Page 121 of Decimation

I nod, though my hands tremble as I reach for the hem of my nightgown. I pull it over my head, my skin prickling with goosebumps and I wait for that moment, where he reaches for me, where he grabs me, where he does what all of them do and takes pieces of me that I don’t want to give.

But it doesn’t come. He doesn’t even look at me, instead he has his gaze fixed on the wall as he waits for me to step into the tub. What is this? What game is this man playing now?

I do so slowly, the warm water enveloping me like a cocoon. It’s soothing, but it doesn’t ease the tension in my body.

He kneels beside the tub, his hands dipping into the water. He picks up a sponge, soaking it before gently pressing it to my skin. I flinch, my breath catching in my throat.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his touch soft and careful.

I try to but my body remains locked down, my muscles coiled like a spring. He washes me with a tenderness that surprises me, his hands moving over my skin with a reverence that feels foreign.

“You’re too tense,” he says, his voice low.

“I can’t help it,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He pauses, his gaze meeting mine. “You need to trust me,” he says.

I shake my head, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “I can’t,” I say. “Not after everything that has happened, not after what you and your brother did to me.”

His expression hardens, his colours shifting slightly, a hint of red flickering at the edges. “That’s in the past,” he says firmly. “You’re my wife now. You’ll be protected. You’ll be revered.”

His words ignite a spark of anger within me. “Like Ines was?” I snap, my voice sharp.

His eyes flash with anger, his colours darkening. “Ines was a bitch,” he says coldly. “She got what was coming to her.”

I freeze as his words chill me to the core. Could he not say the same about me? I’m not exactly being welcoming to his advances right now, am I?

He reaches out, his hand cupping my cheek. “Leandra,” he says softly.

I flinch, pulling away from his touch. “I’m not Leandra anymore,” I whisper.

“You’re not Ines either,” he says firmly.

I look away, a wave of anger and confusion washing over me. Who am I? I don’t even know anymore.

He stands, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he turns away. “Stand up,” he says.

I hesitate, my legs trembling as I push myself to my feet. I stand naked before him, my skin prickling with goosebumps. He picks up a towel, wrapping it around me, engulfing me in the softest of fabrics.

I watch him warily, my mind racing. Why hasn’t he touched me? Why hasn’t he just taken what he wants already?

He steps back, his gaze meeting mine. “I have someone coming to sort your hair,” he says.

I frown, confusion flickering across my face. “My, my hair?”

He nods. “It’s damaged,” he says. “Do you not want it to be pretty?”

I don’t respond, my mind a whirlwind of emotions. Pretty? What does that even mean anymore? What does any of this mean?

He leaves the room, and I’m left alone with the towel wrapped tightly around me. I sink to the floor, my legs giving out beneath me. I feel hollow, empty, like a shell of the person I once was.

When the door opens again, a woman enters. She doesn’t say anything as she looks at me, but she helps me to my feet, guiding me to a chair by the mirror and I sink down into it, feeling like a ghost, with my gaze fixed on my reflection.

The woman begins to work on my hair, her hands gentle and skilled, and if I could relax then it would feel nice. But I can’t relax. I can’t.

Lazarus returns, standing by the door, and that hammering in my chest grows louder as his gaze fixes on me.

“Choose the colours,” he says, his voice soft.