It's a while before the blankets and furs are cleaned to Young Andrew's satisfaction. I've told him as little as I can get away with about my family -- about how my sister is getting married soon and my parents have spent a fortune on the wedding, but no specifics about where we live and what anyone does because, frankly, the man scares me. I should be angry with him but I'm far too scared and I don't know why.
Under instruction, with lots of gratuitous "my doves," I lay out the bedding on the dry part of the bank to dry and then, again as instructed, I walk naked back into the pool.
He also instructs me while I wash, about what to wash and how at each stage, while he gets visibly more excited. It only serves to make me feel sicker.
I find bruises I can't explain on my upper arms and hips. I feel more on my neck and shoulders that I can't see. Well, I can come up with explanations, none of them good, I just have no memory of them.
This is not me.
"Enough, my dove," says this Young Andrew, "come and join me in the sun."
The sky is still overcast.
I step backwards, despite the fact that I initially raised my foot to step forwards without thought.
"It's nice here in the water," I say.
I paste a smile on my face. I don't particularly want it to be tempting but it may be the difference between more bruises and some peace.
"Come here," he says.
He's no longer smiling and charming.
I step back, slowly, until the water comes to my shoulders.
"Come here," he says again.
I can't speak. I shake my head instead of saying, "No."
"Be careful where you step," he says. "You're not the first girl to think she can ignore me and you won't be the first to die for it. I wouldn't want you to hurt your tender little feet on the broken bones hidden under the water."
I struggle to speak over the sick feeling in my stomach and then I manage to secure that smile on my face say, "I only meant why don't you come in? It's nice here in the water."
Oddly, he doesn't need asking twice. He's naked and charging to join me in the water faster than I can take in the visuals. The nauseous feeling gets worse but I tell myself it's ok. I'm about to sort it all out.
Hands grab my neck first and then move down to my hips.
He whispers in my ear, "Don't ever disobey me again, my dove. I shall let this one pass because you turn out to be right but never do it again."
"Of course not," I say with forced softness.
He kisses me.
I fight the fear-weakness and bite his lip. I raise both legs at once, one knee aimed for the obvious place and the other foot aimed for an ankle because at least one of those should make him lose his grip and his balance.
He tries to step back, fold and voice his pain at the same time. It doesn't end well.