CHAPTER FIVE

The voice came again, close.

I didn't know it was morning already.

The light through the barred window looked pale. My back hurt from sleeping on the cold floor. I did not know how long I had been there; my hand still hurt, and my cheek was wet with tears. I did not remember crying.

I stood up and looked around the room; the bars on the window cast shadows on the floor.

I pressed my ear to the door and listened. I heard footsteps in the hallway and my mother's voice.

She was laughing.

While I am here in a room that feels like a tomb.

I banged my fist against the door.

"Let me out!"

The footsteps stopped.

Then they started again, walking away.

I banged harder. "Please!"

My vision blurred as hot tears formed behind my eyes.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand and hated myself for crying.

Crying never changed anything.

I heard the lock turn.

The door opened and my mother stepped inside. She wore a cream-coloured dress, and her hair was pinned up. She looked like she was going to a party.

"You need to eat something," she said.

"I need to leave."

She set a tray of toast, eggs and orange juice on the bed.

"Eat."

"I said I want to leave."

My mother looked at me. Her eyes travelled over my tangled hair, my dirty clothes, and the blood on my hands.

For one second, I saw something soft in her face.

Then it was gone.

"The seamstress is coming at noon," she said. "The dress is ready for your final fitting."

"You'll look beautiful."

"I don't want to look beautiful. I don't want the dress. I don't want any of this."

My mother picked up the tray and held it towards me.

"Eat, Gabrielle. You're too thin. The dress won't fit properly."

I knocked the tray out of her hands.

Eggs splattered on the floor and the glass shattered. Orange juice soaked into the carpet.

My mother stared at the mess, then she stared at me.

"You will clean this up," she said quietly.

"No."

"You will clean this up, put on the dress, and marry Damiano. Do you understand?"

"I would rather die."

The words hung between us.

My mother's face did not change.

"Then you will die married to him."

She walked out and locked the door behind her.

I stood in the middle of the broken glass and spilt eggs. I screamed until my throat burnt.

Hours passed. I don't know how many. The light through the window shifted from pale to grey.

I heard cars and voices outside. The front door opened and closed many times.

Wedding preparations.

They were preparing for my funeral.

The lock turned again.

This time it was Elena; she stood in the doorway with her arms wrapped around herself.

"Gabi..."

"Don't."

"They're going to bring you downstairs now. The seamstress is here.”

"Then go back and tell them I said no."

Elena's lip trembled. "You know I can't."

"Then why are you here? To mock me?"

"I'm here because I love you."

I laughed… It sounded ugly.

"You let them lock me in this room, and you walked past my door for hours while I screamed. Don't tell me you love me."

Elena started crying as big wet tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry" doesn't solve this, Elena.

I walked closer to her. "Her gaze flickered; for a second, the tears stopped looking real.

"Stop pretending," I said softly. "You don't love me. You like thinking you're a good sister. But you always choose what's easier for you."

Tears ran down her face, but she said nothing.

"Does this make you feel better, Elena? Watching me break?”

"Gabi, that's not…"

"Get out."

She tried to reach for me, but I stepped away.

"Leave."

Elena turned and walked out.

Two men appeared. Marco and another guard I didn't recognise.

"It's time," Marco said.

He didn't look at me.

I stepped back. My legs hit the bed.

"Don't touch me."

"Miss Gabrielle, please."

"I said, 'Don't touch me!'"

Marco nodded at the other guard. They moved towards me together.

I grabbed the lamp from the bedside table and swung it. The other guard caught my wrist while Marco took the lamp.

"Stop fighting," he said quietly. "You'll only hurt yourself.”

"I don't care."

But they were stronger; they pulled my arms behind my back and half-carried me out of the room, down the stairs.

The house looked different. Flowers everywhere with white ribbons. Chairs being set up in the backyard.

My mother stood in the living room talking to a woman holding a white lace dress.

"Ah, there she is," my mother said. "The bride."

They sat me in a chair. The seamstress knelt in front of me with pins in her mouth.

"We need to take her measurements again," she said. "She's lost weight."

My mother sighed. "Of course she has."

The seamstress measured my arms, my waist, and my hips.

I sat still.

The seamstress finished and stood up.

"The dress will fit," she said. "Shall we try it on?"

My mother smiled.

"Yes," she said. "Let's see the bride."

The seamstress held out the dress.

"Arms up," she said.

I didn't move.

My mother stepped closer. Her smile disappeared.

"Arms up, Gabrielle. Now."

My hands stayed at my sides.

My mother grabbed my wrist and lifted my arm herself.

The dress slid over my head.

A tear ran down my cheek.

"Does it fit?" My mother said she looked at me the way someone looks at a painting. Not really seeing me, just checking if the frame was straight.

"It fits," the seamstress said.

My mother nodded. "Good. Take it off and hang it in her room. The wedding is in five days."

She turned to leave.

"Mother."

She stopped.

"What?"

I opened my mouth.

Then I stared at her.