing, shoving the fish incident to the back of my mind as I timidly walk myself into the water, careful not to go too deep. This is more of a swimming hole than I’ve seen so far, the water deep and inviting. No wonder someone built a home here; although in the middle of the woods is an odd choice, I can certainly understand the appeal–under the right circumstances, which are not currently mine. Perhaps they were hiding from someone, too. Running from something that makes the eerily quiet woods and dreadful weather look like the lesser of two evils.
A gasp leaves my throat as I dunk myself, forcing the water up to my chin. It’s frigid, my worn body trembling as I scrub furiously at my flesh. Keeping my thighs tightly together until it’s the last place I’ve got left to clean. Doing anything about my hair seems like an impossible task, the weight of the matting no doubt adding to my headache. Oh, the things I would do for a pair of scissors or even a rusty bladeright now. The copper-colored strands look closer to dark brown as I tenuously unknot them from their haphazard braid from days ago. My pulse jumps, my heart shuddering to a stop as I jerk my head over my shoulder, staring back at the cottage, unable to determine what pulled my attention there. It’s the same pervasive feeling of otherness… of being watched that seems synonymous with these woods. I scream as a fish jumps from the water beside me, making me veer back toward the bank, my foot finding a slick rock that plunges my head underwater. When I come up, it's with a gasp and a few very unladylike words, resigning to freeze in the shallows until my hair is untangled enough to wash.Washbeing a very loose term, considering I have no soap.
5
Nightmares of Benefactors
Molly
The dusty, quiet cottage greets me again with open arms, and this time it's… draftier than I remember. My dress hangs outside on the line I found in the back to dry. I’d even managed to mash a few leaves with a pleasant smell from the nearby, heavily weed-overrun garden into my skin and the garment. Although that meant taking another dip in the cold water. Whomever placed this cabin here thought of everything, which is working out great for me right now. I tremble, jerking a musty blanket from the bed, my rock balancing on the chair that sits like a taunt just to my left.
“Lie back, daughter.” Mother Bryia urges in her soft voice. The same way they all speak, but right now, it isn’t comforting, not with her hands on me.
“Yes, mother.”
My body trembles as I comply, knowing that misbehaving will only earn me an atonement. Even that seems like a welcome reprieve now, but even so, it will only delay the inevitable.
“You are made in his image, so soft and beautiful. You mustn’t cry, he’s very gentle.” She scrubs, rubbing oils down where I’d always been told not to touch. My stomach tightens, an odd clenching panic beading in my chest as she makes another pass.
My heart thunders as Mother Elina enters the room, my eyes downcast like a naughty child. “Soon you will be a mother too. Your belly will be filled with His grace.”
I should want that.
I should be happy.
Sobbing and grateful, like my sisters and mothers.
Instead, I feel…angry.
Sick at the thought of it.
I don’t wish to be his wife.
I don’t wish to be touched.
My fists clench under the water as new tears bud in my eyes.
I wake with a gasp so violent it makes me cough–the deep rattling kind that stretches and pains your lungs. That feeling ofothernessso pungent, I freeze, my eyes darting around the dimly lit cabin as my rumbling stomach makes me jump. My mouth watering at the mere thought of food.
My stomach carries on like a beast, the burning ache making my weak hands tremble as I touch it. I don’t know if it’s the lump in my throat or the hopeless, homesick feeling burrowing in my chest that forces me from the bed. Guilt lies across my shoulders like a heavy blanket, thinking of everything I left behind but most of all, Remmy. She’s young, next in line to be a wife. Her twenty-third birthday looming in the background like an omen. It’s a divine number, sohesays. Twenty-three-year-old wives, twenty-three of them. Twenty-three children born under the eye of God, although he long surpassed that number. He’s never provided a reason that it was suddenly okay. I assume it simply befitted him to forget his own rules.
If I wasn’t starving, that thought alone would’ve stayed my hand as I burst out of the cabin, slowly getting more comfortable in my stark nudity. Something I was always taught to be ashamed of.
For what?
It’s my body.
The one I was born with.
One that does amazing things, like carry me through these woods, survive the Tabot, and helped me fleehim. One with pretty divots, swells, and curves.
