"I am living in hell from one day to the next. But there is nothing I can do to escape. I don't know where I would go if I did. I feel utterly powerless, and that feeling is my prision. I entered of my own free will, I locked the door, and I threw away the key." Haruki Murakami

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TW: DV

XX.

Cressie had dreamed of the sea again the night before. It was the same dream she'd had on many occasions. It began with the feeling of water around her ankles, the feeling she had created in her mind from when she stood in bathtubs. She could feel the cool breeze against her skin, her hair whipping around her face uncontrollably. And the sounds. She could hear the sounds the ocean made ever so clearly. The sounds were ones she had collected from pressing her ear to the conch shell that she had kept hidden safely in her trunk.

The dream usually came after she had listened to the waves in the conch shell. And she usually listened to the waves when she really needed them.

And as time went on, Cressie found that she relied upon that beautiful shell more and more. Because when Cressie dreamed of the sea, her mind could always find the pair of beautiful ocean eyes in her memories.

When Cressie awoke, she was shocked to find that she had fallen asleep with the conch shell beside her. The shock alone was enough to get her to launch out of bed and quickly stow it away in her trunk underneath several layers of her unmentionables. Cressie had learned that it was not safe to seemingly possess anything of value.

Cressie quickly pulled on her robe and climbed back into bed just as the door was opened to her room by her lady's maid, Imelda Wrigley. Imelda carried with her a breakfast tray and Cressie's mail.

"Good morning, Mrs Delaney," Imelda greeted.

"Good morning, Wrigley," she replied carefully. Imelda placed Cressie's tray down in front of her on the bed and took a step backward, surveying the room, before she went to open the drapes.

Cressie surveyed her tray to find a selection of eggs, ham, fruit, and tea. Her mail was opened. It always was.

Her only correspondence came from her mother. Mrs Martin now lived in Suffolk in a small cottage paid for by Mr Delaney's family. By all reports she lived comfortably and wanted for nothing.

Cressie had not seen her in five years.

She chose the letter first, which seemed to prick Imelda's interest. "The eggs first, ma'am," she reminded her.

Cressie put down the letter and picked up the teaspoon before using it to crack the shell of her first egg. She hated eggs. Cressie had not always. But she hated them now.

Before digging into the egg, she reached for the small, silver dish of salt which had been provided.

"Just a pinch, remember, ma'am?"

With her thumb and forefinger, Cressie collected a pinch of salt and sprinkled it onto her egg, leaving the rest behind.

Once Cressie would have facetiously asked her maid if she would have liked to spoon feed her like an infant. In fact, she had asked her first maid that when these rules were first introduced. That maid hadn't lasted. Imelda had. Imelda liked the rules. And so, Everett liked Imelda.

Cressie didn't fight anymore. She couldn't. Fighting required will, and Cressie had none of it.

So, she ate her eggs, and then the ham, and then her fruit, before drinking her tea without sugar. And once her dishes were cleaned, she then opened her already opened letter.

It was from her mother.

There were several lines crossed out. Blotted with ink so that they were illegible. Cressie had long stopped wondering what they might have said once. She wasn't to know. She would never know.

The news she learned from her mother's letter was that the weather in Suffolk was tolerable as summer approached and that her cook had produced a delectable gooseberry pie.

"Have you finished reading that, ma'am?" Imelda asked.

Cressie nodded, before passing the letter over into her maid's waiting hand. Imelda pocketed it before removing the tray so that Cressie could get up out of bed. She was helped to bathe using only approved scents and dress in only approved colours. Her hair was pinned in the appropriate way and by all accounts, she was a perfectly acceptable mistress of the house.

Once she was ready, Imelda began to run through the list of responsibilities that she had to take care of that day, but Cressie's mind began to wander as she caught sight of the fountain out the window. That had been her favourite part of Henshaw House when she had first been brought here. It was not nearly as grand or as sentimental as the fountain that it reminded her of, but the sounds of the water had brought her a sense of calm that had been a saving grace in the beginning.

The fountain was not on. It hadn't been on for several years. It was not broken or in need of repair. It had simply been taken away from her.

Cressie had searched for anything to bring her peace in the beginning, to take away the utter misery she had felt in being married to another. The morning that she had left a sleeping Jem in his bedroom still haunted her. But she had known true happiness when she was with him, so she knew exactly what it was she was living in now. Purgatory.

Cressie wished that she had been selfish now. She wished that she had listened to Jem and had chosen her own happiness in spite of her mother. For while Mrs Martin lived comfortably in her own home, Cressie's every bite of food was controlled by a man who ...

Everett Delaney had been delighted with his bride for all of a few hours. He had held her like a trophy, guided her every movement as though she were a prize, his prize, at the wedding breakfast. And then had come the wedding night. Cressie could still cry at the thought of it.

She had believed that the thought of Jem would be enough to get her through it, but it wasn't. Everett was not Jem, and he never could be. She felt foul within herself to be before this man, and Cressie's lack of enthusiasm left Everett incapable.She had come to learn quickly that a man's failure in the marital bed was a source of humiliation for him. Everett had cursed her. He had called her names and declared she was as enticing as a 'dead fish'. And then he had thrown a burning candle and saucer at her head.

It had been the one and only time that Everett had ever directly struck her. The cut from the saucer and the small patch of discolouration from the hot wax, both located on her temple, had been enough to convince him that he could not leave visible scars on her body.

Everett managed to get over his performative issues in time, and he made certain to visit Cressie regularly, much to her disgust. But as she lay there, crying uncontrollably every time, it would infuriate him. He would shake her, curse at her, and declare her a devil girl. And when she failed to fall pregnant month after month, she would be labelled a 'barren bitch'.

Cressie never thought that she would be thankful to be barren. Every time her monthly courses came, she felt such relief. How could she ever care for a child? Everett had stripped her of everything that she had ever held dear to herself or about herself.

That was how Everett punished her. After the candle, he had never struck her, and he reminded her of this frequently. He reminded her that he never hit her where other husbands would. She was a disobedient and disappointing wife. She deserved it, after all. So, Everett found other ways to intimidate and control Cressie.

Everett rarely called her by her name unless they were in company. In private she would be called all sorts of things. She was told repeatedly how lucky she was to be with him, and how other men would have turned her out of even had her killed for her failures. When she refused his advances, Everett threated to have her taken to an asylum to get her to comply.

Cressie's failures as a wife led to Everett becoming obsessive. He gradually began to control everything around her. He had final say over what she ate, how she dressed, and to whom she spoke. He read her incoming post and edited it how he wished, the same as he read and edited her outgoing letters, so that Cressie was entirely trapped. Cressie was not allowed any money of her own. Not a penny. Everett strictly controlled her spending. If Cressie wanted to purchase a ribbon, she would have needed express permission.

And when he wanted to punish her, he would destroy or take away the things that she loved. The fountain had been one of them. He had burned the Messy Cressie poems that she had kept from Jem. He had done so in a fit of rage with her without reading them and had immediately regretted this. He had then demanded to know the contents, and Cressie had made up a lie about them being from her father in France.

Everett had taken everything from Cressie. She was not at all certain that there was anything left for him to take from her. Save for the shell. If Everett destroyed the conch shell, then Cressie would have little else to do but throw herself from her bedroom window.

"Did you hear what I said, ma'am?"

Cressie's attention reverted back to her lady's maid. Imelda stood before her with her stern brow furrowed. Imelda reminded Cressie of a strict schoolmistress. She was the right age and had just the right amount of condemnable disappointment in her dark eyes to play the part.

The servants were all loyal to Everett. And if they were not, or they questioned any of his rules or behaviours, they were dismissed and moved on to another household. Everett retained those, like Imelda, who would uphold his rules and control his wife just the way he wanted.

"I'm sorry. My mind was elsewhere," Cressie murmured.

Imelda sighed quietly. "I said that Miss Delaney is arriving from school today. Mr Delaney expects you to receive her and host her until he returns from the mills."

Cressie had not needed the reminder. She had quietly been looking forward to the visit of Everett's niece. Zara Delaney was the seventeen-year-old child of Everett's late younger brother. She was in the care of her grandparents, Everett's mother and father, and had been away at school until recently finishing. Cressie met with her annually during the Yuletide festivities and found that she was the one redeemable figure within the Delaney family.

Every time that Cressie met with Zara, she was reminded so much of herself when she had been youthful and hopeful. Despite only being two and twenty herself, Cressie felt that the days where she had enjoyed running and playing and laughing were the memories of someone else.

"I haven't forgotten," Cressie muttered in reply.

"Excellent," said Imelda.

Cressie dutifully performed the list of pre-approved tasks throughout the morning, and ate her midday meal, before the carriage carrying Zara Delaney arrived shortly after two in the afternoon.

Zara was a beautiful young lady with a gorgeous, pale complexion, soft, red hair, and pale blue eyes. She wore a gown made of the same shade of blue that suited her slender figure heavenly.

Cressie greeted Zara in the foyer, Imelda by her side. Zara immediately bounded up to Cressie with a big smile on her face and collected her in a hug.

Cressie had first met Zara when she was twelve and had disliked being called 'aunt' when she still felt so young herself. So, Zara knew her by her Christian name. It was something that Everett had not challenged. Yet.

"Oh, Cressie!" cried Zara. "How nice it is to see you again! You look well!"

Zara had never known Cressie before. Her current state must have appeared 'well' to her.

"You look delightful," countered Cressie. "A well-educated young lady, I would wager."

Zara smiled happily. "I am so pleased to be finished with school. I am so pleased to be finally of age!"

Cressie did not think that seventeen was enough years to be considered of age. Zara was still a child. Or she should be. What Cressie would have given to be allowed a few more years as a little girl before she had been thrust out into society.

"Being of age is not all roses, Zara. There is still much merit in your youth," Cressie quietly reminded her.

But Zara did not appear convinced. "I simply cannot wait to go to London!"

"London?" repeated Cressie.

Zara nodded. "For the Season. Has Uncle Everett not told you? Oh, he must have forgotten. Grandmamma is too old to escort me. She has written to Uncle Everett requesting that you be my chaperone for the Season. I am going to find a husband, Cressie!" 

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Hope you enjoyed it!!

I do feel very badly for what I've done to Cressie, but I really, really wanted to highlight that there are MANY types of family violence and domestic abuse. Many people believe that family violence or domestic abuse exclusively involves physical violence. Of course, that is one type of abuse. But domestic violence can also be financial abuse, emotional abuse, psychological abuse, verbal abuse, and of course, sexual abuse. 

I'm sure you've heard those excuses from abusers saying, "oh, but I never hit her." You don't have to hit to be a violent abuser. 

If you find yourself in a situation where you feel unsafe, there is help available. 

Australia: 1800 737 732

USA: 1-800-799-7233

UK:  0808 2000 247

India: 7827170170

Philippines: (035) 422 84 05 | +63 915 259 3029 | +63 999 576 6679

Canada: 1-866-863-0511

Of course, there are many more countries from where you all come from, so I encourage you to post your country's helpline number on this comment line --->