“I saw this and thought of you.” Pushing a small, wrapped gift my way, Drake smiles. I notice the light in my parents’ eyes when they see it. It looks an awful lot like a small jewellery box.
“Oh my. Is this what I think it is?” My mother gushes, making my eyes widen. He hasn’t … has he? I’ve only just turned sixteen.
“Not quite,” Drake says, making me sigh with relief. “But close.”
My eyes snap to Drake, and he urges me to open the gift. I do as expected of me, and when I open it up, my eyes widen again. A beautiful silver ring with diamonds encrusted in a figure-eight shape stare back at me. It’s beautiful.
“It’s an eternity ring. It’s a symbol of my devotion and dedication to your daughter. I hope you don’t mind?”
I know he’s only asking to be polite. He doesn’t care whether they approve of him giving me this or not.
“Of course not,” my mother chimes. “I think it’s so romantic. Isn’t it romantic, William?”
“It is.” My father nods his head with a smile, but notices my hesitation. He gives me a disapproving frown. “What do you say, Evelyn?”
I turn my head to Drake and smile. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”
Taking the ring from the box, he takes my right hand. “Not as beautiful as you.” He places the ring next to my right index finger. It’s on the right finger, but wrong hand.
Once securely on, he smiles back up at me. “Every time you look at this, you can be sure in the knowledge that I’m here for you—no matter what. This is a symbol of what we mean to each other. Look,” he says, grabbing my hand. He holds it gently in his, and with a finger, he gently glides it over the figure eight. “This is us. We’re never-ending. Constantly going around and around and never stopping. That’s what we are, and that’s what we’ll continue to be.”
My mother places her hand on her heart. “That’s just so beautiful.” She smiles, and I know what she means is genuine, but I can tell there’s a hint of something in that smile. Jealousy maybe? There’s definitely something. I ignore it. I’m past caring what my parents think at this point. They obviously never loved me, so why should I care?
Squeezing my hand a little, Drake makes me look at him. “See, you and I are infinite. You’re stuck with me forever now.”
Three Days after Eighteenth Birthday – Present Day
I stare at the ring Drake got me when I was sixteen. The one that denotes our infinite love. It makes me laugh when I think about it.
I then take a look at the other ring he bought and forced me to wear five days ago, and it makes me laugh even louder. I am his now in every sense of the word. He promised that we would get married next year, but I know for a fact he’s already planning our wedding. The reason I know is the because of the little visit I had yesterday from a woman who came in and measured every nook and cranny of me. When I asked what she was doing, she laughed like I was stupid and said, “It’s for your wedding gown, silly.”
I’ve been held prisoner for three days after my insubordination on my eighteenth birthday. I could have been good and let him take me, but—just like always—I fought him at every turn. Now, I’m stuck in my allocated bedroom day and night, planning my escape during the day and yearning for Drake’s touch at night.
I haven’t seen him since he drove me to his home three nights ago and shoved me with disdain into the room I sometimes slept in as a child.
I know he’s punishing me. I know he’s still most probably reeling at the fact that I ran. But, I reckon the thing he’s most angry with is my betrayal with another man. I didn’t want that man and it pissed me off. It also pissed me off that I wished it had been Drake.
Surely this is some sort of joke? Or is it that being with Drake so long and living with his dual personality has finally made me loopy? These mixed feelings that I have for Drake are just as strong now as they ever were, and yet I can’t escape the one obvious, glaring thing shining at me like a hundred watt bulb.
He raped me.
On my eighteenth birthday, Drake took me, and he raped me. He didn’t ask if I wanted him to take me in the way that he did. He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t sweet, and he certainly wasn’t kind.
Yet, I can’t help but want him. Now that three days have gone by, and the soreness I felt has eased, I can’t help but yearn for his touch again. I have been sitting in my room for three days with nothing but the view of the pool and the thoughts in my head, and for three days I have been trying my hardest to get around these fucked up feelings inside of me. I shouldn’t want him, but I do. And the only answer I can give myself as to the reason why is…