CHAPTER 3: THE WHITE PRISON
1139 Words
Whitney’s POV
The next three days were a blur of quiet dread and frantic activity. It was like our house was
preparing for a storm. But instead of boarding up windows, we were packing up my life. My
mom buzzed around with a fake,nervous energy,while my dad stayed buried in paperwork. I
floated like I was watching someone else's life on television.
The wedding day finally arrived. It felt like a mean joke.
My mom woke me up early, her face pinched with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. “Today's
the day sweetie,” she said, her voice being annoyingly bright.
My mom called in a stylist. She didn't talk much as she laid out her tools. She styled my hair into
a complicated updo that felt too tight and grown-up. She painted my face with make-up,
covering my freckles, darkening my lashes. I watched in the mirror as my own face
disappeared, replaced by a polished, pretty stranger.
Then came the dress. It wasn't the puffy, princess dress some girls dream of. It was a simple,
sleek, and very expensive-looking white gown. It was made of heavy silk that felt cold against
my skin.
It was tight around my chest and waist, making it hard to take a deep breath. When I put it on, I
felt like I was being squeezed into a fancy box.
“Oh ,Whitney,” mom said ,her hand fluttering to her mouth. “You look…so beautiful.”
I didn't feel beautiful. I felt like a doll being dressed for display. The dress wasn't for me. It was
for Charles,for the photographers, for the business contracts. I looked at my reflection in the
mirror. The girl I saw was full of fear.
My dad came in, already in his tuxedo. He stopped when he saw me, for a second, I saw a
flicker of something real in his eyes.. sadness, maybe even regret. But it was gone in a
flash,replaced by a determined look. “You look very…appropriate, Whitney,” he said. “Just
remember to smile. This is a happy day.”
A happy day.I tried to force my lips into a smile but it felt like ugly.
The car ride to the hotel was silent .The only sound was the rustle of my expensive dress and
the thumping of my own heart .I stared out the window, trying to memorize the familiar streets of
my neighbourhood, knowing I might not see them again for a very long time .
We pulled up to a grand ,old hotel that looked like a castle .This was it. The point of no
return .My dad helped me out of the car, his grip was firm on my arm. “Be strong ,“ he
whispered, but his voice was shaky .
We stood outside the giant wooden doors leading to the ballroom. I could hear the sound of
classical music and the low humour conversation from the other side .A man in a hotel uniform
stood ready to open them.
“Ready?” My dad asked, not looking at me.
I wasn't. I would never be ready . I shook my head, a tiny desperate movement.
He patted my hand. “It's going to be fine. You're saving us,Whitney. Remember that.”
The doors opened. The music began louder. The room was huge, filled with rows and rows of
chairs occupied by people I didn't know. They were all dressed in their best, and turned to me at
the same time. Their faces were curious, appraising. I felt my face heat up with a blush. I
wanted to run.
And at the end of the annoying long aisle, stood Charles or rather Chazza.
He stood perfectly straight, his hands clasped in front of him. He was wearing a perfectly
tailored black tuxedo. He didn’t look happy. He looked… impatient. Like he had a busy schedule
and this wedding was just another annoying meeting he had to sit through.
The music started. It was my cue to walk. But my feet were rooted to the spot. I couldn’t make
them move.
“Go on,” my dad said softly, and gave me a little push.
I stumbled forward, my legs moving on autopilot. The walk down the aisle felt like it took a
hundred years. The eyes of the crowd were on me literally watching my every move. I kept my
gaze fixed on chazza. With every step he got bigger, more real, more terrifying. I could see the
sharp line of his jaw. He watched me walk towards him and his face showed no emotion at all.
Not a smile, not a welcome, nothing.
I finally reached him. He was so much taller than me. I had to tilt my head back to look
at his face. He glanced down at me, and for one terrifying second, I thought I saw a
flicker of something in his eyes. It wasn’t kindness. It was more like… annoyance. Like I
was a minute late for an appointment.
The priest, a kind-faced old man, began to speak. His voice was calm and soothing, but
the words just washed over me. I heard phrases like “holy matrimony” and “bound
together,” like words from a storybook that had nothing to do with me. My ears were
ringing. The room felt like it was spinning. I thought I might be sick, right there in my
expensive white dress.
Then, I heard the words I’d been waiting for. The priest’s voice rang out clearly in the
quiet room. “If anyone present can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be
joined in marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
This was it. My last chance. My heart hammered against my ribs like a wild bird. This
was the moment in movies where someone stands up and shouts “Stop!” I took a sharp,
quiet breath. I felt my mouth open. I was going to do it. I was going to scream “NO!” I
was going to turn and run back down the aisle, out of the hotel, and never look back.
I looked at my parents in the front row. My mom had tears streaming down her face, but
when her eyes met mine, she gave a tiny, frantic shake of her head. Her lips silently
formed the word, “Please.”
The single word was a bucket of ice water. It froze the scream in my throat. The
courage I had mustered vanished, sucked away by the sheer weight of their desperation
and my own guilt. I was trapped. There was no hero coming to save me. There was no
escape.
I closed my mouth. But then a voice from the background shouted “I do”
- Writer
