Hawk

by Abigail Graham

“Lie down on the bed. Crossways.”

  I laid face down on the bed.

  “You understand, I’m doing this for your own good.”

  The words struck me just before the belt did, on the backs of my thighs.

  I didn’t scream. I choked it down, but tears burned in my closed eyes, forced their way out and I sucked in a sobbing breath just in time for the second blow, and almost screamed. It came out as a gurgling cry. It hurt. Nothing hurt that much, not even when I was smaller and he would burn my arms with the old curling iron. I couldn’t scream so I began sobbing and pleading instead, stop it please stop please stop, but the more I begged for mercy the faster the blows rained on my legs and then on my back, until I was curled up in a flinching ball, red lines of agony burning into my legs and back, and I thought I would die it hurt so much. I lost my voice pleading, lost to a rasping whisper. Only then did he finally stop.

  “You will not speak to that boy ever again. If he touches you or speaks to you, you will come to me immediately. If I find out you have defied me in this, I will make you wish you’d never been born, do you understand?”

  I swallowed, and choked out a yes.

  “Clean yourself up, get dressed, and choose a take out menu for dinner. You will eat in here. I don’t wish to suffer the sight of a defiant little cunt at dinner tonight.”

  I ended up doing the first two, but I never came to him to order food and he never sought me out. I knew better than to risk some petty slight angering him. He only called me that when he was truly enraged.

  It was my fault. I brought it on myself. I should have known better. Boys were all bad, they were all poison. He told me over and over to stay away from them, or I’d end up like my mother. I should have known, but…

  I liked him. He was nice. He wanted to show me his car. I liked it, too.

  I sat at my vanity and scrubbed my face with a warm cloth. Showering after a whipping would be agony. I turned on the padded stool and looked at my back. I had to sit on the very edge; at least he didn’t hit my backside with belt. My back was a network of angry red welts, some already turning black. I limped back to the bed and put on long cotton shirt, and laid face down on the bed. I pressed my face into the pillow and wept softly, wondering if I could hold my breath until I passed out and smother myself, just disappear. I needed a diversion but I didn’t dare risk exposing the box of books under the back. If Father came back for whatever reason and caught me reading Ravished by the Outlaw Duke, I might be in for a second whipping.

  It could be worse. At least I wasn’t bleeding.

  Somehow I managed to curl up in a ball and sleep. The next day I forced myself not to limp, not to scream in agony when he kissed my cheek and touched my back.

  He was only looking out for me.

  Six weeks later, the wedding was announced. We moved in to the Amsel estate beforehand.

  I resolved never to be alone with Victor. I would peek outside my room and make sure he wasn’t waiting before I emerged, I spent all my free time either locked behind my new door or with Father or his mother or with someone, even a member of the staff. I walked in fear, and the expansive halls of the house felt like a prison.

  All except the library. There was a library and no one cared to stop me from exploring it. The room alone was as big as our house in the city, and full of more books than I’d ever seen in my life. They were organized by subject in shelves so tall I had to climb a ladder to reach the top shelves. Left to my own devices, I spent half of June exploring, learning where the books were. There was a whole section of paperback romance novels- they belonged to Victor’s mother, and one at a time I snuck them out of the library and back to my room to read, stuck between stacks of books related to my business studies. There was an expansive library of business and financial texts in the library.

  I found it all about as interesting as the paint on the walls, but things were expected of me. I would major in business and I would go to a top tier master’s program. I would, end of story.

  My bruises had faded into yellow marks the day I walked into the library and headed for the romances to slip back the book I’d borrowed.

  “Oh my God, you read those?”

  I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  The room was all dark colors, earth tones, antique furniture and Persian carpets. Victor looked totally out of place on a padded leather chaise, a book propped on his lap. He sat so the light streamed through the windows behind him, motes of dust dancing in the rays. It made his hair glow, somehow.

  I swallowed.

  “Yes.”

  I hurriedly grabbed another book without looking and rushed for the door.

  “Don’t tell my father. Please.”

  “Tell him what?”

  “Anything.”

  I pushed through the doors and scurried back to my room, praying. Don’t let him see me. Don’t let him see me. Don’t let him see me. Only when I was back inside and the door locked did my heart stop pounding.

  I was curled up in a side chair reading when a piece of lined notebook paper, folded in half, slipped up under my door.

  Widow’s Walk. Two AM, it read.

  I opened the door and looked both ways, but there was no one there. I locked it again, looked at the clock.

  Time for dinner.

  Chapter Nine

  Evelyn

  I thought I was going to throw up.

  The staircase to the widow’s walk was in a closet. I’m sure it was just a door at some point, but it was converted to a closet, with the winding spiral staircase itself behind a false wall the swung open with a touch. It was dark inside, but clean. I was surprised. I expected a mouldering secret passage filled with cobwebs and critters. Three turns up, and there was another door that led out onto a long path that crossed the entire roof of the main house, lined with a tall wrought-iron railing tipped with wicked looking spikes. I touched one, and felt the sharpness of the edge, like a spear point. To my left was the big round cupola over the office, a room belonging to Victor’s father that I never entered, having only seen it once when his mother gave me a tour. To the right, the woods and the road, further off.

  Cicadas buzzed in the night. It was dark up here, but the moon and stars were out. More stars than I’d ever seen, so far away from the city.

  Then, there was Victor. He leaned against the railing, arms folded over his chest.

  I walked over, glancing either side, terrified someone would spot me. Victor was all in black. I wore a long, demure nightgown of heavy cotton. Would someone looking up think I was a ghost with bright blue eyes?

  He looked over at me and stood up, towering over me.

  “What’s with you?”

  I swallowed. “Nothing. I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry.”

  As I turned to leave, he grabbed my wrist.

  Shock melted on his face when I looked back at him, trembling with fear. He let go immediately.

  “I didn’t mean to… wait!”

  I stopped, gripped the horizontal part of the railing, and looked down. I could pitch myself off the roof. Maybe then I would be a ghost.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to know why you’re acting like this. You jump at shadows, you hide in your room all the time or follow my mom around. Something’s not right.”

  “Everything is fine.”

  He studied me.

  “You’re lying,” he said. “You lie a lot.”

  My lip trembled and I tucked it under my front teeth to stop it, and hugged myself. It was hot and muggy outside, but I was shivering.

  “I have to go back to bed. I can’t be seen…”

  “Seen by who?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “You’re a big girl. My mother doesn’t care what you do. So that leaves your father.”

  I didn’t say anything, but he went on.

  “He put his hands on me that day I took you for a ride. Does he ever put his hands on you?”

  I tried not
to, but I flinched with a shocked expression.

  “I see,” he said.

  “No, he doesn’t, he never. He’s just protective of me, that’s all.”

  “Mom said you were homeschooled.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why?”

  “I… I couldn’t go to regular school. I wouldn’t fit in there.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he said so.”

  Victor folded his big arms. The flexing of muscles stretched and distorted the feathers incised on his arms

  “I like your tattoos,” I blurted out.

  “Thanks,” he said, sounding slightly confused. “Does your father ever hit you?”

  I tried to say no, of course he doesn’t, but nothing would come out. My throat just went dry.

  “I need to go. Please.”

  “There’s nothing between you and the door.”

  I turned and rushed back, down the steps, and into the hallway without looking. Thankfully, I was alone. I almost went to my room, but headed for the kitchen instead. It was dark, but oddly well lit from the gleam on all the stainless steel. I poured myself a glass of water, choked it down in quick gulps, and went back to bed.

  The wedding was scheduled for that Saturday. The next three days were the most tense of my life. I would be in the wedding party. Victor was giving his mother away, standing in for the father of the bride. A huge, far-flung extended family would be there. My mother’s family would be there, people I hadn’t seen in years.

  Father came to me the day before. He sat beside me on my bed.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, “I expect you to socialize with the guests. Keep it to a minimum. You will also be expected to dance with Victor.” His mouth twisted with distaste. “You understand why I am telling you this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He’s promiscuous. You matter too much to be a notch on his bedpost.”

  “Good. Get some sleep.”

  I woke the next day at five in the morning, and spent an hour pacing my bedroom. The wedding was at ten, not in the city but a little town nearby. The house was full of guests, mostly Victor’s extended family. By the time I bathed and dressed and put my hair in a simple braid, Karen was already gone to get ready away from the house. Victor went with her. Father’s best man was a friend from the firm. My dress was demure and not particularly flattering but he kept eyeing me, as did another of Father’s guests, a Russian man that introduced himself as Vitali and held my gloved hand too long. I rode in another car, with one of Mrs. Amsel’s relatives.

  The church was old, and packed, every seat taken. I sat up front near the altar. Victor walked his mother down the aisle, a forced smile on his face, heat in his eyes when he looked at my father, waiting in a morning coat with swallow tails. He hated this, I realized. He didn’t want my father marrying his mother. He didn’t want any of this. He glanced at me as he stepped away from my mother. The priest talked, but it was all buzzing to me. I rose when everyone else did, sat when they did, watched my father slip a ring on his mother’s finger and watched him kiss her, passionately. I clapped when the others clapped, but my hands when still when I saw Victor standing stock still during the applause. A little girl I didn’t know carried his mother’s train and another sprinkled flowers. Rice was thrown, and Victor stiffly took my arm and led me to the limousine for the wedding party.

  He didn’t say a word to me on the drive to the reception. He offered me his arm again without looking at my father as we went into the fire hall. I glanced at Father and he gave me a tiny nod, and I stiffly took Victor’s arm and walked to the table with him. It took twenty minutes for the guests to file in.

  Victor sat next to his mother. I sat next to Father. Three courses were served, after the toast. I didn’t hear any of it. The world buzzed in my ears, like the insistent rushing of a stream. I just wanted to go home. I sat there pawing the folds of my skirts and barely touched my food.

  Soon I would be free, I realized. I would be going to college, living on campus.

  Except I’d never be free. Father would always know if I did something I shouldn’t. If I was bad.

  People started standing. I missed the announcement. It was time for the cake, and the dancing.

  Oh, and the bouquet.

  Before I realized it I was lined up with twenty other unmarried girls, all strangers. I wanted to run and hide. Victor’s mother turned around, faced away from all of us. She pitched the bouquet back over her head. I watched it sail through the air towards us and held my ground as the other girls moved forward. I held my hands out limply, pretending that I wanted to catch it. Father would be furious if it came at me and I let it hit the floor. He didn’t believe in inane superstitions like bad luck from dropping some flowers. I was sure it was coming right at me, until another girl snatched it from the air in front of me. I let out a palpable sigh of relief and shuffled away as soon as I could, while people surrounded and cheered the girl.

  Then the single men started gathering around. I blinked a few times. What was that about? Victor stood in front, scowling.

  His mother turned, hiked up her voluminous cream skirts, and stuck out her stocking-clad leg. My father smiled at her, his expression going blank as he knelt. He thought no one saw. No one did, but me. He slid her garter down her leg, careful not to disturb their stocking, and put on a false smile as he stood up, twirled it around his finger, and threw it.

  Victor shoved another unmarried man out of the way and plucked it from the air.

  Oh. Oh God.

  He looked over at me and beckoned me forward. The girl with the bouquet turned red and scowled. Everyone was staring.

  “Come on, Eve,” Victor said, loudly.

  I looked at my father, but Karen grinned at me.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  Somebody whistled behind me. Catcalls started. I shuffled forward and stood stiff as a board, unsure what I was supposed to do. Finally I realized he was supposed to put it on my leg.

  Which meant I had to hike up my skirts. I did, and stuck out my leg. Victor knelt in front of me, and gently cupped my foot in his hand. He slipped off my shoe, and pulled the elastic band up over my calf, then up my thigh. I shivered as his fingers brushed the skin of my leg, and bit my lip.

  It felt… good. He held my calf lightly in his hand and put my shoe back on, and I lowered my foot to the floor. As I put my foot down he stood up, rising inches away from me, his face filling my vision as I stood to my full height.

  Karen was grinning. Father’s face was a stony mask, a false smile stretched over absolute, incandescent fury.

  The disk jockey started talking. Victor took my arm and walked me, briskly, away from the open floor. It was time for the first dance of the bride and groom. Karen was absolutely overjoyed, smiling so much it had to hurt. She put her head on Father’s chest as they danced, and he looked genuinely happy.

  Except for his eyes. His eyes never changed.

  The best man danced with the maid of honor, a girl I didn’t know, one of Karen’s people. I tried to slink into the crowd.

  Victor took my wrist and pulled me out onto the dance floor.

  “I’ve never danced before,” I blurted out.

  “Me either, not like this. It’s not hard. We just stand close together and walk around. No big deal.”

  I nodded. It was no big deal, until he put his hand on the small of my back, and clasped my hand in his. My heart started pounding and my throat went dry. There was a distance between us, maybe six inches between our stomachs, but it felt like we were touching anyway. I stared at his throat and didn’t look at anyone, aimlessly moving in a circle, shuffling my feet. He squeezed my hand.

  “Does he hurt you?” Victor murmured.

  “Who?”

  “Your father.”

  I shook my head and looked away from him.

  “Time for the cake.”

  He let go of my hand, and his palm fell away from my waist. He stood next to m
e, arms folded, as our parents fed each other sickly sweet wedding cake. I ended up with a paper plate in my hand, picking at a slice. The icing was too cloying sweet and I wanted to spit it out.

  “This cake sucks,” Victor grumbled.

  I couldn’t help it. I started laughing.

  There were a few looks, but no one paid me much mind. They probably thought I was laughing from happiness at the wonderful wedding. I dumped my cake on a random table and looked for a place I could hide. I never liked crowds and it felt like there was an itchy wool blanket on my shoulders, weighing me down. I tugged on my skirts and wove my way through the crowd, and ended up in front of the fire hall. I breathed in warm, humid evening air. Music thudded through the brick walls as I sat down on a narrow ledge running through the windows and plucked at loose strands of my hair. A shadow fell across my feet.

  I looked up and Victor pushed a glass of red liquid at me. There was a little umbrella in it.

  “I can’t drink.”

  “Me either. Not here, anyway. It’s a Shirley Temple.”

  I took it and sipped it through the little straw. It was too sweet, but it was cold and liquid. Victor had one, too. He seemed amused by the umbrella. After he finished the drink he took it out and was playing with it, popping it up and down.

  “These aren’t supposed to have umbrellas. Want another one?

  “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

  “Why?”

  I was trying to think of an answer when I heard a piercing voice.

  “Victor!”

  I looked over to see a girl our age storm outside. Her dress made me blush. I was honestly wondering how it stayed up. It had no back or sleeves, just cups for her rather large breasts. She walked over and planted her fists on her hips, a long leg visible through a high slit in the side of her skirt.

  “Uh,” he said.

  “Amber.”

  “Right. Hi, Amber.”

  “What are you doing out here?” she demanded.

  “Getting some air. I brought Eve something to drink.”

  I looked at her but she ignored me. Instead she tugged his arm.

  “Come inside. What was that about, giving her the garter?”