Fillmore hexaology, #6

The last good thing in her life had gone.  He’d fallen in love with someone else, and taken that other woman into his bed.  Until then, she’d thought that maybe, just maybe, after he’d been force to marry her by their fathers, maybe he could rediscover the love they’d shared, and they could be happy again.  They used to be happy, gloriously so, until the decision had been made for them that their relationship had moved too slowly toward marriage, and she, in an attempt to keep from being beaten again, had gone along with their fathers’ plans to force his hand in taking hers.  She had helped drive him away emotionally while drawing him closer legally.

She loved him with such a ferocity that his love for another caused such a deep, sharp pain that she thought her heart might literally break in half.  She hoped she wouldn’t survive it and that her pain would get to end.  Yes, she’d still marry that man, but even she knew that, if he had his way, they’d have broken up.  A sliver of her wished she could free him to pursue his happiness, but the frightened part of her still needed him around, even if he stared at her with a detestation that poured salt on her wounds.  The burning served as just part of her penance.

An inhuman scream escaped from her throat, muffled by a dense pillow.  Her tears flowed free until she could scarcely breathe and hysteria made every part of her tremble until the last drops of energy had gone, and all she could do was whimper.

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