The Book of David Read online

  The Book of David

  Kate L. Mary

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Kate L. Mary

  About the Author

  Published by Twisted Press, LLC, an independently owned company.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to person, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Kate L. Mary

  ISBN-13: 978-1725873513

  ISBN-10: 1725873516

  Cover Art by Kate L. Mary

  Edited by Lori Whitwam

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For Rebekah.

  Thanks for always believing in me.

  “It is the duty of the Daughters of David to serve their husbands, both in deed and thought. At no time should a wife question her husband, nor should she deny him access to her in any way. The Daughters of David should strive for obedience and submissiveness in all things.”

  -From The Book of David

  Chapter 1

  I have lived most of my life trapped behind walls. The outside world is a vast and wondrous place, but it’s something I’ll never have the chance to experience. I tried once, years ago, but the sting of failure was too great to risk trying again. I was born a Child of David, and I’ll die a Child of David. This shadow of a life is all I’ll ever know.

  My early years were spent in Southern Texas, although I can’t say I saw much of the state other than miles of flat, brown dust and a few tumbleweeds blowing across the dirt. There was nothing happy or carefree about my childhood, and the landscape and oppressive heat did nothing to improve it.

  It’s been nearly two years since the Children relocated. I have no idea what state we’re in now, and I doubt many other people in our community know either. Not that anyone would tell me even if they did. Wherever we are, it’s cooler here, and we’re no longer surrounded by the desolate nothingness of the desert. The dry, brown landscape I saw for the first sixteen years of my life has been replaced by green. Trees surround us on all sides, and our community is tucked neatly in the shadow of an enormous mountain, giving the impression it’s watching over us. Mount David is what we call it, although I doubt anyone in the outside would do the same. I know just enough about that world to realize not much of what happens here would mirror it.

  I close my eyes when memories, sharp and painful, come back to me and turn my face up, allowing the warm water from the shower to wash over me. It doesn’t rinse the images or feelings away, and it does nothing to soothe the pain. If anything, the ache inside me intensifies as I think about how much time I have left. Three weeks. That’s it. Then my birthday will come, and the destiny Father David thrust upon me three years ago will be finalized.

  The pain and uncertainty press down on me from all sides as I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. Nothing can block out the memories of my fifteenth birthday, and the heat from the shower seems to burn the images into my brain even more. I can’t escape them no matter how hard I try. If I thought I could get away with it, I’d drown myself in this shower, along with the memories. It’s impossible, though. Father David is worse than a puppet master, pulling the strings of my life until I can’t do a thing but dance for him.

  My eyes are still closed when I turn the shower off.

  The small room is thick with steam when I step out, and I take a deep breath, allowing the dense air to fill my lungs and warm my insides. Even though it’s difficult to inhale, I savor it. It makes me feel alive, a sensation I don’t get to experience very often.

  When I crack the bathroom door, chilly air seeps through the opening, enveloping me in its cool embrace and causing goose bumps to rise on my arms. I run my hand across the mirror above the sink, wiping away the steam and condensation collected there. Drops of water make their way down the smooth surface, forming little beads at the bottom before falling onto the counter below. Envy swirls through me when they hit the counter, but I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because they have reached their destination, or perhaps it’s because they’ve reached their end. Both sound equally good to me. Anything is better than where I am now.

  When I lift my gaze to the mirror, the reflection staring back at me feels like a stranger. Who am I? That question has popped into my head more and more lately, but no matter how many times I stare at myself, I can’t come up with a satisfactory answer. Because the truth is, I am no one, and if Father David has his way, that will never change.

  An ache pulses through me, growing in intensity the longer I stare at myself. I look away, hoping to ease the pain, and instead focus on brushing out my long, red hair. My gaze moves over the freckles dotting my snowy skin, and I begin to count. It keeps my mind focused on things other than Father David and my betrothal. It keeps me from looking in the mirror, from focusing on the broken person in front of me.

  I am not a believer. I don’t believe Father David has a direct link to God, and I don’t believe my betrothal was some kind of divine blessing. I don’t know why Father David chose me, but I’m not foolish enough to think it has anything to do with God or some divine purpose I’m destined to fulfill.

  “Willow!” Mother’s voice penetrates the silence surrounding me, and I jump.

  I wrap a towel around my body and press my hand against my chest, trying to control my heart. It doesn’t work—most likely because it was already pounding before she startled me—so I push the bathroom door open the rest of the way. When I step into the hall, the greasy scent of bacon hits me, and my stomach growls. I need to hurry and get dressed so I have time to eat before going to work.

  “I’m out of the shower,” I call as I head for my room.

  “I need you to come here,” my mother says. “Now!”

  Her voice jumps at the last word, and my heart goes with it, moving at a pace that would make a hummingbird envious. Mother never yells, and it’s rare for her voice to reach above a whisper. Something must be wrong.

  I change directions, and when I round the corner, my heart stutters and threatens to stop. My knees wobble until I’m not sure how they’re still holding me up, and ice coats my veins while the temperature in the room skyrockets, covering me in a layer of sweat that feels oddly frosty. David, my betrothed and the only son of Father David, is standing in the living room with his back to me.

  Having this man in my house is never pleasant, but it’s a special kind of torture when I’m not dressed. He turns my way, and his eyes rake over me, and every muscle in my body tightens and turns to stone. I’m a statue carved out of fear.

  David tucks his chin-length brown hair behind his ear and flashes me a smile. It’s his father’s smile, soft and welcoming as long as you don’t focus on his brown eyes. They never smile. He isn’t as
tall as his father, only about two inches taller than my five foot seven frame, but he’s just as lean and muscular. Just as good-looking. Just as able to trap people with his charm.

  He walks toward me with a plastic smile still on his face, and my eyes are drawn to the stubble dotting his chin. He’s never clean-shaven like the other men in the community, and I know if I live to be two hundred years old, I’ll never be able to forget how scratchy his stubble felt against my skin. Every hair on my arms stands up when David stops in front of me, less than a foot away. Too close. He’s so attractive, yet so repulsive at the same time. It seems like an impossible contradiction, but I can’t ignore the shudder that moves through me.

  His eyes roam my body, hugging every curve. When his lips part, his tongue darts out, moistening them like he’s preparing to kiss me. Another tremor shoots down my spine, and my head screams at me to run, but my legs won’t cooperate. I tug on the towel, willing it to grow larger, to cover more of my flesh.

  “Willow, David came to see if you would join him for dinner tonight.” My mother’s timid tone has returned, and as usual, she’s oblivious to the paralyzing fear surging through me.

  A lump the size of Mt. David clogs my throat, but I manage to nod. There’s no way to get out of having dinner with David. This is my future. This man, standing in front of me, undressing me with his eyes like I’m a gift he can’t wait to unwrap.

  David steps closer and licks his lips again, and my stomach churns. “I thought we could have a private meal and discuss our future.”

  I try to swallow around the chunk of rock lodged in my throat. Try to find words. It’s impossible.

  My mother frowns, and her eyebrows pull together. She wrings her hands but doesn’t speak.

  I once again search for my voice and manage to stammer, “That sounds nice.”

  When he smiles, the sensations from that night hit me, coming out of nowhere. It’s like I’m fifteen again, and David’s hands are on me. Groping me. Burning my skin with their clumsy touch. He’s heavy, holding me down with his sweaty body. His stubble scratches my face and my body, leaving me raw and sore. It still hurts.

  My lungs tighten. I can’t get air. I don’t want to remember, so I close my eyes. My head swims, and little beads of sweat form on my upper lip. I have to lean against the wall as I try to keep myself steady, but my legs only grow weaker.

  When I open my eyes, David is closer. I can’t look away from his lips. The corner turns up even more, and he sucks his lower lip into his mouth. We are so close now. His stubble taunts me. It scratches my skin from a foot away. He isn’t even trying to hide his roaming eyes. I tug at the towel again, trying to stretch the material so it covers more of me. It doesn’t work. My knuckles grow white, and my hands ache from clenching them so tightly. David takes another step, and the world begins to close in on me. The room heats up, and I can’t breathe. My entire body is drenched in sweat, and the wall behind me feels like it’s slipping away as darkness begins to wrap its fingers around my vision, making it impossible to stand up straight. Fighting hard to remain conscious, I try to regulate my breathing. Taking slow, deep breaths in and out. Focusing on each mouthful of air. In the distance, somewhere far away and intangible, David says something. I can’t focus on the words as the world around me grows more and more hazy, but the sound of his voice is enough to make my knees buckle. I claw at the wall, trying to hold myself up, and a hand wraps around my arm, causing more memories to shoot back. I want to scream or run or hide, but I can’t escape.

  Darkness, thick and welcome, closes in, and I don’t try to stop it. It is my only relief.

  My mother is hovering over me when I open my eyes, frowning. I blink. My brain is heavy, like it’s underwater, and nothing makes sense. I’m in bed, but I don’t know why. And I can’t figure out why she’s staring at me like this.

  Then it hits me. David.

  I bolt upright, searching for him with wide, frantic eyes. I don’t want him in my room. This is my space. The one area of my life he hasn’t managed to spoil. He isn’t welcome here.

  The world spins, and my mother puts her hands on my shoulders, gently pushing me back down. “Don’t try to sit up, Willow.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “You passed out. You need to rest.”

  “David…” It’s all I can get out.

  The rest sticks in my throat. I’m too terrified to speak. Just like I always am when he’s around. I hate being this weak; hate not being able to stand up for myself.

  There was a time when I was strong. When I had plans to escape. When I thought I would one day be able to grab something real for myself. Then David swooped into my life and changed everything. He is my one weakness, and I can’t be in his presence without freezing in terror. Every time he talks to me, my body shuts down as images and feelings come back, crippling me. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to make myself move. I hate him.

  “David’s gone,” my mother says in a voice so devoid of emotion she sounds dead. “He carried you in here and put you to bed. He was so worried about you, but he couldn’t stay. He said he would come back later to check on you.” She brushes the hair off my forehead, and I fight the urge to push her hand away. “He cares about you so much.”

  Her touch isn’t a sign of affection. That’s something she’s never shown me. She’s never hugged me or said she loves me, and I can’t remember a single instance, even when I was a small child, when I knew with certainty that she wanted me around. I used to work hard to please her. To try to earn her love. I gave up on that three years ago. The bitterness living in me now overshadows my desire for affection. All of this is her fault. She’s weak, and it has destroyed my life.

  Looking her in the eye makes my stomach churn, so I turn away. My gaze stops on the towel crumpled up on the floor. That’s when it hits me.

  I’m naked.

  Revulsion clenches my stomach. I suck in a deep breath, and then blow it out, trying to push away the nausea. David carried me to my room. I wasn’t dressed, but of course, my mother didn’t bat an eye. Because he is my betrothed.

  Bile rises in my throat, and I break into a cold sweat. I struggle against it, breathing slowly as the queasiness builds. But like everything else in my life, I am powerless to fight it.

  Springing to my feet, I push my mother aside and dash to the bathroom, thankful it’s just across the hall. I slam the door behind me and fall to my knees in front of the toilet just as the gagging starts. I retch, heaving over and over again, totally emptying my stomach. It doesn’t take long. I haven’t eaten yet today.

  When I’ve finished, I flush the toilet and sink to the floor, curling up into a ball. Naked and spent. Miserable. Alone. I close my eyes in a desperate attempt to block out the memories, but no matter how hard I try to push them away, they refuse to obey.

  Chapter 2

  A birthday is a happy event in the outside world. Or that’s what I’ve heard. In here, we don’t celebrate much, and the anniversary of a person’s birth gets little to no attention. Not that my mother would have thought to do anything to mark the day, anyway. Before my fifteenth birthday, the most I’d ever received was a quiet acknowledgement that I had gained another year.

  Fifteen was different, though. It was the day of my betrothal ceremony, the day God would bless me as a Daughter of David. At least according to Father David.

  With the exception of excited whispers between teenage girls, I honestly hadn’t given it much thought. I’d looked forward to my betrothal with the kind of excited nervousness that should mark any major event in a person’s life, but had never considered what it would mean in the big picture. Never thought about how it would feel to be matched with a boy I didn’t know, had never spoken to. Never thought about the ceremony beyond the white dress I would wear and the flowers I would hold.

  That all changed on the night of my fifteenth birthday. Right along with everything else.

  My mother made me a lovely white lace dress and veil for the occasion. The
y were the only nice things I had ever owned, and I can remember with perfect clarity how beautiful I felt wearing them. The lace covering my body helped mask my fear, and the small bouquet gave me something to hold onto that felt much bigger than a bunch of wildflowers. I found myself excited, as if I were with my best friend, Angela, whispering about my betrothal and speculating who I would be matched with.

  The excitement didn’t last long.

  When it was time for the ceremony to begin, all the Children gathered in the worship hall, and I stood in front of them, right between my mother and Father David. That’s when some of the fear came back, standing with the eyes of the entire community on me, really seeing the monotony of it all for the first time.

  The outside world had always intrigued me, but I’d never given it much thought. Never had the opportunity since I knew so little about the world beyond the fence. At that moment, though, staring out over the crowd, I had an overwhelming sense that there had to be more. More life, more choices, more to see and do and be. More than being promised to a stranger on my fifteenth birthday.

  More than the words of Father David.

  The blasphemous thought entered my head only seconds before he started talking, and as he read the story of the betrothal, it was all I could think about. Every word that slipped past his lips seemed to slam into me, seemed to make my legs tremble more, had me gripping my flowers tighter.