Nora
When I wake, I am alone in Holden’s bedroom. There is a moment of peace when I first open my eyes. A moment where reality hasn’t set in. I am free. I am Nora. Then, the moment is gone. I am Holden’s. I have not seen Lotte since he let me out. I have not heard her little voice either. Unsure what to do, I lay in the bed and stare at the ceiling.
“Time to get up, sleepyhead.” Holden’s voice startles me. I curl into a ball. “Nope. There are chores to do. Gotta get up.” He grabs my arm and pulls. I sit up sharply and yank my arm away. Holden seems offended by this. He stomps from the room and returns with a laundry basket of clothes. He drops the basket at my feet. “You’re on laundry duty.”
He leaves me and the laundry promptly. When I hear the cabin door slap shut, I stand. Something heavy pulls at my foot. There is a cuff around my ankle with a chain attached to it. Am I supposed to pretend it’s business as usual? Is this some sort of sick prank? Leaving the basket, I walk into the living room. The chain dragging behind me. I pick up the slack in my hand and yank. It’s attached somewhere in the bedroom. I walk outside. Holden is nowhere to be found. It reaches the well but that is as far as it goes. I look around. Everything looks the same. Beauty. Nature. Peace. But I can’t appreciate any of it. I go into my old room. Nothing is there. Frowning, I head back into the house and straight to Holden’s room. Next to the laundry basket on the floor, my books are stacked. I yank open a drawer in the dresser. My clothes are folded neatly inside.
I scream.
The tree Lotte sits in is covered by a rampant, bright green vine. I square my shoulders and tilt my chin in feigned strength of mind as I approach. I drop the laundry pile at the base of the wash bin. Using the washboard and a pre-allotted amount of detergent, I start scrubbing.
“I can help,” Lotte says. I ignore her. “Please, Nora. I’m sorry.” The chain at my ankle clanks and I flinch at the sound. I am tired. Holden makes me sleep in his bed each night. He does not touch me. But I cannot sleep knowing he is so close.
“You knew,” I spit. Lotte jumps down from her branch and kneels next to me.
Her voice is low and fast. “I knew. I am sorry. What could I do to stop it?”
I look to her, incredulous. “You could have told me before. Long before. I could have waited until a trip in town and run. I could have gone to the police.”
Lotte looks like she might laugh. “No. It wouldn’t have worked. I know. I’ve been here a long time.”
“Been here? Of course. He’s your brother. Where else would you have been?”
She schools her features and looks away. “I am sorry, Nora, but we can figure out how to get away. You and me.”
“You want to leave your family?”
She sighs. “Wouldn’t you?” she says into the wind.
The late summer sun comes up and goes back down. My sore feet protest as they carry me across the yard. The ropes from the buckets of water, rub my palms raw. I keep my eyes on the porch. The goal. Keep your eye on the prize, Aubry always said. When I reach it, water sloshes over the top of the buckets in a mini waterfall. The door squeaks open and small feet appear before me.
“Whatever he says, just do it.” Confusion is nothing new at this point but I don’t see how Lotte has survived here. I nod to her. She’s doing what she can. It’s written in her posture, her voice and her expression. The chain shackled to my ankle rubs the skin raw. It allows me from the cabin to the well and the wash basin. “My name is Nora,” I whisper to no one. My skirt sways against my slender calves. Lotte carries in one bucket of water, sets it on the woodstove and immediately clings to my skirt, like a toddler. I place a hand on the back of her neck, two fingers wrap to the spot where her pulse thumps. Her inhale is audible. Knowing she lives, knowing I am alive—it soothes her. She is not the enemy. She needs protection, too.
I am simply a maid. I do what Holden demands. My body aches. My vision blurs frequently. He doesn’t feed me enough. I am fatigued and weak most days.
For weeks, I am nothing but a slave. I do all the household chores. He dresses me each morning and undresses me each night. He does not touch me but some nights I can feel his erection pressed against my backside in bed. He prepares us for winter, he says, because it takes a lot to survive. I don’t know if I will. He says it will take all fall to get ready. I don’t think I will be here that long.
When I protest a chore, I am punished. Today, I refused to be his pawn. I refused his request and now Holden stands behind me, when I try and turn to see him, I feel the sharp bite of his belt against my buttocks. A plate dropped from my hand and broke in the sink. Holden was not pleased about it. The sting of the lash tells me just how angry he is with me. I feel his hand caressing my bare backside in tender strokes. Then the bite of the belt again. I flinch and grit my teeth with each lash. Tears stream down my face. First the sting, then the tender caress. It hurts. “Stop squirming or I won’t stop.”
“Why?” I sob.
“Pain is my pleasure, Nora.”
“This is sick! Twisted and vicious. Violent,” I yell. The belt cracks against my skin.
“You.” he whips me again. “Will.” And again. I squeal in pain. “Learn.” Again with the belt. No more caresses. “To need it.”
The last crack against my skin makes my vision blur and go white. Sounds distort, a ringing in my ears and I pass out. It’s not until a cool washcloth is pressed against my burning backside, that I realize what truly petrified me. I covet his attention—good or bad. It is strange to live with two people but not really interact. I am alone, despite people near. Holden keeps Charlotte and me separated often. I crave interaction. I crave Holden’s attention. He is the only other adult in this isolated homestead. It is wrong and I know it but it is necessary. Without interaction, I feel the beginnings of my mind slipping away.