Unholy monster

He is a good foot away from me and if he would extend his arm and try to grab me, he would not struggle much. I see the anger that sparks into his eyes and I know I've overstepped my position. A lump forms in my throat as the spark in his eyes grows into something so twisted I could not recognize. There was anger, there was hate, there was madness, but this seemed to be a pleasure he found into all of those things. A pleasure he found into the thought of being challenged and knowing he had the power to oppress such challenge. It was something absolutely sickening that further proved to me that I did not belong at his side. 

With a twisted smirk and an inhuman grimace on his face, the man grabs my arm, squeezing in painfully, forcefully dragging me with him, away from the altar. 

"You have no idea who you are messing with, girl!" He spits at me, pushing me forward, out through the back door of the church, causing me to stumble down the few steps and fall on the cold ground, scraping my knees and palms as I try to break my fall. He stops on the small wooden back porch, staring at me with that strange fire still burning in his eyes, with immense superiority. "Give me-" he starts talking, slowly descending the few steps he just made me fall on, "-one damn reason-" he hissed, baring his teeth, his lips still curled into a smirk, "- on why I should not tell the town you are one of the evil witches that live among us and you deserve to be burnt at the stake!" he demanded with the same insane superiority and odd sense of pleasure he took into treating me like this.

The lump in my throat seems to grow and I start scurrying backwards like the rat I feel I am right now, when he steps on my dress, holding me right at his feet, waiting for my reply. My lips part but nothing comes out and I find myself voiceless even when he raises his hand to strike me. 

"No words , hm?!" he hissed, bending down to grab my face in one of his calloused hands, gripping it tightly enough to make me whimper in pain and fear. "Then how come you find yourself always willing to talk back?!"  he gives my head a good shake and I feel like my brain is being scampered right now. "Tell me!" he yells and before I can answer, his other hand slaps my cheek with enough force to push me to the ground, split my lip and make something in my nose pop loud enough to break a blood vessel. 

Before blood starts pouring, something in me snaps and I look up at him, through the strands of hair that are now covering my face, through my narrowed brows and my half lidded eyes. 

“I’d rather die than allow someone to marry me to you!” I hiss at him, my throat dry, as blood starts dripping from my nose, making everything taste icky and metallic, my mouth flooding with some blood too as blood seeps through my lips when I speak. 

“Still have the guts to talk back, I see-” Father Cassimir smirks with a twisted grimace still adorning his already ugly and unkept face. “I’ll make sure that such behavior will be left behind, long before you crawl into my bed, witch!” he warns, grabbing me by my throat and lifting me up with harshness.

Once to my feet, his face nears mine, his sick brown eyes pinning mine, his lips still curled into that demented smile as he holds me, well aware he is choking me. My hands both go to his wrist, gripping it and trying to make him let go of me. 

“And by the time we’re one in front of God-” he paused, leaning further in, breathing in my scent, “-you’ll be nothing but an obedient servant of me, and God.” he seemed proud of himself to say this, to think he had this power over me. 

But as he gets close, I spit right in his face, my saliva mixed with blood, making him drop me with disgust, while he steps backwards in a hurry, wiping his face in a haste, as if my blood would taint his holiness. Once I’m free from his grip, I put distance between us, enough to give me the time to turn and run if I had to before he would lay his hands on me again.

“You little bi-” he starts and lounges for me, but from inside the church, a loud voice echoes, calling his name, making the man stop abruptly, his breath raspy and definitely conflicted in grabbing me and striking again and going inside, and not allowing anyone to see us like this. 

His back straightens and he cleans his face in a rush. 

“We’re not done talking. “ he murmured, his expression dropping into one of solitude and calmness. “Go home and clean yourself. Your parents invited me for dinner. I expect better behavior for tonight.” His back slowly turns to me and he walks away, the back door of the church closing and now I’m alone as the sun is setting, making everything look dark and allowing me to feel alone and abandoned, my skin stained with blood, my lips trembling, split and painful, my nose still bleeding. My body is all shaking and I have no coherent thought in my head as I stare with spite and fear at the door that could open anytime now, allowing him to come abuse me again. And again. And again - if I do marry him.

But he is not coming back. Not now. Not tonight… he would not hit me again tonight. Not in front of my parents! And once they see this, I am certain my father would call off the betrothal!