Under His Rule

And she walks off into the dancing crowd as though this is her destiny, while I’m left wondering why anyone would choose this willingly. But they don’t know any better. This is how it always went, how it’ll always be in their community.

But this will never be a home for me.

“C’mon, let’s enjoy the celebration,” Emmy says, hooking her arm in mine.

“No.” I shake her off.

“Why not? There’s no need to be afraid. Nothing will happen.”

I must look bewildered, but I don’t care. “What if some man tries to grab me? Tries to fuck me?” I can barely get the words out of my mouth without choking.

She laughs. “No, silly. You’re still an initiate. They only touch you once they’re allowed.”

“Who allows this?”

She points at all the patriarchs in the chair. At the man who has chained me up and put me in this position. The man who decides my fate. Noah.

It’s him and all of them who will make me submit to a man who will take from me what I don’t want to give.

“They bless all the rituals that take place here at the ceremony,” Emmy says. “Now enough talking. Let’s have a drink.” She grabs my hand and drags me into the crowd, away from the doors, until they’re blocked by bodies, and I can no longer find an exit among the sea of people dancing and fucking about.

It’s maddening, completely insane, and all I can do is drink and watch while the cheers around me lull me into believing this is what’s supposed to happen.

Indoctrination never happens suddenly.

It moves slowly, creeping up on you like a snake underneath your blanket, slithering up your body until you wake up and discover it’s too late to stop it from biting you in the neck.

And I can feel his eyes bore into me right now.

The patriarch, Noah, watching my every move like a snake, waiting to strike.

When the night is over—and about twenty to thirty people have fucked like rabbits, covering the floor in a mixture of spilled drinks, sweat, and cum—the patriarchs stand, and everyone stops what they’re doing. All of the fucking people line up.

One of the patriarchs points at a woman. Then another one. In the end, six of them point at two or three people each, all of whom glow with the biggest of smiles. The only one who doesn’t pick is Noah, who only seems to want to stare at me. I don’t know if it is to make me feel uncomfortable or to always remind me of his presence, but it’s working and he knows.

The patriarchs walk off stage, including Noah, who throws me a final glance before everyone exits through a different door than the one we came in through. The people they pointed at are escorted through that same door by a few elders.

The rest of us go back through the showers.

Emmy hooks her arm through mine again. “That was amazing, wasn’t it?”

I don’t respond. Instead, I ask, “What was that pointing for?”

“That’s part of the ritual. The people who are picked are especially blessed by patriarchs.”

“They went with them,” I say.

“Yes,” she says. “The patriarchs will bestow them with love them now.”

“But … didn’t they just get married?” I ask. “Shouldn’t they be together now as husband and wife?”

She gives me huge smile, which unsettles me to my core. “It is a husband’s honor to share his wife with a patriarch after she’s no longer untouched. If the baby ends up being from a patriarch instead of her husband, then she was blessed in the purest of ways.”

My eyes widen, and my heart stops.

“Sharing … as in … fucking?”

Her final nod is like a final nail in the coffin.

She giggles. “I pray this will also happen to both me and you!”

Chapter 11

Noah

I hate this night.

I hate it with all my guts because this night is the only one where my father brings women into his home. Women who look like my mother … but can’t ever measure up to her.

But it doesn’t matter to him. As long as he gets his fix, he’s happy.

Despicable.

“Are you sure you don’t want one?” my father asks as he totes another woman on his arm.

A woman who just got married by right to another man. He fucked her first, claimed her first, gave her a child …

And now my father will besmirch all of it in the name of the Lord. He picked her out of all the girls that participated in a ritual during the ceremony. I pity her for having to put up with him tonight.

“No, thanks,” I say, waving it off.

“C’mon, at least have a drink with us,” he says, holding up his glass while the woman pours him another. They’re so devoted and look happy when they serve him, but I know it’s just a farce.