I am not your property
It’s a sunny day,” I mumble to myself, as I pull away the curtains, letting the sun in my room. My father called me downstairs yesterday as I was going to bed, he said I needed to put on my long blue dress today. I look in the mirror at the atrocity I’m wearing; I hate that dress. It has puffed shoulders with scratchy stitching, it’s so long it reaches my ankles which is a tripping hazard on stairs, it’s light blue with pink flowers covering most of it. The sleeves are down to my elbow. It only has one band at my waist, to still look feminine without showing too much figure and of course it has a high cut, with the same itchy stitching as the shoulders.
The dress is almost the same colour as my eyes, just a shade shy of crystal blue. My hair is long, reaching past my waist. I’m mostly not allowed to wear it down, especially when going to church. I tie my hair in a bun till it looks nice and tight. I do it so often that I have mastered doing it quickly. I take a final look in the mirror and sigh.
“This is as good as it gets,” I mumble to myself before leaving my room. I close the door to my room behind me and make my way downstairs. I wonder why my father wants me to wear this dress today. Normally he doesn’t care about what I wear to church, as long as it’s appropriate. An uneasy feeling stirs in my stomach, but I push it back as I reach the bottom of the staircase.
I throw my mother a confused glance as she runs past me. My mother is usually a very well put together woman, never stressed no matter how much needs to be done, so this is very out of character for her. “Good morning mom,” I say rather loudly, while turning my head towards her as she stops in her tracks. “Good morning darling, glad to see you’re already dressed. Will you set the table for me?” she asks and takes out the fine cups from the vitrine. Still confused I give a small nod, and make my way into the kitchen.
My parents’ house is a small villa, there isn’t much colour, only a few flowery patterns on pillows and tiles in the kitchen. I squat down slightly and open the cupboard, but stop when I hear my mother enter the room. “Excuse me dear, but can you set the table with the antique plates? They are in the vitrine in the living room.” I can feel the irritation in my stomach. “What the hell is this about?” I think, without uttering a word as I nod to her and make my way into the living room.
As I pass the dining table I spot new flowers in my mother’s finest vase, placed in the middle of the table. My mother has even pulled out a white table-cloth and placed it on the table before I came down. I begin to wonder how long she has been up, as it was 7:30 when I came downstairs, church is first at 9:30, or 10 for everyone else. I get pulled out of my thoughts, as she enters the room with the newly polished cups.
“Oh dear, sorry I forgot to tell you. You need to set up the table for two more people,” she says, as she places the tea cups by every plate I have placed, plus two more. “What is going on?” I look at her, her expression is serious. Instinctively I bow my head slightly. “We’ll discuss it when the guests have arrived. We don’t have time for it now, they’ll arrive any minute,” My mother answers firmly, before leaving the dining room.
I can feel the frustration rise within me, I want to know what is going on, but I know I’ll get in trouble if I don’t do as I’m told. I carefully place the last plate and take a final look at the table, but make a slight jump in surprise as a firm knock comes from the front door. I can hear my father walk down the stairs in a speed I’ve never heard before. I feel the need to flee at the sound, but calm myself out of it as I know it has nothing to do with me. I walk over to the door leading to the hallway, and peak around the corner.
My father is wearing a suit. “Why is he wearing a suit? What is going on?” Before I can think more about it, he opens the door. I quickly step back from the doorway, over to the dining table and stand in front of it. My mother is standing in the doorway to the dining room, her hands are folded nicely in front of her, she’s wearing a long, light blue dress. Which is the same colour as the dress I am wearing.
Something in the back of my mind is starting to put the puzzle together, I can feel my pulse rising. “Today? Now?... Already?” I breathe slowly to calm myself, before my face turns red. I have to stay calm. My mother makes a curtsey bow as she greets the two men, before she elegantly walks over and stands beside me.
“This is our daughter, Alice.” She looks at me with a smile. I spot the high expectations in her eyes, as she places her hand on my back. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I make the sincerest smile I can muster, while folding my hands in front of me and make a curtsy bow.
“My name is Eric Johnson. And this, is my son Bruce.” Eric places his hand on Bruce’s shoulder, clearly proud of his creation. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Alice, I have heard a lot about you.” Bruce’s smile is gentle, he nods his head slightly in respect, but I don’t fail to notice the confidence. And arrogance.
My mother is sitting on the right side of me and my father is sitting on my left. Bruce sits directly across the table from me and Eric sits directly across from my father. The silence is killing me, while my father hands around the newly baked bread, that Eric and Bruce brought. It smells good, but I can barely focus on the smell as anxiety is taking over my body.
“So, Alice. What school do you attend?” I look up at Eric as he asks the question and smile politely. “I attend Mary’s Children, the all-girls school in the next town over.” Eric nods in approval, there’s no denying where Bruce got his smile from; the corners of his mouth bends the exact same way.
I’m in my senior year of high school, my 18th birthday was two months ago. I’ve always wanted to move out when I turned 18, but my parents have never allowed me to work, so that dream quickly went down the drain. “Didn’t Bruce get a scholarship to the catholic college nearby? I can’t remember what it’s called.” I turn to my father. The excitement in his voice is throwing me off, since I don’t recall last I heard him being excited about anything. “Yes, he did. He’s always played football. I’m happy all that work paid off for him.” Eric gives Bruce a slight push with his shoulder, causing Bruce to laugh.
They both have handsome features, their faces are shaped almost the exact same way. They both have dark brown eyes. Bruce’s hair is light brown and Eric’s hair is a slight darker shade, though it has a lot of grey hairs.
I look down at the bread on my plate, grab it and take a bite. I have to eat to not stand out. “David, who’s taking care of today’s preach?” I lift my head, forgetting to swallow the food in my mouth and look at my father. Thoughts are running through my head at Eric’s question. My mother gives my leg a light squeeze, telling me I need to straighten my back. I quickly swallow the food and do as asked.
“Ryan is taking care of it. He’s a good man; he understands that traditions must be upheld. Though we have regrettably been a little slow.” My father turns his head and looks at me. Our eyes meet for a moment before I quickly turn my attention to my mother. I study her eyes, before I turn my head and face Bruce. My eyes widen as I finally get the confirmation I was waiting for.
Anger, frustration and confusion build up inside me like a brewing storm. I’m starting to feel nauseas. I stand up from my chair, as calmly as I can. “Excuse me for a moment.” I try to smile, before I quickly but orderly make my way to the bathroom and lock the door behind me.
I throw myself on my knees in front of the toilet and empty my stomach. I feel hot tears running down my cheeks, while I flush the toilet. I get on my feet and turn to the sink, washing my face with cold water. I dry myself with a towel before finally looking in the mirror. Luckily my eyes aren’t red. They’re slightly puffed up, but not enough for it to be obvious. I sigh. “I’m a fucking disgrace,” I whisper to myself and shake my head. I’m angry with myself, but at the same time I’m scared. I have to get out there again. I know I have to, but my body won’t move.
A small knock on the door pulls me out of it, making me turn around and tense up. “Are you okay in there darling?” I breathe out in relief at my mother’s voice. Could’ve been worse. I look in the mirror and smile to myself, before I open the door and smile to her. “Yeah. Sorry it took so long. I could feel my dress weren’t sitting correctly, so I had to fix it.” I know I shouldn’t lie, but I can’t tell her I just puked. “Oh, I see. I’m glad you noticed and got it fixed.” My mother’s smile is gentle. She’s a beautiful woman. Her hair is dark brown where mine is light orange. It’s neatly tied up in a way I’ve never been able to learn despite many attempts.
I follow behind her as she starts walking back to the dining room, the knot inside my stomach growing with every step. My legs are trembling. I clench some of the fabric of my skirt in my hand, trying to ground myself. Thoughts are still running rapid in my head, making it hard for me to keep my composure. I take a deep and silent breath, trying to keep somewhat calm. “Why didn’t they warn me? What am I supposed to do? I wasn’t prepared for this.”I sit down on the chair I had just rushed away from, giving the the sweetest smile I can muster. “Is everything alright?” Bruce’s voice is deep and caring. He smiles at me with a slight hint of confusion and concern in his eyes. “Yes, it was just some girl problems.” I try to hide how sick I feel, with my cheerful voice and sweet smiles. The way I was taught to do. Bruce laughs, letting me know I’m doing a good job at it.
I’m sure a lot of girl’s swarms around him. He is handsome, has a deep voice and a charming laugh. But right now, none of those things seem to ease my fears. “Then I won’t ask any further. Girls are best at solving and understanding their problems.” Everyone around me starts laughing. Out of instinct I laugh as well. I don’t understand why it’s that funny, but it would be weird of me if I didn’t laugh with everyone else.
“Well, it’s about time we get going. There’s no honour in being late.” My father stands up and gestures his hand towards the door. “Yes, thank you for the eggs and bacon. It was delicious.” Eric smiles to my father as he stands up, the rest of us following suit. I quickly grab everyone’s plates and utensils, making my way to the kitchen and placing everything in the sink. My mother hurryingly places the leftover food in the fridge.
“We’ll take care of the rest later.” My mother smiles to me. I nod in response, before we both go out in the hallway and put on our shoes. The men have already put on their shoes and jackets. My father is holding the front door open, for Bruce and Eric as they step out, followed by my mother and I a few seconds later.
We wave to the two, as they get in their car and we get in ours. My father is driving; my mother is in the front seat and I’m in the back seat behind her. “What do you think of Bruce?” My father’s question makes me uncomfortable. I look out the window, unable to meet his eyes. “He seems nice.” I look at the houses as they pass by; the different gardens, flowers and bushes.
My mind starts to wander, everything goes in and out of focus as I try to not get too deep in my thoughts. Everything looks so neat and tidy. Not one house has too long grass, or uncut bushes. I hate the perfection. It’s boring. Even the houses all look the same; only a couple of houses have different flowers in pots outside of their front doors. Then there’s the gardens with kids’ toys, but then again, most gardens here have that.
For as long as I can remember, everything have always looked the way it does now. Somehow, I can keep getting older, while nothing around me changes at all. My heart starts pounding faster as I feel the car come to a stop. We’ve arrived. “Calm down, Alice. I have to calm down.”
My father leads me over to sit beside Bruce. My parents choose to sit on the row in front of us due to this being the last spot on this row. “Hello again, Alice.” I turn my head and meet his gaze, as I’ve been taught to do and give him a soft smile. “Hello, Bruce,” I answer, using my polite voice. He returns my smile. His teeth are perfectly straight, his chin and upper lip is slightly darkened due to the smallest stubs of beard. I feel my pulse rising slightly and find myself wondering if I have ever been this close to a guy before.
I turn my head away from him, as the last people enter the church. Ryan closes the doors and makes his way to the front. We all stand up as he greets us. I try to listen to him; he’s one of the more interesting preachers. But it’s like he’s speaking another language; every word sounds foreign to me. I see everyone sit down, so I do the same. “Good thing I’m not up front," I think to myself and let out a small sigh.
“I get bored too.” Bruce’s whisper causes a shiver down my spine, startling me. I feel him lean closer. “Oh, really?” My voice is sarcastic, as I prepare to play it off as a joke, just in case. “We listen to this every Sunday, every week of every year. It gets tiring sometimes,” he answers with a soft sigh, still with a smile on his lips. I chuckle, though keeping my voice low and careful. I’ve never been able to talk to anyone, except my childhood friend, about how boring I think church is and I’ve never heard anyone say it out loud. It’s refreshing.
“I hadn’t expected to hear something like that from you.” I look up into his eyes. We’re so close I can feel his breath on my face. “Being the son of a pastor is tiring at times. I am aware that I will take over from my father, but when I was younger, I wished to be more...” he pauses, then quickly adds. “Or someone else.” Bruce clears his throat slightly and run his hand through his hair. “But of course, I have grown to realise how important my duty is and that this is what God wants for me.”
I look down, keeping a smile on my lips and turn my head away. “Of course,” I whisper. That is his duty. Just like being a wife and mother is mine. Carrying children, giving birth to at least one son, cleaning, making food and pleasing my husband’s needs.The knot in my stomach has returned. Hearing Bruce talk about church being boring and how he had dreamed to be more, I could relate to it all. The only thing I can’t relate to, is the feeling of resting in your duty. Knowing that it’s the right path, if not the only one.
We all rise. “Amen.” I feel relieved, as everyone slowly starts leaving the church, footsteps and voices filling it. Since we’re in the last row we leave last. I’ve never understood this system, but it’s the rules. I feel Bruce’s hand on my left shoulder, making me turn slightly towards him. “I hope to see you again, soon.” He smiles and moves his hand away. I return it and nod.
I feel like I can’t say a word without it getting caught in my throat. The feeling of his hand still sits on my shoulder, like a weight preparing to pull me down. We walk out when it’s our turn. I walk over to my parents as I spot them in the crowd. They’re standing with Eric, of course. Our parents say their goodbyes. I bow my head slightly and politely say goodbye as well, before we make our way to our car.
The ride home is silent. I can feel the tension in the air. Every breath seems heavier than the last. It feels like the very air is forming hands which are tightening around my neck. I’m sure I did nothing wrong this morning. I know I’m not supposed to talk in church, but I don’t think my parents noticed. I’m not sure what will happen when we come home. But something inside me knows this isn’t going to end well.
My heart pumps so hard it almost hurts my throat the moment the car comes to a stop. We walk inside. My head is spinning as my father closes the door behind us. I walk over to the stairs with uneasy steps and sit down to take off my shoes.
“Eric thought today went well.” My father’s voice is even. Cold. “He’s going to talk to Bruce and then call me tomorrow with an answer.” The look in his eyes makes me bow my head, like a mouse pressed into the corner by a cat. I just met Bruce and now we’re waiting for his approval of marriage. His approval of me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I’m keeping my voice low and slowly look up to meet his eyes. I’m trying my best not to let my emotions show. Trying to not piss him off. “I don’t have to tell you anything. You’re my daughter, you just have to obey.” His voice is dismissing and firm.
I know I have to tread lightly, but the anger inside me grows stronger with each passing second. My eyes find my hands. “I’m not really your daughter, though.” As the words leave my mouth, my stomach drops. I never meant to say that out loud. I stand up to apologise, but as my eyes reach his, a hand collides with my cheek.
I take my hand up and cup where he hit. It’s throbbing with pain. “Do not say that again. Adopted or not you are our daughter and as long as you are that, you obey us.” His voice is low and coated in barely contained anger. My whole body is shaking so hard, I can barely stand.
The fear inside me is strong, but somehow what feels like an ancient anger is stronger. It takes root in my stomach, refusing to let go. Something about it makes me feel powerful; makes me feel like I can stop this. I look him in the eyes and straighten my back, realising we’re the same height.
“I will not marry Bruce; I don’t even know him. And I am not your property; you can’t just give me away!” My voice is loud. I have never yelled at anyone before. I take a step back as my father reach his hands out, but I don’t get far enough. He grabs my shoulders and moves his face so close to me it almost touches mine. “I give you one chance. Take it back.” The threat hangs heavy in his words. He has hit me before, but this time it’s different. His eyes are almost darker than usual. His face doesn’t look the same.
I can feel every hair on my body rise, as adrenaline rushes through me. “You can do it,” a voice inside me says, making me realise that I have to answer. And whatever answer I give decides my fate. The only decision left, is whether I want to think back on this moment with wonder of what could have been, or the knowledge of what came to be. I take a deep breath, letting that feeling of power surge through me. “I won’t take it back. I won’t obey you anymore. I am my own person, I obey myself.”
Everything went so fast. I didn’t have time to react when he grabbed my hair. I’m screaming. My head is pounding. My socks are slipping on the polished floors, making it impossible for me to catch my footing. He’s pulling me down into the basement with a strength I never knew he possessed.
Somehow, I’ve ended up on the ground. I don’t remember taking a single step on the stairs leading down here. I’m trying to protect my head with my arms, even in the chaos that is all I can think to do. It hurts all over; I can’t feel the individual kicks or hits anymore.
My body is shaking; I’m starting to feel awfully cold. I can hear someone yelling. I think it might be my mother, but I’m not sure. I don’t know what my father is hitting me with, but it’s hard. It’s not like when he hit me with his belt, this is worse.I lift my hand for a moment, to try and stop him. Maybe I can catch the thing he’s hitting me with. But in that moment, something hard collides with the back of my head. I hear a blood-curling scream. Everything turns black. There’s a tingling going through my body, until suddenly there’s nothing at all.
I wake up and look around me. It’s so bright that for a moment I can’t make out anything. The light and colours blend together in one big blur. Little by little my eyes begin to focus, but what I see causes nothing but confusion. I’m lying in a field of flowers. There are many different coloured ones; blue, purple, pink, red. After a bit I try to identify them; peonies, roses, daisies... But so many of them I don’t know what are. My body feels lighter than I remember. I don’t remember what happened. I don’t know why I’m here.
I spot a man standing in the field. His hair goes down to his shoulders. I’ve never seen hair that black. He’s tall. His skin is white, almost too white. He has broad shoulders; I can see the hint of his muscles through his shirt. His body is still; unnaturally still in a way I can’t explain. He’s so ingulfed in the flowers, that he doesn’t notice me standing up.
I slowly approach him. Anxiety starts moving through me; only the scent of the flowers keeps me grounded. “Excuse me.” My voice is shaking. I stop about half a meter from him. He turns around, I gasp and take a step back as my eyes land on his. They’re pitch black. They don’t have any white. I would’ve thought he didn’t have eyes if it wasn’t for the sun’s reflection in them.
“What a beautiful dream you have created, Alice.” His voice is gentle and deep, like the sound of a Cello. I take a step closer; his voice is mesmerising. “What do you mean? How do you know my name?” To my surprise, my voice isn’t shaking anymore. I feel more in control of myself. “You’re in a coma, Alice. This is a dream you have created. A place in-between two worlds.” I look up at him in confusion, before looking around me, trying to fully understand what he just said.
Suddenly, everything stops. My breath freezes inside my chest as realisation hits me. I fall to my knees; the memories of my father beating me flashing through my mind, everything else fading into the background. “He almost killed me?” I feel tears burning in my eyes. My entire body trembles. I suddenly feel drops of liquid gently land on my skin. I look up to find the sun has disappeared and been replaced by light grey clouds and rain.
The man squats down in front of me, his head tilted slightly to the side. I feel his eyes studying me. I move my hair over one shoulder, realising it isn’t tied up anymore. I’m holding it with both of my hands, trying to grasp onto something real while calming myself. “If this is my dream, then who are you?” I look up at him, looking into his deep black eyes that merely show my reflection. His expression doesn’t change, though I can tell he’s considering his answer.
“I’m a reaper.” I look around, then back at him. “A reaper? what is a reaper? What does all of this mean?”. “I help souls find their way.” I stumble on my feet, as I get up and take a step back. “But I’m not dead!” I yell at him. He calmly stands up. “Correct, but you’re dying. That’s why I’m here.” His voice is even. His face remaining emotionless. I nod slowly. I don’t know what to say, if there even is anything to say.
Am I really going to die?
