21. Isabella

Chapter 21

Isabella

Marcus takes his time with me.

He inflicts the most severe punishment I’ve ever been subjected to. Then he tosses me into the bathroom and leaves me lying on the cold tile floor.

My entire body is shaking from shock and pain.

He has made a promise that has caused me to throw up twice.

He promised that once we are married, he will take me the way I am meant to be taken. He will make me his and there will be no coming back from that.

Just thinking about it now again, I want to be sick. But there is nothing left in me. I can’t even roll over to ease the pain in my thigh and my left arm. I close my eyes. The cold tiles are soothing.

I’m in and out of consciousness for a while. I don’t know how long. Drifting between darkness and the bright, harsh lights on the ceiling - trying desperately to hold on to something.

The bathroom door opens, and two men walk in carrying a wedding dress. I blink, convinced I must be seeing wrong.

But I’m not.

They haul me to my feet and start ripping my clothing from my body. It hurts, everything hurts. The bruises and cuts sting and ache.

I scream, terrified about what they are going to do. Each layer of clothing they rip from my body is like a layer that was protecting me from them.

They don’t hurt me though.

When I’m in nothing but my underwear and they put the dress on me.

A white, gorgeous dress - that becomes sullied with my blood. The red stains show up in stark contrast to the bright white. I stare down at my body. This must be a nightmare. This can’t really be happening to me.

I’m asleep in my bed, safe at home, and I’m having a nightmare.

When I first ran away from Marcus, I had nightmares every night. I would wake up in a cold sweat, sometimes crying, sometimes choking on a scream. The nightmares faded over time, but they were just like this - terrifying.

I must be having one right now.

“She’s ready.” One man says, grabbing my arm and dragging me back into the living room. I stagger and do my best to stay standing.

This is very real.

This is no dream.

“Well, aren’t you a sight to behold?” Marcus looks me up and down and pulls a face of disgust. “Pity you didn’t obey me the first time, the wedding photos would have been gorgeous. This - “ he gestures over me, “is your own fault, poppet.”

Then he turns to his men. “Get her in the car. Let’s go.”

I’m so unstable and woozy that I can barely walk, and it annoys the men who are trying to move me. So, one of them lifts me over his shoulder and carries me into the elevator. His shoulder is digging into one of my ribs which I am sure is broken. I’m too weak to even try to shift my weight to a different angle, so I just do my best to ignore the jarring pain shooting through my side. Each step steals my breath away. It reminds me I’m very much awake, and this is very much real and happening.

I can’t even fight them. I have nothing left in me. Marcus broke my body like he promised he would.

But I’m still in here - I’m still not giving up.

The best thing I can do for myself right now is to breathe.

In. Out. Just breathe.

They throw me into the back of the car.

Marcus is not here with us. It’s me and the security guys.

They start the engine and I think to myself - surely they haven’t been told to kill me? I’m in the dress. What’s going on?

Where is Marcus?

They drive me through the city towards a very dangerous area where there is nothing to be found but scum and gangsters. Perhaps they plan to murder me here, leave me on the streets and make it looks like one of gangs got hold of me.

But then why am I in this dress?

My hands are sticky with blood and sweat and my heart is beating too fast. The methodical thunder of my pulse in my ears is deafening. But at least it reminds me I’m still alive.

I watch out of the windows as the buildings turn from beautiful, elegant pieces of architecture to derelict crumbling abandoned frames with caved in walls, peeling paint and graffiti all over their windows and brick faces. Broken glass and litter line the streets. There are people passed out in the gutters, empty bottles of alcohol lying next to them.

I close my eyes, unable to look at the horror for another second.

I don’t understand why we are here.

I’m too scared to even guess.

The car comes to a stop, and the driver turns off the engine. I have to open my eyes. We are wherever they want me to be and I have to face whatever is about to happen.

We are parked in front of a set of old steps.

Outside what was once a beautiful building, they haul me out of the car and push me towards those broken steps. I stumble and glance around. My bare feet against the filthy floor. If I run - how far would I get before they took me down, or the streets absorbed me into their filth.

“Try to run, sweetheart.” The guard says, lifting his gun as a threat.

I step inside the building and realize that it is an old church. Crumbling wooden seats in rows. Old, soggy looking books that must have once been hymn books. A torn, shredded carpet, thread bare and filthy, leading up to the altar ahead of us.

This church has been unused for years, if not decades. The place smells of the lost souls of people who have been making it their home. But right now there is no one in here but the people that Marcus invited. The rest have been scared off.

Marcus is standing at the altar. He is wearing a black tuxedo and there is a single red rose tucked into the pocket of the jacket. He is smiling at me, like a man happy to see his bride. His hands are folded in front of him. His shoulders are back, and he looks pristine.

I glance down at myself. The wreck that is my body. The stained dress. The horror of what I’ve just been through.

Then I look back up at Marcus again with hate and anger.

There is a jittery-looking priest next to him, shifting his weight from foot to foot with his eyes darting from gun to gunman - the security team have clearly forced him to be here. He is terrified and I don’t blame him. They would kill him if he didn’t follow their demands.

I walk down the aisle towards Marcus.

Pausing when I get dizzy again, grasping on to the fine edge of my consciousness.

There are no flowers. There is no music.

The only witnesses are his gunmen.

There is nothing beautiful or special about this wedding.

Someone shoves the barrel of a gun into my back, jabbing it against my spine and forcing me to keep moving - towards the man I went through hell with. The man I escaped from, but the man who found me again.

He is my worst nightmare.

I might be awake right now, but this is a nightmare.

When I stand in front of Marcus, he snarls with deadly threat. “Tonight will either be your wedding day - or your funeral. The choice is yours, poppet.” He stares at me waiting for my response. But I have nothing to say to him. I will keep my mouth shut and my hope silent. He doesn’t need to know what I am thinking ever again.

If I was the only one involved in this choice - to die or marry him - if my actions had no effect on anyone else - I would choose death over marrying this man and living the rest of what will be a very short life at his side.

But I have a son. I am a mother. And for that reason I have to have hope that something will stop this. Something will happen - some kind of miracle. Nico will find me. The roof will cave in. Something will stop this.

I have to live to fight another day.

The priest, nervously, and softly, speaks. His voice is jittery, and I can’t hear him. His hands are shaking as he holds onto the book he is reading from.

“Louder, for fuck’s sake.” Marcus snaps at him. He jumps and flinches away from Marcus.

“We - we are - gather - gathered here tonight—” The priest starts again, stuttering in fear, but speaking louder.

I close my eyes, saying a silent prayer that Nico will find me before it’s too late. Before the end of this ceremony.

Once we are married - I will never get away. Till death do us part, the only way out of this will be to die. It’s as though that is the seal on my coffin. The end of my existence outside of Marcus’s world. It will be the end of me, and I will never see my son again once the last words are uttered, and we are married.