Page 1 of When He Bites

1

Zinnia

“Seriously?” I scoff, panting and I almost lose my balance and bump intothe sharp edge of the bedside table. This is the third pair of flesh colored pantyhose that I have ripped but Miss. Pattie insists that I wear them.

According to her I’ve been running wild all summer, got too many bruises and imperfections that need to be camouflaged because heaven forbid that I look like a savage in front of Morton. She means well but sometimes her obsession with me always looking perfect in front of her son gets on my nerves.

I stop with what I’m doing, feeling a pinch of guilt in my heart as always. I shouldn’t say or think anything bad about the Bryce family. They took me in when I was fourteen, adopted me from foster care and I’m indebted to them because who knows what my life would have looked like if they hadn’t. Mr. Bryce is the father, though I have never called him that and Miss. Pattie is his wife.

Their son Morton is a successful real estate agent who does most of his work out of town. We’ve been betrothed ever since two years back and now that I have turned nineteen, it’s time for us to marry.

At the nearing of winter I’m supposed to walk down the aisle and give my hand away to a man that I don’t love and who I firmly suspect doesn’t love me.

My whole life is planned out. Mr. Bryce and Miss. Pattie arranged everything for me, never once asking me if I actually wanted to marry their son. Don’t get me wrong, Morton is...decent. He’s in his late twenties, does not have a receding hairline and he always has clean fingernails.

But he doesn’t make mefeel. I don’t think about him when he’s gone, I don’t hug my pillow and pretend it’s him and I don’t feel like I need him more than air, water and food. He has never touched me, only once did he put his hand on my shoulder then immediately took it away. And once he did kiss me, in front of his parents on top of it all and his lips barely brushed against mine.

The kiss was an utter disappointment and left me cold and miserable.

If that is how the rest of my existence is going to play out then I can’t think of anything more disheartening. Most future brides are busy fantasizing about their weddings but I mostly just fantasize about a tall, dark stranger coming and saving me.

Unfortunately handsome strangers don’t just show up and whisk girls away. I know it’s only stupid, childish make-believe but it’s all I got since reasoning with the Bryce’s is impossible.

A couple of nights ago when Miss. Pattie was tucking me in because she could see that I was growing unhappy, I told her that maybe her son and I weren’t meant for each other. Her face fell and she looked at me like I had just cursed her to hell. She looked at me like I was being ungrateful and I felt like the cat who had been dragged in from the cold but could just as quickly be kicked out again.

My only other option is to run away. But where would I run? I have nowhere to go. I would have to leave the south because rumors spread like wildfire here and my and Morton’s wedding has been the hottest gossip for months. It will be the scandal of the decade if I don’t go through with it. They all seem to think of it as a fairytale, the poor foster care girl marrying into one of the richest and finest families.

Oh, how dreamy...

But it’s not a fairy tale at all. Girls look at me with jealousy, chinwag with their hands in front of their months that I’m probably frigid and a cold bitch and that I’ll never make Morton happy. They don’t know that I’ll gladly exchange places with them.

This isn’t how I wanted things to turn out and sometimes I feel a dull, brooding ache in my whole body and I think it’s my body’s way of telling me that marrying Morton will be a mistake but I always shove that feeling down. The Bryce family has done a lot for me and I am going to have to repay them.

I have no money of my own to offer them but I know that’s not what they’re after anyway. They’re after a girl who can pass on the genes, breed strong sons and daughters which is why they’re obsessed with my looks.

“Nice, long legs,” Mr. Bryce once said with a nod then returned to reading his newspaper.

“Good skin and hair,” Miss. Pattie agreed. “She’s a real beauty and never forget...,” she glanced at me, “that it was your looks that saved you from ending up on the street.”

Sometimes their remarks make me feel a little bit like a cow. Like that’s all I’m good for, have a ton of offspring’s and raise a family together with their son. And sometimes, usually at night I wish on the northern star that everything was different...

Gritting the back of my teeth, I decide to stop feeling sorry for myself and I grab my forth pair of pantyhose. It better work this time, otherwise I’ll scream. I make sure to be as careful as I can and once I’ve managed to pull them on, I exhale a sigh of relief and glance at the dress that’s spread out on my bed.

It’s a conservative one but it’s besotted with florals and Miss. Pattie had it made for me just last week. I don’t really like it, it’s too frilly but it doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is the Bryce’s opinion.

After putting the dress on, I do a couple of strokes with the brush then apply some light makeup. I add some perfume too, because once Morton told me that I stink like an orphan. Miss. Pattie knocks on the door and I swallow, looking up.

A smile crosses her chubby face and she clasps her hands. “You look very pretty, Zinnia dear. Exactly how my son’s future wife should look.”

I squirm because I don’t feel pretty. I feel like a dressed up porcelain doll that everyone wants to break as soon as they’re not happy with her. But I try a smile, nodding and Miss. Pattie holds out her hand for me and I take it and we walk out of the room.

Their house is one of the oldest in the area and when I first came here, I thought it was haunted. It would creak and moan and groan and I would lie in bed, terrified of my window opening so that something or someone could crawl in.

Now I’ve gotten used to it but sometimes I’m still disturbed by the portraits of sour looking men and women that hang on the walls. And I always take care to not stay under the heavy chandeliers for too long because once one of them fell and took out one of the maids.

“Be careful when you walk down the steps,” Miss. Pattie says, “you don’t want to...”

She drifts off when there’s a slight sound of a tear and her eyes go to my legs. Dang it, I messed up. It’s just the tiniest rip but her face floods with disappointment and I flush.

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