Page 8 of Break the Ice
One hundred sixty-one lashes—twenty-three for every year of my life.
Each one stings now as I walk behind my mother, Elijah’s mother, Evelyn, and beside Presley’s wife, Salem, who walks as silently as the rest.
The side entrance to the church looms ahead. My chest tightens. Salem glances at me, her flat smile saying she’s been here before, done this, and wears the husband to prove it.
Mary-Anne Sylkes, Elijah’s mother, guides us into the consecration room. Heavy white drapes mute the organ music from the altar. Sweat beads at the back of my neck as Evelyn gestures for me to kneel on the wooden hassock facing the veiled altar door.
“Kneel, girl,” she orders.
It hurts like hell. The raw skin along my thighs screams with every movement. I bite my lip to keep the whimper from slipping out.
“Something wrong?” Evelyn asks. One brow arches toward her taut gray hairline.
I shake my head.
“Good. Eyes to the floor. Think of submission. Of how grateful you are for the chance to redeem your family’s grace through it.”
Mary-Anne brushes my hair from my face before lifting my gaze to hers. Her eyes are Elijah’s eyes—dark, lonely, devouring.
“You’ve atoned for your sins,” she says softly. “Now the Lord can shine His light on you.”
“Blessed be His light,” my mother exhales before leaving with Evelyn.
“Come along, Salem. Time to take our seats.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Salem pauses in the doorway. “I need the bathroom.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“It’s the second day of my bleed. It’s heavy.”
My mother tuts. “How disappointing. Four years of marriage and no child.”
“Sorry, Ma’am,” Salem replies meekly.
I don’t want this to be my life. Reporting my bodily functions like weather reports. Measured only by obedience, purity, fertility.
This isn’t living.
Pain tears through my thighs as I stand, biting back a cry.
Movement stirs outside the door. There’s another exit, leading to the serenity garden. If it’s unlocked, it’ll be a miracle.
“Wait until the service starts,” Salem says, shutting the door behind her. “There’ll be nobody out there.”
She opens her purse. A black bundle appears in her hands.
“What is that?”
She shrugs. “I tried to get your phone, but it’s in your father’s safe. Here are clean clothes and your wallet. Take it.”
“Salem—”
Her eyes shine. “Don’t second-guess it. Run. Don’t look back.”
“What about you?”
“My time will come.”
