The Warrior’s Bride

“Hey, babe!” Gabriella’s cheerful tone was the only thing keeping me from turning my car around and heading back the way I came. “I know you’re immensely stressed right now, and I wish I could be there with you to take the blow, share some of your pain, but you know I can’t. It’s going to make matters worse and you’ve done enough running away already. Just be careful, baby. And promise to call me at least ten times every day! I love you! And you know I’m always with you. Bye.”

I removed the phone from my ears and stared at the screen for a good five minutes. Gabby’s smiling face stared back at me. Her dark hair was blowing back from her diamond shaped face in the wind, highlighting a thousand shades of blue and her electric blue eyes were filled with joy and laughter. Her smile was contagious; it made the corner of my lips tilt upwards. But then my eyes shifted to the two storied Victorian styled house looming in the background of my phone, and my smile faltered.

This was a mistake. A huge, big, fat, fucking mistake. I was so glad to have left all this behind me when I ran but now I’m back again in dreaded Ruthwell and I have no idea what I should say or do to make everything better again. What could I possibly do to make this better?

Was there anything left to redeem? And why should I be the one feeling miserable and haunted when none of this had been my fault to begin with?

Dear God! It really has been seven years hasn’t it? Seven years since I’d felt my brothers affectionate embrace; seven years since my mother had served me her delicious home cooked meals and seven years since my father had given me an affectionate pat on the head for achieving something for myself and making the family proud.

But…has it really been just seven years?

The last time my brother had given me a hug had been when he had been going off to college twelve years ago. The last time my mom even remembered to cook me my favourite meal was on my sixteenth birthday when all of my friends from school were coming over to celebrate. And the last time my dad had given me an affectionate pat on the back was when I was in sixth grade and had won the inter-school dance competition and the prize money worth five hundred dollars.

My brother had always been the gem of the family while I’d been the unwanted offspring, the disappointment and a surprise child they never wanted. Which was why my dad hadn’t even thought twice before setting up an arranged marriage between me and his best friend’s son, without even bothering to ask me first if I wanted to get married at eighteen. Or even get married at all?

I would never forget the day that he decided to tell me his decision; it’s forever etched into my mind. Because he hadn’t asked…he had just decided…just went ahead and made the biggest decision of my life for me.

He wouldn’t listen to my pleas, nor did he even want to consider sending me to the New York Dance Academy first and develop a career before my wedding. I’d won a scholarship at an inter-state dance competition and I had been so excited to tell my parents that I’d finally made my dream come true, but instead I’d gotten the biggest shock of my life.

After that I had been forbidden to go outside of my house, even to dance classes; my father had thought that my dance teacher was putting ideas in my head. He’s always been one of those firm conservative men who believe that a woman’s place was in the kitchen and on her husband’s bed.

The next few days before the wedding, I had tried my hardest to convince him to send me to New York. I had promised to return all the money he had spent on my education and dance lessons if he did so, but he had refused all logic and reason. I was to be wed in a week and that was his final verdict.

Neither my mother, nor my brother had been of any help. My brother had straight out refused to talk to me and my mother had bowed her head and agreed to everything my dad had to say. It was on my wedding day that I’d finally decided that enough was enough and I’d taken matters into my own hands. I couldn’t stand being underestimated and treated like an object any longer.

Being married off would mean the end of my dance career and that felt like dying a thousand painful deaths before death actually came for me.

So I’d run away from home, taking whatever money that I’d made from the dance competitions that I’d participated in so far and made it to the bus station without getting caught. From there I’d called Miss Lydia Stonewall, my dance teacher, and she had arranged for me to go to New York and fulfil my dream by not only providing me monetary support, but mental support as well. It was easy to say that she had been the one to change my life completely.

But that had been seven years ago. Now, I was finally back in town, thanks to Gabby’s persuasion; sitting in the driver’s seat of the car that I’d rented from the hotel and debating whether or not I should go say ‘hi’ to my parents.

If only things were that easy. Ruthwell was the least forgiving town I’ve ever known and I highly doubt anyone was going to be as accepting of me as Gabby’s parents had been.

‘None of it was your fault, you know that and so do I. But from what you’ve told me of your hometown, they’re going to be very hard on you.’ Gabby had warned me.

‘Then why are you forcing me to go back there? You know I hate that place!’ I’d shouted, not understanding why she was doing this. We’d had a big argument that night but Gabby, not for the first time, had been my voice of reason.