To Love or To Hate you

Vanessa’s POV The gown gleams in the mirror—white, too white—like a lie trying too hard to look pure. My eyes are the opposite; they stay as they always are—small and tired, like they’ve seen enough. Smooth footsteps grab my attention, and I look back only to see my stepmom strolling behind me, her heels clacking against the ground. I flinch when she positions herself behind me. Her reflection in the mirror makes my hands clammy, but as much as she terrifies me, I know what waits at the altar could be worse. “Oh, my Nessa. Look how gorgeous you are!” she taunts as she rests her fingers on my shoulders. My body forgets how to breathe for a moment. I try to gather all the courage in me to speak, curse her, or just say how much I despise her—but my lips betray me. Anna notices my restraint and smirks. She steps away from my back and stands in front of me. Her sweet perfume is thick in my throat… If I move, she’ll call it disrespect. If I speak, she’ll call it defiance. So I stay still and pretend to be perfect – their perfect daughter. She blocks the mirror—my only escape. Her hand lifts, and I’m quick to throw mine up in defense – the light in her eyes darkens before she grips my chin. My eyes snap shut, head tilting slightly—waiting. But I don’t feel anything. My cheeks don’t sting. “What sort of impression are you trying to give people about me?” she snaps. Her eyes widen, a vein throbbing at her temple. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that,” I pleaded. She releases my chin, then brushes off a strand of hair from my face, gently caressing the skin with the tip of her nails. I can’t do anything but swallow the bitter taste in my mouth. She stares at me for a while, before picking up a makeup brush. “Sit,” she gestures at the vanity. She reapplies makeup on my chin, concealing the marks from her fingers before dabbing away the tears that had already rolled down my face. She drops the brush and wipes her hands on a napkin. “I don’t want to see tears again.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes as she tucks in pieces of loose hair strands into my hairpin. “Now you’re the perfect bride,” she mutters. When do I get to be free? When does it end? I can’t help but ask myself. “It’s time to walk down the aisle,” a voice cuts us off. My stepmom stands upright, and her face lightens up—genuinely, for the first time since she entered the room. “Now go make your father and me proud,” she says, patting my back. Each step down the aisle feels like walking on thorns. My father’s arm in mine is a shackle disguised as love. Be strong, I keep telling myself, but my limbs get heavier with each step I carry toward the altar. A voice in my head tells me to turn around and bolt. I almost answer, but I know I won’t last a minute, and the consequence is not something I want to imagine. “Father, please—I can’t,” I mutter under my breath, my voice trembling. “Behave, Vanessa,” he says through his teeth before tightening his hold. A whimper escapes my lips, and I feel the tears brimming in my eyes. I’m trying my best not to blink hard, but the tears end up rolling down my face and dropping into the bouquet of lilies I’m holding. God, please take me. Please— But no one answers. I see my groom for the first time. He doesn’t look pleased. He doesn’t even look curious. After saying our vows, the priest says, “You may kiss your bride.” “There’s no need for that,” my new husband’s deep voice cuts through the air. My stomach dips. I know that familiar sound—hatred. But I won’t believe that. I want to hope—for the first time. *** I don’t remember the drive here – I don’t remember the faces that smiled as we left. All I remember is the silence around me—and how my new husband never looked at me once. Sleep had claimed me after I was served dinner. Heavy footsteps jolt me awake, I rub my eyes and lift the covers from my head to see who is inside the room with me. It’s just my husband, Adrian. I relax. His upper body is bare, and he’s now unbuckling his trousers. The sound is small, but it rips through the silence. My mind races ahead, painting horrors before he’s even moved. Then it occurs to me—wedding night—s*x. Of course. The wedding night. The debt I was born to pay. “Wait—please,” the words fly out of my mouth before I can think. He pauses. “What?” he asks. “I—I haven’t done this before.” I scan his face for any form of expression. Maybe he’d go easy on me if I told him of my innocence. A smile tugs on his lips, then he moves closer and stops right in front of me. “What are you talking about?” His smooth voice rolls off his tongue. I look down, unable to meet his eyes. “I’ve not had—s*x before.” I He sits by my side, his weight dipping the bed— he raises his hand to my face and I flinch at his move. He stops midair before returning his hand to his lap. I see his face softens for a second before says, “I’m not going to hurt you.” “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean it like that.” My eyes are already teary. I try so hard to always control my emotions but it seems my body has a mind of its own. He gets up to his feet and walks away, his lean muscles flexing as he moves. I wipe the fresh tears. Why did I think this man I’ve never met before today would want anything from a broken girl like me? “I’m sorry, Adrian,” my voice is shaky. Apologies are part of my daily life. They solve half the problems most times. “Stop apologizing. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Adrian replies, his eyes still away from me.I get up and move to him, my every step gentle and silent. I hesitate for a while before finally speaking. “Why me? Why did you choose to marry me when you don’t even know me?” He’s silent for a minute before responding. “Your father didn’t tell you?” He doesn’t turn to face me as he talks. “Tell me what?” My curiosity slips through my voice. He finally turns, his eyes colder than metal. “Your father didn’t give you to me, Vanessa. He sold you.” My chest cracks open. For a second, I don’t feel my legs and the air goes thin. He sold me. My father sold me. He steps closer until the wall finds my back, trapping me in his space. Say something, Vanessa. Just say something. Don’t just watch him say atrocious words to you. Talk! My mouth opens, but the air won’t move. Only tears move freely down my face. My voice doesn’t come. My eyes fall to the floor. He tilts my chin up—slow and deliberate—until I can’t look anywhere but into his eyes. A small, taunting smile curves his lips. I almost ask if he hates me too, but the words die somewhere behind my tongue. “And Vanessa,” he says, voice smooth as a threat, “I know you. I know you more than you know yourself.” He smiles—slow and knowing. And just like that, I understand—I didn’t marry a man. I married my sentence.