This Dark Salvation

XVIII.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" asked Gwen. "Be honest, I won't be mad."

I was near the bookshelf scanning the spines of countless novels. I wasn't interested in reading any, I was just filling my time. The days were drawling on as well as the thoughts of my parents burning bed. I tired distracting myself when the memories reappeared, but I was only abiding my time until I couldn't take it any longer. Had I really been affected by the incident that bad? It was months ago, yet I was always finding myself being drawn back to that moment where I first met the looks of the servants, crowded around the door frame. The smoke thick filling the corners of their room, then mother's hand, her fingers grotesquely twisted in on itself.

As those horrific memories shrouded over my consciousness, it became easier for me to become irritable. The cat would paw at my door or jump on my lap leaving hair flying rendering me in a silent rage. I'd imagine the animal thrown across the room colliding into the tea set, spilling the drink over the white threaded carpets. I'd even seen images of it dead, lying at my feet, its tender neck twisted. When Jazlyn begged me to brush her hair I would comply, of course, but she'd moan and throw fits that I wasn't doing it right. The brush was too thick, I was too strong, or I plainly was horrendous at the job. I'd storm from the room and seek shelter in my room hoping my nerves would retract and simmer down.

I wanted to be outside as much as possible, the air was fresh, the field an open space to flee from the inside of the house. It was crushing me, to stay inside all day, almost every day. At home, I would take breaks from the party goers by strolling through the gardens. It would weigh on me like a ton of bricks, that if I stayed in with those fake pampered men and sensual women, I'd break into a crumpled heap of snapped bones and flopped flesh. They were surrounding me like hunters, very much like the Josey's, not leaving me any space to breathe so that they could shoot me dead.

It was supposed to be a nicer day, cooler than the others, but in no way, was I aloud outside. I wasn't directly told this, but I had the very literal feeling that if I left without their knowledge I'd be in some sort of trouble. I could understand the excuse that the estate was large, and I'd forget where the house was, but could I not just step out into the gardens for only a moment? No, I knew that answer clearly, I would not be allowed. It should've frightened me to have the sense that I was locked in the walls, chained to the furniture while having tea unable to leave unless Lady Clara said so. I should've seen how controlling they all were, how they seduced me into these tempers.

Over the past weeks, Gwen's childlike behavior had diminished. She became serious, almost dark. I preferred her that way, it meant less babysitting.

Pulling a book out from the line, I said drew a long composing breath, "I think you're very pretty."

She gave me a look.

"What?" I asked. "Did you want me to say it differently?"

"Well—no, it's alright."

I sighed; the book dropped against my thigh. "No, you wanted me to say different."

Gwen picked at the pins in her hair and shifted to the armrest. The neckline of her dress drooped from her shoulders exposing the top of her breasts. "What you said was fine. I'm pretty."

"Christ." I stuffed the book into its original place. Gwen puckered her lips while shimmying to the back of the couch, her eyes peeking through her lashes fighting to give me a pout. "Alright, you're pretty. A very pretty girl."

She grimaced while examining her nails, one of them had chipped on the corner so it wasn't as round as before. "You don't have to say it like that. Now it sounds like you don't care for me."