"Excerpt from Personal Obsession" by Robbin P

 

It was like he knew I was leaving that night. I could’ve sworn I heard him talking to himself about what to do now that I wasn’t sold. He couldn't just get rid of me, because his entire reputation was on the line. All of the merchants would know by morrow that this home would still be occupied by my god-forbidding presence. I am still stuck between being embarrassed by him and being afraid of him. Poor guy couldn’t even get two shillings for me. Katalina was taken from us just two months ago when the market opened for spring. “Competition Season” was held from March 2nd to May 2nd every year. If you weren’t chosen or bought in that time frame, consider yourself dead in the next three days. My sister was probably in a wealthy mansion, draped in expensive silk, and drowning in tears for being stuck with a 46 year old man for the rest of her life. I think I would rather be dead than living the life she was forced into. I got out of the window without making a single creak. The midnight market was home for us. Atlas and Milan met me approximately 48 steps down the street. We dare not to talk until we reach the entrance gate of the market. One whisper in the alley is forbidden unless you’re a merchant of women. We chose to separate tonight to cover as much ground as possible. I need as many jewels as I can possibly find. The boat for the Pacific Channel leaves tomorrow at 1400. About an hour and half rushes by when Milan comes to me with an embezzled knife. The muscles construed her face to make me believe that she didn’t purchase this possession; she stole it. Atlas is pacing near the gates, waiting for us. I take as long of strides as I need because running will get us hunted. With the knife in my bag and Milan behind me, we reach the entrance and get out without a single man suspecting us. These Saturday nights are filled with lads and ladies and children all alike. It is the best time to slip through the cracks without being seen. We walk home at a steady pace without speaking again. Atlas signs at me, “Be careful.” I signed back, “He won’t have a clue.” I watch them walk through the front door of their home. No parent occupies their company anymore. I climb up the brick wall beside my window and slide right through only to find him on my bed with his glass bottle perched against his leg. “Where were you?” he said with no expression of anger. I refuse to answer and walk through my bedroom door. I hear him throw the bottle at the wall, obviously drunk and irritated now.  The liquid seeps down the stairs I am descending and my back gets struck with a faux-leather belt that feels too familiar to me. The scar on my back throbs as I lose my balance and speed up my steps to get out of the front door before he gets the chance to hit me again. I hear his heavy steps rushing behind me and a pull at my left wrist as if the joint itself is yanked off. I am pulled against him and try my best to make no effort in talking or making eye contact. I kick his legs and his grip loosens allowing me to reach for my bag and pull out my stolen weapon. I use my right hand to slice the knife as hard as physically possible without committing a murder I cannot afford right now. His chest gets cut and blood seeps the tip of the knife. I use the split second he takes to react to run out of the door and sprint to Milan and Atlas' house. I push open the door for help and protection only to see Atlas over Milan, her foaming at the mouth. His hands are red and her neck is shaking while her eyes are spilling tears. I look at Altas. He forms his hands to sign, “I didn’t do it.”