I stared after him until I heard his bedroom door slam, still stunned by his outburst. What happened was not an uncommon occurrence in Grayson. James was well within his right as my husband to discipline me how he deemed fit. I wouldn't be the first women in Grayson to be reprimanded through physical means, and I was sure I wouldn't be the last. But that didn't make it any less of a surprise when it happened to me.

Blood dripped from my busted nose, leaving a small puddle of crimson liquid on the pristine kitchen floor. I knew that I should move, that I should clean the blood before they stained the snow-white tile, but I was frozen in place. Through the haze of confusion that clouded my mind, only one thought really registered- that any hope I'd had of a happy and peaceful marriage went out the window the moment James' fist made contact with my face. All of my mother's prayers for a suitable spouse for her only daughter had gone unanswered.

It wasn't until the No Name woman grabbed my hand and led me to the downstairs bathroom that I came back to life. She indicated for me to sit on the toilet and I quickly obliged. As the shock wore off and adrenaline kicked in, I began shaking involuntarily, just as the No Name woman had been moments before the incident. Was she used to such outbursts from James? Was that why she felt the need to walk on eggshells around us? The way she bustled expertly around the room gathering medical supplies told me this wasn't her first encounter with James's fury.

The No Name woman didn't say a word as she silently wiped my wound with a cold washcloth. I winced at the touch and she pursed her lips apologetically.

"Thank you for your help," I muttered, biting back tears. I had never been struck before, not even by my parents. I knew the shock was worse than the pain itself, but that didn't prevent my eyes from welling as I came to terms with the occurrence.

"You're welcome, ma'am," she said, using her finger to tab some disinfectant on my cut.

She smiled and the gesture, small as it was, helped ease my trepidations. Though it was rude, though I'm sure it made her uncomfortable, my eyes stayed trained on her, my saving grace in the darkest hour of my life. My gaze clung to her like she were a life vest, like she was a lighthouse leading my wayward ship home after a treacherous journey.

I subconsciously observed the woman's face as she tended my wound. She was young, only a couple of years older than I was. Her vibrant red hair was gorgeous, reminding me of the maple leaves that signaled the approach of autumn each September. Her eyes were a soft green, subtle but lively, like the succulents that thrived in the garden outside. From a normal distance you couldn't see the minute freckles along the surface of her pastel skin, but up close, they were hard to miss.

Even in my comatose state, I couldn't help but appreciate just how beautiful the No Name woman really was. Her features suited her, even down to her coral lips that were parted in concentration as she cleaned my nose. The pain of James's assault subsided until I could hardly feel it. Instead, my eyes lingered on the woman's mouth, leaving me with the sudden urge to kiss her, Grayson's rules be damned.

I leaned toward her without realizing what I was doing. She stopped dabbing the wound and looked deep into my eyes, her eyebrows pulling together in confusion. Her green irises filled with concern, but she didn't pull away, and I'm temporarily struck by the exciting notion that she might want the kiss as badly as I did.

Before I could press my lips to hers, two decades worth of sermons rushed through my mind, reminding me that what I was feeling was wicked, immoral, sinful. The idea of our lips touching caused me to leap up from the toilet seat, still clutching the washcloth against my bloodied nose.

The No Name woman's eyes widened at my abrupt movement. I shook my head, forcing the abhorrent idea of kissing her from my mind. I muttered another jumbled declaration of gratitude for her help before rushing from the bathroom, not stopping until I'd made it to my quarters on the third floor.

As the bedroom door closed safely behind me, I plopped on my bed and stared unseeingly at the ceiling. Tears fell from my eyes as I prayed for forgiveness and reprieve for the feelings that I had no control over.

****************

When I woke up the following morning, my face was swollen, my nose had scabbed over, and my cheeks were tender to the touch. The incisions on either side of my nose were an angry scarlet, and the bridge of my nose veered slightly to the left. I shook my head; what a waste of time the surgery had been if James was just going to break my nose anyway.

Dark circles had already formed beneath my eyes. I gently dabbed the bruises with makeup, hoping to hide some of the discoloration. When I was satisfied that the evidence of James's outburst was barely discernible, I searched my closet for a dress suitable for morning service. It was Sunday, the holiest of days in Grayson, and we were to be in church within the hour. I couldn't be happier for the timing; I desperately needed to repent my sinful thoughts from the previous evening and clear my guilty conscious.

A few minutes later, the No Name woman came to my room to braid my hair into an intricate chignon. I was careful to avoid her eyes as her delicate fingers did their bidding, refusing to acknowledge my impure notions, despite their reappearance. I was a married woman and such adulterated thoughts- especially about someone of the same sex- would send me straight to hell if I wasn't careful. So I ignored her presence and began reciting scripture in my mind to distract myself.

As I descended the stairs to the first floor, I wondered vaguely which version of my husband I would get- the one who welcomed me into his home with a friendly smile, or the one who liked to beat on unsuspecting women. I was happy we would be attending church this morning. No matter how angry a man may be, he wouldn't dare thrash on his wife in front of the prying eyes of the congregation. In Grayson, what happened behind closed doors, stayed behind closed doors.

I walked into the kitchen, startled to see James sitting at the breakfast table, waiting for me. His eyes met mine and he gave me a bashful smile. He got to his feet and handed me a single white daisy that had been freshly picked from the gardens.

"Good morning, Mrs. Moberly," he said, planting a gentle kiss on my cheek.

His eyebrows furrowed as he took in my battered face, as though in his drunken stupor, he had forgotten the cause of the injury. He caressed the tip of my nose with his thumb, and I had to fight the urge to pull away from the tender pain.

"I'm sorry," he said, pulling me into an embrace. "I don't like hurting you, Mia. I get no joy in it. But you need to learn to mind your tongue."

I hesitated. "I know," I mumbled against his shoulder. "I'll do better."

After he released me, James and I downed a quick breakfast of oats and toast. I watched him from the corner of my eyes as we ate, still unsure. I didn't forgive him for hitting me. Not really. I just told him what he wanted to hear, afraid another I'd endure another strike if I didn't appease him.

Though he hid it well, I could see now that there was a something sinister lurking behind James' cool and handsome exterior, just waiting to attack. How little it had taken for him to lash out at me, not even twenty-four hours into our new union. The way the No Name woman shrank away from his presence, I suspected this wouldn't be my last time seeing his dark side. I just prayed that I wouldn't be the one to awaken the demon the next time it made its appearance.

***************

Everyone was expected to be in church on the Sabbath except the No Name women. In the eyes of the Grayson officials, these women were predetermined to go to hell anyway; why waste their time and ours by letting them pray when they could be put to use in the Factories and in the homes of the elite?

It was a quiet car ride to the worship service, and I found myself feeling anxious as we pulled into the church parking lot. Would the other patrons recognize me? It was unlikely. I'd never attended this church before. Would anyone question my busted nose and bruised face? Doubtful. What happened between a man and his wife was their private business.

As James and I entered the building, I scanned the eyes of those nearest us, but no one seemed to acknowledge my presence or question my battle wound. I was just another woman in the crowd.

I slid into the pew next to James and gripped my Bible against my chest. Being in the chapel didn't bring me as much reprieve as I'd hoped. This church was full of strangers, a sea of unfamiliar faces. I missed the church I'd attended with my parents, the one that I grew up in from birth until adulthood. I didn't know anyone here except James, and his presence brought me no comfort.

Still, I tried to focus on the service, to forget my qualms about this new congregation and allow the preacher's sermon to repair my broken mind. We began singing the hymnals of my youth, the melodies taking me back to lazy Sundays spent with my parents and Charlotte, playing at the park or having afternoon picnics. The songs reminded me of a life before marriage, a time when I was just a little girl. For a moment, it was as though the Awakening never happened.

I sensed someone staring at me from the other side of the room. I glanced out of my peripherals to see a woman looking in my direction, narrowing her eyes curiously. I blushed and looked away, but I could still feel her lingering stare. When I peeked through my lashes again, the woman gave me an infectious grin.

I stifled a gasp. Her face and body were completely altered, but I would know that smile anywhere. Charlotte.

She was completely transformed, and I had to do a double take to make sure it was really her. But there was no denying that it was my best friend staring back at me with her crooked half-smile and an attitude that couldn't be removed by a scalpel.

My heart skipped a beat when I realized that it was her. I'd worried we would never cross paths again after the Awakening, but here we were, drawn together, even in this new world.

A plump man sitting next to Charlotte gave a grunt and her eyes darted away, the smile disappearing from her face. He was an older man, bald with a long, gray beard, and a permanent scowl on his face. This must be her husband, for independent and strong-willed Charlotte wouldn't submit to anyone else.

I watched Charlotte as she read her Bible. She looked different, unrecognizable from the girl I'd grown up with. Her hair used to be short and dark, and she had the most stunning blue eyes. Now she had long, honey ringlets and her eyes were dark chocolate. Her gorgeous curves were amplified in a way that looked unnatural, too large for her slender frame. She had a new nose, new chin, new lips. Everything about Charlotte had changed.

She was still beautiful- that much couldn't be altered by even the best surgeons. But it was a different beauty, the kind that you would find in the doctored magazines from the old days, not the kind that came genuinely.

I glared at Charlotte's new husband, wondering if he was blind. Surely age had caused his eyes to fail him- why else would he change his wife so drastically, erasing her innately rare beauty forever and replacing it with this new, fabricated one that didn't have the same impact? I found myself fuming at the audacity of this man.

When the service was over, I rushed to Charlotte's side, eager to speak with her and make sure she was okay. She smiled and dragged me into the dark shadows to the side of the church. Far away from prying eyes of the congregation, she pulled me into a tight embrace. We didn't need to say how much we missed each other; the hug said it all.

"So much has changed in such a short time," I said, shaking my head, looking her over. "I've missed you. How's your husband?"

"Old and fat," she laughed. Typical Charlotte, making jokes to ease the tension. "But other than that, I can't complain too much. Things are as good as they can be, given the situation." She flashed her brilliant smile, but there was something different in the gesture, something that worried me.

"I can't stay long," I said, glancing over my shoulder at James who was in deep conversation with the reverend. How long would it take for him to notice I was missing?

"I understand," she said solemnly. "I'm just happy to see you. I was afraid we would lose touch once we were bound."

"In your dreams," I said, giving her a playful shove.

Charlotte whimpered at the touch, trying to brush it off as a laugh. I furrowed my brows. Just then, the morning breeze picked up, causing Charlotte's sleeve to fall to the side. She covered it up quickly, but not before I saw that the ivory skin of her forearm was littered with angry red burn marks.

"Charlotte!" I gasped, my instinct to grab her arm for a closer look. She winced, but I ignored her. My mind drifted to the fat man who was wobbling his way from the church building toward the parking lot, the scowl still etched onto his face. I glared at him in hatred.

"What has he done to you?"

"He's a little... eccentric. But it's nothing I can't handle," she murmured. "Besides, you're one to talk. Don't think I can't see that your nose is broken beneath that layer of concealer."

"Our situations aren't the same, Charlotte," I breathed. "Yes, James is a little rough. But it's not... this."

It was hard for me to keep my voice down. I wanted to scream, to yell at the old man for causing my friend such pain for no reason other than that he was a psychopath. What disturbing fetishes was he into that would result in marks like this?

"It is the same," she argued. "My husband abuses me, your husband abuses you. Almost every woman in Grayson has been beaten at some point. It's just the price of becoming a wife."

I shook my head. "This isn't some domestic dispute or a man putting a woman in her place. This is cruel and unnecessary. You need to tell someone!"

"No," she said firmly. "You know they won't believe me anyway. I won't risk ending up a No Name woman just because of a couple of burns."

I stared at her in disbelief. "I won't let him keeping doing this to you." I loved her too much to see her tortured this way. "If you don't tell someone, then I will."

She looked at me with scorching eyes. Anger danced in her dark irises, something I'd never seen on kind-hearted Charlotte before, and something that I hoped I would never see again.

"Don't make this more than it is, Mia," she said, pulling her arm from my hand. "It's my job to keep my husband happy. If seeing my pain is what he wants, well, then I guess that is what he will get. I'm fulfilling my duties as a wife, and I suggest you do the same," Charlotte said through gritted teeth.

She stormed out of the shadows and to the side of the old man who tripled her stature. Her eyes fell to the ground as he snarled vehemently at her, his face reddening with frustration as they headed for their car. He was mad at her, that much was clear, and I worried it was my fault for speaking with her.

I wanted to tell him to lay off, to burn his skin and see how much he liked it, but I feared being impulsive would only make Charlotte's situation worse.

Instead, I let out a sigh of frustration and went to find James. I was still annoyed with him, but my anger had ebbed after speaking with Charlotte. James looked like Prince Charming compared to Charlotte's husband.

We climbed into our vehicle and pulled out of the church parking, heading in the opposite direction of Charlotte and her husband. I longed to reach out to her, to save her from this cruel life she had been subjected to, but I knew it wasn't my place and that I would only put her in more danger if I intervened.

Though we were separated by distance, my mind went with Charlotte. The burn marks were etched into my mind as permanently as they had been burned into her skin. I vowed to watch out for her, to observe her closely in the coming weeks. If things worsened, I would step in, no matter the cost to my own life. I would get her out of this union, whether she liked it or not. Of course, that meant that I would have to find a way out of my own situation, an impossible feat in and of itself. 

Thank you for reading "Bound"! What do you think about James' back and forth behavior? And what about Charlotte's husband and his abusive behavior? Leave your thoughts below. And, as always, if you are enjoying the story thus far, don't forget to vote! :)