Thread: Levirate (Google and skittish_butterfly)

Constance was still on her hands and knees trying to tug Jacob's shoe off to ritually and religiously force him out of her life forever. Her bitter, blaspheming words still hung in the air like a bad smell that just wouldn't go away, yet her recklessness wouldn't have bothered her one bit were it not for Jacob's smug sanctimonious tones. If she offended her father or the First Elder, fine, so be it. Maybe it would wake them up from this stupid farce and remember they were talking about her, Constance, the little girl they'd both known since forever, and not some biblical sacrificial lamb. But Jacob... She could hear it in his tone of voice even without looking up from his stubborn shoe how he was staking out the religious and moral high ground, as if HE was the one who'd been born into this religion, sacrificed an entire childhood and almost tanked an entire education just to keep a father and brother clothed and fed like it was some holy duty to sacrifice everything for them. What had Jacob ever given to justify him acting so much holier than her, pretending with her father and the elder that he was begging for mercy when they couldn't see he was just MANIPULATING THEM into giving her to him! Constance gave a cry of frustration and pounded her fist into his hard shoe leather and then looked up from the floor as the first elder pulled her father back and the two men, the last men in the world she would ever turn to for help and yet the only two men she had left would could save her, turned to walk away talking about paperwork as if it was more important than her. Noooo!!!, nooo! I'm not his bride, don't go, you can't go, please! She was slumped on the floor watching them go, hitting the shoe that wouldn't come off, the shoe that was supposed to save her, over and over, her small fist having no effect at all. The two men weren't even looking at her. Her own father! Not that she should have any reason to expect anything else from such a rigidly religious man, who probably consulted the good book before calling the First Elder every morning to figure out which shoe to put on first. Footsteps on soft carpet. Her heart pounding and her own fading protestations as she heard them walking out. The bottom of the door sliding against the carpeting as it closed on the men's receding footsteps out in the hallway. And then the final slam of the door. And silence. She was alone with Jacob. Alone with that disgusting excuse for a human being, who somehow now had the fantasy firmly planted in his head that she was to be his bride. This had to stop. Constance loved God with all her heart and valued her religion, had made the hard sacrifices all her life to show it was true. So she felt qualified, more qualified than Jacob could ever be, to speak the truth to him, that this was a farce, an ancient ritual gone haywire in the hands of a vile snake with no respect for God or his dead brother, Rory. Rory. Why couldn't he have taken the later flight, why couldn't he be here to put a stop to this. He had always been her shield and protector, keeping religious craziness at a safe enough distance she could live her life and love God at the same time. The silence seemed to grow louder and louder in her ears with every heartbeat, as she stayed on the floor, afraid to look up at Jacob, as if that would somehow validate his crazed expectations. She pretended he wasn't in the room, that this had never happened, just waiting for him to disappear too, to realize how foolish this all was and leave. Silence but for the sound of fabric, Jacob's slacks shifting. Constance stared at the floor, aware from the way his shoes bent that he was crouching down, her face reddening even more hotly as she realized he wasn't leaving. The touch of his fingers at her chin, so much like Rory's and yet so utterly different, rough and uncaring, lifted her eyes from the floor. She glared back at him defiantly as he made his little speech, the one he'd probably been hashing over in his head for days or weeks as he hatched this little fantasy plot of his. She heard him out, how he'd thought she had been his 5 years earlier, how Rory had stolen her from him. Her answer was firm and quiet in its resolve, trying to sound like she was so much more controlled emotionally than she really felt. I was never yours, so no one could steal me from you, do you understand? And Rory was everything you are not, kind and understanding and so much more. I gave myself to him, he didn't take me, get it? I'm not a possession to be argued over, at least not in the real world outside this little religious context you seem to be obsessing over. Let it go, Jacob. I don't belong to you or anyone. My heart only belongs to Rory, and it went down in that plane with him. Her throat closed up, thinking of Rory and couldn't say anymore. He spoke a little more, a few last words, something about begging him. Beg you? She looked at him like he was insane. If I was going to beg anyone it would be my father and the First Elder, the ones who hold the real power here. You? You're nothing to me. I'll get them to come back, to make you give me your shoe.... Or... Or I'll make them give me a divorce right now, so you could have married me and then it would be over right away! See? You? You don't have any power here. I'll just... She looked around for her bag on the floor just out of reach against the couch, aiming to get her cell phone and call them back right away. Only as she forced her face free of his touch under her chin, Jacob's hand slipped up the side of her cheek and next thing she knew she was yelping in pain as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and it really HURT as he pulled on it, forcing her head all the way back and arching her neck uncomfortably just to keep her hair from being ripped out at the roots, or at least that's what it felt like. Her hands instinctively went to his, trying to claw free of his grip as she gasped at his feet. He was making her look up, staring at him as he rose from the crouch, still gripping her. And yes, she could see the shockingly large lump in his pants that he made no effort to politely conceal. Constance was no naive virgin, she'd been married to a loving man for 5 years and knew perfectly well what that was. She scowled at him, her hands still trying to get a hold of his strong wrist, to push his grip away from her hair. Let go you... you asshole! You're nothing compared to Rory! He would NEVER treat me like this! She gave a wicked bitter bark of a laugh, trying to wound him the way he was hurting her. I would never ma... He jerked on her hair, cutting her off as he pulled her face against his leg, making her cheek feel that hard bulge pressed against her, making her shriek with disgust. Her hands shifted from their failed attempt to free