Thumbelina: Part Two

     THE BUTTERFLY

Some weddings are the stuff of legends, magnificent affairs of silk and tulle, expensive liquor and rich hors d’oeuvres, ten-piece string bands and a dozen colorful bridesmaids arrayed like flowers around the white, virginal bride. Others are quick and cheap and hastily cobbled together, with potluck suppers and homemade playlists and chairs lined up in the back garden, but no less full of love and laughter for all of that.

My wedding was neither of these. It was a mockery, a farce borne of cruelty and greed and the basest of lusts. It took place in a ramshackle cabin in the middle of the woods, with people I neither knew nor loved, and the fact that I consented to none of it mattered not at all. When it was done, they stuffed me back into their limousine and drove me even further away from my home, a period of time that passed in a haze of pain and terror that makes it difficult to remember. My wedding day is one of the most rugged scars on the road map of my soul, its jagged edges bearing silent testimony to its violent beginnings.

I could only be thankful there was no time for consummation. Though I had no idea where we were headed or why, my captors made it seem vital that we keep going. So we went south, ever south, over the state border and to the very tip of the country, where sunlight kissed the sandy shores and palms swayed in the wind. I wish I could say I appreciated the lush beauty surrounding me, but I was oblivious to everything but myself. Each moment was an exercise in self-control as I fought to keep from crying out in agony when the car went over a bump or one of the huge men beside me jostled me as he shifted his weight. I feared several of my ribs were broken or at least cracked. The bruises on my skin looked like angry spatters on a pale, delicate canvas.

The sun was high in the sky when the driver pulled into a marina. I saw rows of boats gleaming in the midday sun, all lined up like pristine soldiers headed off to war; everything from speedsters to day sailors to massive yachts. I dared speak then, as we got out of the limousine and headed toward the docks. “Where are we going?” I asked.

Toad-boy spun around with a snarl. “Just follow along and don’t ask questions,” he said, nodding at the thug who had groped me. The big man slapped me in the face so hard I stumbled and nearly fell. I cried out, cradling my reddening cheek, frightened by the excitement on my new husband’s face at the sight of my pain. The desire in his eyes made me shiver with revulsion, fearing the consummation of our sham marriage would happen all too soon. His arm snaked around my shoulders, pulling me roughly against him as he murmured that I had only to behave myself and the bad men would stop hurting me. I could see his mother gloating at us behind his back, and I squeezed my eyes shut, praying I would wake up at home in my bed and find all of this a nightmare. I couldn’t believe it was happening to me. Even now it feels unreal, a story I was told about another person’s life. But it wasn’t. It was what mine had become in just a few short hours.

We walked toward the jetty for what felt like days beneath a crystalline sky, everyone but me sweating in the humid air. I shivered uncontrollably, unable to get warm no matter how hot it became, listening to Toad-woman simper and giggle with her son about how they would use my money. I wondered what Mother would do if she could see me now. Would she care? Or would she look past me, vacant as ever? My eyes filled with tears that spilled over onto my bruised, swollen face. They matched the trickle of blood flowing from my scalp–I honestly couldn’t remember where that was from–dripping down my neck to my back, my legs, all the way to my bare feet. The fact that it wouldn’t stop alarmed me, but I decided I would rather bleed to death than draw attention to myself. Next time, my husband might tell his goons not to stop at a slap.

When I look back on that day, my passivity shames me. The idea of escape hardly even crossed my mind, apart from a few errant thoughts during the car ride. I was used to letting other people sort out my (almost always petty) problems. I knew that if I waited long enough, someone would swoop in and snatch me from the jaws of my enemies, making everything all right again–or at least setting things back the way they were before. Nothing in my life had prepared me to stand up for myself, to fight tooth and nail for freedom and whatever scraps of happiness I could tear from the meat of life. I was a prize, an object, a fairy tale princess in a tower awaiting her prince, not an agent in charge of her own destiny. Experience had taught me that I could get anything I wanted with a smile and a toss of my golden hair, a sly glimpse of cleavage, a hand brushed just so against a willing thigh. I hadn’t read the stories where the prince turns out to be the villain, and his mother, the evil queen, even worse. I had no weapons to fight those enemies.

When we finally reached the boat waiting to take us away, I was so tired from being beaten, abducted, and terrorized that I collapsed, and no amount of harsh prodding could make me move. At last, one of the thugs was forced to carry me, snorting in disgust as my blood smeared his already vomit-stained shirt. This was the same thug who had pawed at my nether regions and struck me more than once, and I felt a sense of justice that it was he who suffered the fallout of my abuse, as well as relief that I was finally abhorrent enough to be left alone. I didn’t have the strength to fight him off again.

The yacht was a beauty, I vaguely noticed as I was carried aboard; a fifty-footer with plush furniture, a full bar, and a plethora of other luxuries for Toad-woman and her son to enjoy. The thug took me to what I assumed was the second largest cabin, with a queen-sized bed and its own water closet, where my new husband instructed me to make myself presentable so I didn’t embarrass him. Though this was one of the smaller outrages I would suffer that day, the injustice of it took my breath away. It was his fault I was in this state, after all. How dare he blame me for it? And how dare he act as if looking good was something I should worry about after what I had been through?

But I knew I would come out the worst in an argument, so I did as I was told, using the tiny shower to wash as best I could, watching dully as my blood swirled down the drain. They had at least provided me with new clothes, though they were cheaply made and hung on me like sacks. When Toad-boy returned, he took one look at me and dug his hands into my shoulders, shaking me. “What did I say?” he demanded, over and over again. “What did I say?”

“I don’t know,” I said, weeping. “I don’t know what you want.” I trembled and cried, terrified and in pain. Snarling, Toad-boy practically ripped the clothes from my body and tossed them aside. His eyes widened with excitement when he saw me in my bra and panties. “I told you to look nice,” he said harshly, yanking a sundress from the miniature closet and throwing it at me. “Put that on and get the hell out there. We’re almost home. Oh, and put some makeup on. You look like shit.”

Moving gingerly, so as not to further upset the ribs I was now certain were broken, I bent to retrieve the dress from the floor. He watched me with narrowed eyes until he saw I was complying, then stomped out the door, no doubt to go and cry to mommy. After he left, I stood and stared at the wall for several minutes before forcing myself to move, pulling on the dress, tottering to the tiny vanity, perching delicately on the seat. Though it pained me, I forced myself to look up at my reflection, wincing even before I caught sight of the shiny bruise on my cheek, the pallor of my skin, and the haunted look in my eyes. I had aged ten years in the span of a few hours. Unable to bear the sight of myself, I buried my face in my hands and wept bitterly. How was I to go on? How could I force myself to leave this cabin, unwanted temporary refuge though it was, and face whatever awaited me outside?

But leave I must. With the thought of his anger spurring me on, I let myself cry for only a minute or two before I reached for the container of face powder. It made me look even paler and did little to hide my bruises, but I cared not. I doubted there would be anyone around to see what had been done to me. Servants, perhaps; no one that mattered. At best they would be secretly appalled and treat me with kindness; at worst they would approve of this harsh treatment. Regardless of how they felt, they would ignore the abuse out of loyalty to their employers, and nothing would change for me. I hardly needed to be dressed up for that.

I felt the change in speed as the boat slowed, and finished putting on the face paint they had bought for me. I slid my feet into a pair of hideous sandals that were all I could find in the closet and made my way to the stepladder, walking hunched over like an old woman, holding my arms in close to my sides so each step wouldn’t jar my ribs. I noticed for the first time the thickness of the carpet beneath my feet, so impractical for a water-bound vessel, and the crystal sconces placed at regular intervals along the narrow corridor, making them even narrower. I clawed my way up the ladder and onto the deck, where Toad-boy stood waiting for me with his usual sneer. The thugs watched me with unashamed interest, and Toad-woman tracked my every move with a sick sort of hunger, as if I were a fly buzzing around her head.

My gaze slid past them all toward our destination, a glistening island thrust up like a jeweled fist from the clear blue waters, with feathery beaches trailing from its fingers like lines of silk. Despite my current predicament, I was mesmerized by its beauty, and felt the first glimmer of–not happiness, exactly, but a lessening of the misery within. A pod of dolphins frolicked in the distance, and oh! What I wouldn’t have given to be one of them, swimming happy and free with my family beside me. But that wish soon gave way to thoughts of Mother, the only family I had left, and her betrayal. The hope curdled in my belly, and I fought back tears, loathe to appear even weaker in front of my captors.

The island was large enough to hold the trappings of wealth—tennis courts and secluded beaches and cabanas to shade the most ardent sunbathers—leaving little room for nature. The ostentatious main house rose up three floors, its tacky appearance saved only by the sheer beauty of its surroundings. I suppose some might have thought the white stucco walls and red-tiled roof charmingly Spanish, but all I could see were the iron bars on the windows, the lack of any means of escape, and the clear line of sight from its upper floors to all vantage points on the island. This was to be my prison, then, if an extremely lovely one.

“I’ll be back in a month,” Toad-woman was saying to her son. I scarcely heard her over the gentle sigh of the surf and the harsher cries of the gulls wheeling overhead. “Let me know if you need anything before then.”

“Oh, I think I have everything I need,” he said, and I could hear the triumphant smile in his voice. I was suddenly very afraid. For a moment, I found myself wishing I could leave with Toad-woman instead of staying here. I would face a thousand beatings before submitting to what he had in store for me. I began to shake, and couldn’t stop no matter how hard I tried.

The thugs escorted me unceremoniously off the boat. I stepped onto a wooden dock bleached light by the sun and waves and fought down panic as I waited for the boy who called himself my husband. He strutted toward me like a rooster, proud and cocksure. When he stepped onto the gangplank, his feet got tangled together and he stumbled all the way down. I began to laugh, but pain stole my breath. He noticed my sharp inhalation, but not my laughter, thankfully. His brows drew together.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked. He appeared put out, as if my injuries were inconvenient to him.

“I was beaten, and my ribs are broken,” I said, angry enough to be honest. My eyes flashed fire, and for a moment remorse shone in his. Then he remembered who he was and who I was, and where we were and who was beside us, and the arrogance returned.

“I guess you’d better start listening, then,” he said. He grabbed my hand and yanked me along behind him, ignoring my gasps of pain. The driver followed us, but the other thug, the groper, went back to the yacht and stood behind Toad-woman. I thanked the powers that be for the small miracle. The vile queen waved frantically to her precious little prince as the boat pushed out from the dock and turned smoothly toward the shore. Toad-boy waved back just as frantically, his hand moving back and forth, back and forth, as if he couldn’t bear to be parted from dear mummy, and I was filled with disgust and a loathing so intense I felt sure he could sense it. But he didn’t, and I was able to school my expression before we resumed our journey toward the mansion.

A line of servants waited outside to greet us. The thug went and took his place at the end, and I prayed I would see little to none of him from then on. The heavy wooden doors were flung open to admit us, and beyond them was more of the same gaudy opulence I’d seen on the yacht, only this time with a Spanish flair that made me feel as if I were a character on a telenovela being kidnapped by a dastardly villain with a twirling mustache. Apart from the fact that Toad-boy couldn’t grow more than a scraggly patch of facial hair, it wasn’t too far off the mark.

“Welcome home,” said the head servant, a dour man cut from the same cloth as every other butler since the beginning of time. He had eyes that missed little and saw nothing, and though I know he instantly took the measure of the situation and my presence, he would not lift a finger in my favor unless that finger were to fetch me things or clean up my spills, or any of the thousand other shallow comforts servants provided. The housemaids’ eyes fairly burst from their heads as they dropped into their curtsies, and I knew I would be the hot topic for the foreseeable future. That didn’t bother me; I was used to people talking about me. The manservants were more prosaic–gardeners and the like–though I saw more than one looking me up and down with a gleam in their eyes I recognized. I shuddered.

After all of them had presented themselves for our inspection, Toad-boy dragged me inside, still gripping my hand in his sweaty one. He flung words at me like a child throwing a stick to a dog, naming rooms as we went through them. “Here’s the receiving room” and “That’s the kitchen–you don’t care about that” and “Mother’s piano is in here. Of course you’ll be taking lessons soon.”

I didn’t bother telling him I already played quite well, for I knew he didn’t care. I was a shiny trophy he would trot out for a quick tune when we entertained, or something of that nature. My love of music meant nothing.

We reached the marble stairs, and he chugged up them like a locomotive, dragging the reluctant caboose behind. He gestured to doors we passed. “Powder room, entertainment room, Mother’s rooms, my rooms, and heeeeeeere are yours.” He released my hand and flung open a set of double doors, gesturing expansively. Beyond relieved that I wouldn’t be expected to share a space with him, I peered around him and saw dark, shining wooden floors, white upholstered furniture, bookshelves and tables with comfortable-looking chairs clustered around them, and at the far end a door leading to the bedroom. Through that I saw a massive bed, quite low to the ground, all made up with a white duvet and fluffy pillows, with a gauzy net encircling it. He turned to me with a pleased smile, as if he expected me to fall to the ground and thank him for his generosity. The smile faded when he saw my face; I cannot even tell you what expression was upon it.

“What? Don’t you like it?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “It’s a lovely room, but it’s not mine.”

“Oh, but it is! We’re staying here for our honeymoon. Consider everything here yours. You are my wife, after all.”

I didn’t respond, which of course he took as acquiescence. He dragged me inside and showed me the features of the room: a bar stocked with non-alcoholic drinks and snacks, a reading nook with a tiny antique lamp that resembled a hummingbird in flight, and a closet stuffed to bursting with clothes in my size. Seeing that nearly undid me; how in the world had they been able to plan this when they had only met me the day before? I said as much to Toad-boy before I thought better of it, and he laughed.

“Oh, we knew who you were. This has been a long time in the making–since just after your father died.”

“But why?” I asked, desperate to understand the reason behind my unraveling life. “I can’t believe my mother would do this to me, and you–you’re already rich. You don’t need my money.”

His expression said I was the stupidest, most naive creature alive. He shook his head, saying, “You can never have enough money.”

He instructed me to be ready for lunch in an hour. Until then, he said, puffing his chest out like a ridiculous bird, he had business to attend. After he was gone, I collapsed onto the bed as gently as possible and had a good long cry, letting myself feel every injustice of the last twenty-four hours in full, excruciating detail. I emerged from my misery only long enough to admit the maid, who insisted on helping me bathe and dress. Red-eyed and sniffling, I didn’t have the heart to resist, though I noticed she kept sneaking furtive glances at me, her eyes full of a loathing I didn’t understand. To be honest, I didn’t care. She was the absolute least of my troubles.

Deana, as she introduced herself, had a better hand at cosmetics than I did–to be honest, I’d never needed makeup, and had no idea how to use it–and by the time she was finished with me, I looked almost myself again. She dressed me in white shorts and a tank top, a navy-blue shirt tied at my midriff, and sinfully comfortable sandals. Then she pronounced me ready. I hobbled after her, afraid to breathe too deeply or move too quickly lest I jostle my broken ribs, certain that no one but me would care if I did.

Lunch was a brutal affair. I was quite hungry, not having eaten anything since the evening before, but my stomach heaved so violently the instant I swallowed a bite of food that I had to run, hand clapped over my mouth, in a desperate search for a restroom. Since I had no idea where one was, not having paid much attention to the earlier tour, I ended up getting sick in an urn in the hallway, heaving until I nearly passed out from the pain. Toad-boy was enraged, and Deana, looking lovely and unruffled with her black hair and roses-and-cream complexion, appeared smug even as she cleaned up my vomit. I might have wondered why she hated me, but other girls always hated me, unless they liked the advantages of being my friend, in which case they hated me in secret. Fool as I was, I thought her the same, and thought nothing more of it.

Now that I was soiled, Toad-boy wanted nothing more to do with me. He did, however, finally realize my pain was not in my mind, and ordered one of the maids, who had studied nursing in Cuba, to attend me. I saw in her eyes the extent of what they had done to me, and the very real sorrow in her face as she went through the list of supplies she would need to fix me. In less than an hour, I was taped up and flying high on pain pills, and such relief had never been mine before. I thanked her profusely, which seemed to embarrass her. Then I went on my merry way, left alone until supper, which my husband had impressed upon me was to be promptly at seven and not a minute later.

I used the time to wander through the house, becoming acquainted with every room, nook, window, and door, save the den, where Toad-boy happened to be, and the servants’ quarters, which I avoided by the unspoken law of class. When I had seen all there was to see inside, I decided to try my luck with the front door and find out just how much a prisoner I was. To my surprise, it opened easily, and I rejoiced for the length of time it took to remember I was on an island. I had to remind myself that I’d seen no other boats when we arrived on the yacht, and if Toad-woman was coming to get us, there probably weren’t any. That didn’t stop me from exploring, though; I slipped through the great heavy door and pushed it closed behind me, gliding down the walk toward the jetty in my sandals and tape. I spent the next hour exploring the tiny island, wandering along the beaches, soaking in the sun’s rays, letting it soothe my shivers and warm my cold skin. I had been abused, but I was young and resilient, and with the worst of my hurts alleviated I felt almost normal. At least for a while.

As the effects of the pain pills faded, I thought of circling the island to make sure I wasn’t missing any escape routes, but Deana appeared before I could, her creamy face paler than usual. “It’s almost suppertime,” she said, shooing me back inside despite my protests. “He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

I couldn’t have cared less what he liked, but I wasn’t stupid enough to forget I was at his mercy. I followed her up to my rooms, where I stood still and let her dress me in a silk sheathe far too fancy for a tropical island. I didn’t even argue when she brought out a pair of silver stilettos that made every step a gamble. She gathered up my hair and piled it atop my head, letting a few wisps escape most becomingly around my face, taking even greater care with my makeup than she had before. By the time she was done, my beauty had fully reasserted itself. “You did well,” I told her, and her face twisted with anger before it smoothed out again.

“It’s my job,” she said with a shrug. “He told me to do my best with you, so I did.”

What an odd thing to say, I thought, but I dismissed it in lieu of greater worries. My stomach twisted into knots as I realized tonight would be my first real night as Toad-boy’s wife. I knew he would expect certain things from me, things I would rather die than give him. But what choice did I have? I had no friends or allies here. Injured as I was, fighting him would be more painful than giving in. And I was no fighter in any case.

When I arrived in the dining room after a long, careful walk in the silver stilettos, I found it prepared as if for royalty, with gold-trimmed plates, crystal goblets, real silver utensils, and lavish flower arrangements effusing their perfumed sweetness into the air. The long table had only two place settings, one at the end closest to me and another at its right hand, a setup that would have been intimate and romantic were I anywhere else. A maid stood at attention behind the head chair, staring straight ahead with eyes that would see nothing but our empty plates and goblets. At least it wasn’t surly Deana.

Toad-boy entered the dining room at the exact same time I did, from a door opposite mine, and I couldn’t help but think he’d timed it that way on purpose. He strode toward me as if I were Belle and he my Beast, ready to be soothed and tamed by the power of love. His smile was less arrogant than usual. When he raised my hand to his lips, he looked almost as enraptured as he claimed to be. But I knew better. I felt how possessively he grasped my fingers, the way his eyes traveled from my face to my cleavage and stayed there. After lunch, trepidation made me hesitant to eat, but I was ravenous. Thankfully, nothing came back up, and I began to feel marginally better. Toad-boy didn’t eat much, either, but the maid behind him kept his wineglass filled. After a while, I grew annoyed by her willingness to jump forward with carafe in hand, thinking a drunk captor much more likely to be rough with me later; but of course, I couldn’t say anything. Toad-boy did all the talking anyway, growing ever more expansive as the night progressed, and I sensed, though I immediately dismissed the thought as absurd, that he was as frightened as I was.

“One more?” the damned maid asked for about the tenth time, leaping forward after Toad-boy had taken a single sip of wine. I glared up at her, noticing for the first time her odd silver-colored eyes and mouth like a Cupid’s bow. She was as lovely as I–lovelier, in fact–and flitted about like a butterfly in her starched white apron and dress. With her delicate stature, I thought a stiff breeze might send her flying head over heels into the sea, and prayed it would, if only to spare me the drunken pawing I was sure to receive.

“Hell yeah,” Toad-boy slurred, laughing as he raised his glass to be filled. He gestured toward me, nearly sloshing wine on my silk dress. “To my wife! May we be as happy as my own mother and–hic!–father.” He laughed then, as if at some private joke. I raised my glass with him, taking a cautious sip. Then I thought better of it, and drained the whole thing. Why keep a clear head if I was only going to suffer? I shouldn’t be upset he was drinking–I should be following suit. To hell with sobriety. I glanced up at the maid with a determination that quickly turned to confusion when she didn’t refill my glass. She stood behind my husband with a full carafe of wine in her hands, gazing straight ahead–stubbornly, I thought–and pretending not to notice my empty cup. I wrinkled my brow. Why on earth would she do that?

“Ahem.” I tried to catch her eye without drawing Toad-boy’s attention, which was surprisingly easy considering there were only three of us there. Four, if you counted the servant who rushed in and out to serve and clear the food–which I didn’t. Like most of my class, I tended to ignore those whose job it was to fade into the background. That this maid refused to act in the way I expected disconcerted me to no end. Irritated, I held up my glass, ignoring the stab of pain from my fading meds, and said, “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like some more, please.”

“Yeah, give my wife more wine!” Toad-boy snorted into his filet, munching it open-mouthed like a child. The maid had no choice but to do as he bid.

I held up the glass almost petulantly as she came around the table, angry that she should ignore me; I, who was not used to being ignored. I watched as she poured the barest splash of wine into the cup, filling it hardly a quarter full, and the fury that had been building inside me over the last day rose to the surface. I opened my mouth to scream at her, to release some of the pent-up rage that was eating me alive, and then I saw her face, truly saw it, for the first time. It was pale and frightened; her eyes were open so wide I could see the whites all around those strange silver irises. She shook her head slightly, glancing down at the wine in her hands, and then back up at me. Her mouth moved, forming a single word: Drugged.

The feeling that ran through me then was electric. I can only describe it as my soul expanding inside my body, bursting with hope and joy and every good feeling in the world before settling back into its normal shape. To this day, I’ve never experienced its like. At that moment I knew I was going to escape this nightmare–I was going to get away. Never mind when or how; this maid was on my side, my savior had come, and I was going to escape.

My answering smile calmed her. I did my best to hide it as she scurried back around the table, but it wasn’t easy to stay grounded when I felt lighter than air. Whatever she had used to drug the wine couldn’t have been that strong, for Toad-boy was still singing like an old sailor into his cups, but I no longer cared. I was too excited to eat or drink anything more. Finally he swallowed his last bite of steak and rose, swaying on his feet, saying, “‘S to bed, wife. We’m–hic–to bed now.”

Panicked, I glanced at the maid, whose eyes widened as if to say, Go! Go, you fool! She pointed upstairs and mouthed the word Later, which I took as a promise. It was flimsy, as promises go, but it was all I had. Unsure if I went to my doom or my salvation, I let Toad-boy take my hand and pull me upstairs behind him, glancing at her once more over my shoulder as we left. I want to say her look was reassuring, but I could hardly see it in the dim light. Still, I trusted her. I had no choice.

I remembered the rooms as we passed. Powder room. Entertainment room.  Mother’s room. The latter made me shudder, but we soon passed it and came to a dark teak door with a heavy latch. Toad-boy stumbled into the wood with a loud bang before managing to get it open. “C’mon,” he said, gripping my hand so tightly I heard the bones creak. I gave a little cry of pain and he whirled, glaring at me. “‘S wrong with you? You’ve been–hic–whining all day.”

I flinched away from his anger. When would the wine do its job? He’d had nine or ten glasses of it, and even a weak tranquilizer should have taken effect. Hell, the wine itself should have been enough to knock him out. Although I was thankful it was weak, considering I’d had a full glass myself, I wished he would hurry up and succumb. “The nurse–the maid says three of my ribs are broken,” I told him hesitantly, praying it wouldn’t anger him further. To my astonishment, his face suddenly crumpled, like a little boy who has accidentally killed his favorite pet.

“Oh, no,” he cried, gathering me roughly into his arms. The resulting pain made me cry out, but he didn’t notice. He stroked my back, murmuring that he was sorry, that he loved me, that he would never let the bad men hurt me again. It didn’t seem to occur to him that they hurt me at his direction. Apologies mingled with curses as he slurred through one maudlin declaration after another, talk of love and soul mates and other things I couldn’t understand. It wasn’t long before the hands that soothed grew more insistent, sliding down to my buttocks, across my hips, up my waist to the underside of my breasts. His wet, sloppy mouth bore down on mine, his tongue darting between my lips like a snake. He moaned, grinding his body against me, and I loathed my lack of courage. Thanks to the diminishing effect of the pills, I was already in pain, and feared fighting him would make it worse.

“Be gentle, please,” was all I managed to say. He promised he would as he backed me up against the bed. I felt it press against my thighs, and then he was pushing me down upon it. Tears slid down my cheeks as he settled on top of me, the tape unable to protect me from two hundred pounds of pure agony pressing against my broken bones and bruised flesh. His mouth was all over me, leaving trails of saliva like the slime of a dozen slugs on my skin. I squirmed, desperate for relief from the pain, and he took it as excitement and grew even more demanding. I felt the dress’s straps being pulled down over my shoulders. “Wait,” I said, panicking. But he didn’t wait. He continued to pull them down, lowering his head to taste my flesh. I moaned in panic and fear, and to my astonishment, he grew still. I said his name, waiting seconds that felt like hours for him to respond or to start up again. I jumped in fright as a light snore drifted up from his open mouth. It was the sweetest sound I had ever heard in my life.

How quickly I’d forgotten the drugged wine! And the butterfly maid with her wide silver eyes, giving me hope with a single unspoken word. In the terror of the last several minutes, nothing had seemed real except Toad-boy’s drunken advances, his disgusting mouth and his greedy hands. Now, as he slumbered atop me, I began to feel a glimmer of that earlier hope, as I struggled to free myself from his dead weight. I gritted my teeth, raised my arms, and pushed against the mattress, hoping to somehow slide right out from under him. To my immense surprise, my dress got caught on something–I never did see what–and made a slippery sort of tube through which to travel. I shimmied through the top, feeling the cold air on my legs, hips, stomach, and finally the rest of me as I slithered out from between my husband’s legs like a newborn. I fell in a heap to the ground, looking back incredulously at him lying face-down on my shimmery blue dress. A giggle burst through my lips. With any luck, he’d awaken tomorrow and assume I’d dissolved into nothingness, leaving behind only my clothes. If, that was, I managed to get away.

Now, how to do that? I gazed stupidly around the room, as if it could tell me something I didn’t already know. All I saw was a normal suite of rooms, albeit tacky ones. With no plan and only a tenuous goal in mind, I reached down and pulled off the ridiculous stiletto heels, wishing I had something besides a white lacy bra and panties to traipse around in. Clothes, then, I decided–that would be my first goal. Find something to wear, then find the butterfly.

My pain almost completely diminished–astounding what a little hope could do–I left the bedroom and went through the sitting room. Unthinkingly, I flung open the door, and came face to face with the family thug.

I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten him. Not once since our arrival had he crossed my mind, despite the very real fear I had for him. And now here he stood in the corridor, large as life and twice as frightening, guarding the room like some malevolent spirit. Panicked, I went to close the door, but he put his hand on it and blocked me.

“What have we here?” he said, leering. He looked nothing like the thug who had groped me, save in size, but the two were inextricably linked in my mind. Fear froze me in place like a rabbit in a hunter’s snare as he looked me over from head to toe. He craned his neck over my shoulder and got a good look at Toad-boy passed out on the bed. My husband’s snores were audible even from the other room. The thug’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Shoulda known the virgin would pass out before he got anything done.” Shaking his head, he stepped aside. “All right, might as well head back to your room. He ain’t gonna be any good tonight. But hey, just so you know–” leaning in close as if to share a secret “–you ever want a real man, you know where to find me. Just say the word, and I’ll make it happen.”

Dumbfounded, I could only stare at him, unable to form a coherent reply. Luckily, he didn’t seem to need one. He settled back into his stance by the door, hands clasped in front of him, posture relaxed. Feeling his eyes on my back, I forced myself to walk at a normal pace down the hall. I didn’t give in to the shudders until I reached my room, where I immediately whirled around to throw the deadbolt. There was none, of course. I would be given nothing resembling privacy here.

Shaking, I leaned against the door, waiting for my heart to resume its normal pace and the dizziness to subside. Distracted by this house’s many dangers, I had nearly forgotten my mission again.

Luckily, she hadn’t forgotten me. A small scratching sound alerted me over the roar of blood in my ears, and my gaze flew toward the doors on the other side of the room, the ones leading out to the balcony. Though I was on the second floor, and had seen nothing outside on which to climb during my earlier explorations, there she stood waiting for me, her face pressed against the glass, a smile on her lips that looked like freedom.

Hope. It is such a tenuous, fragile thing. And yet a thread of steel runs through it, tethering us all to the inner strength that sees us through our worst times. In that moment, she was my tether. And I prayed that I would find the steel inside myself to escape the darkest moment of my life. Otherwise, I feared, the tether would snap and send us crashing back to earth. And if that happened, we were both doomed.

I went across the room and unlocked the doors.