I spent a few days in my bathroom curled over the toilette. My stomach refused to untangle, and I wasn't sure if it was sickness or fear.

Every time I heard the door open I looked up, hoping to see Randall so I could demand my meds back. But it was only ever silent guards there to rub creme on my face, so the swelling wouldn't be as noticeable.

The next couple of months I spent mostly confined to the house, only being allowed to leave on certain pre approved appointments.

Mostly it was to have something done to my hair, skin or nails to make me more presentable. I spent enough time at the Lux Salon that I became a recognized face amongst the employees.

My usual girl Sara was always waiting for me with a smile. Partially because of how much we'd "bonded", and partially because of the hefty tip she was given to not mention how many of my bruises she had to put creme on.

I wanted to hate her for it, I really did, but I couldn't bring myself to. At least someone was getting something good out of the whole situation.

But I'd developed a level of comfort with her many tattoos, dyed black hair, and copious amounts of cleavage that I'd grown used to staring deeply into as she worked on my nails. In some ways, her peppy voice just made me feel like a normal girl getting her nails done.

Even if it wasn't true. I just kept telling myself it was better than being at the house.

When I was in public where the world functioned normally around me I felt average and unimportant, which was refreshing compared to the constant scrutiny I was under behind closed doors.

But the hardest part was having to keep up appearances. To have to laugh with my sister as she accompanied me to the salon, where my nails were painted a color I didn't choose and my hair got dyed a shade I didn't like. Or when I had to hold Randalls hand in front of my parents and insist on how in love we were. It all felt like acid burning the back of my throat.

A month before the wedding I got lip fillers, which were supposedly for my birthday, but they weren't my idea.

"They need a bit of improving." He'd said, holding me by the chin and examining my face closely.

My sister went with me to the appointment, thoroughly entertained by my new lavish lifestyle. She sat in a chair next to me while the needle was stuck in my lips over and over until they were plump and swollen, taking pictures and posting them online, insisting on how lucky I was.

When she said she wanted them to Randall laughed and said he would get them for her when she turned 18, which warranted a glare from me. But he only smiled in return. This was fun for him.

Unsurprisingly, my parents had been less than pleased with my sudden decision to drop out of school.

Actually, it could be more appropriately categorized as disbelief. Randomly marrying an old man they'd never heard of before was apparently very out of character for me. Go figure.

I could still remember the look on my dad's face as he sat uncomfortably on Randall's white couch. Like he wasn't even looking at me anymore like I was a different person in his eyes. Which made my heart sink.

I wished I could tell him that I was trapped. I wished I could tell anybody, to get this giant secret outside of myself for one minute. But there was no one I could really talk to.

The only good times were when my family would come to visit. Being able to sit next to my mom and Cameron as they got all the free pampering their hearts could desire made it worth it in some way.

Especially if the alternative put them in danger. It was better this way.

The wedding got closer and closer, like an impending doomsday. Once that day happened it would be all over for me. I could kiss any remnants of freedom goodbye.

And I still never saw Peter. If he was even still hidden somewhere in the large house, it wasn't in a place I had any hope of getting to.

And, as much as I didn't want to believe it, Randall's words had begun to infect my mind every time I thought about Peter. I couldn't argue that he was fading, being eaten up by the dark side. But the idea that the sweet Peter I knew had never even been real, that we'd been doomed from the start, was what truly killed me.

As the wedding day drew closer all Randall ever said to me was that I should smile. It didn't even occur to me that I never did anymore. But every time I saw him he would take my face in his hands and ask me why I'm not smiling.

I wasn't sure if he was delusional or just trying to be even more of an asshole than usual. It was hard to tell.

The morning of the wedding was long. All of the planning had been done outside of me, which I was perfectly okay with, but this was the part of the event I couldn't avoid.

I was woken up by a flurry of people who pulled me out of bed and downstairs to an idling limo.

I was barely even awake by the time we got to the convention center. Of course, he'd rented out the whole thing. I didn't think just one person could even do that.

I was ushered into a back room that was set up to do makeup and hair for the whole wedding party. Dresses were hung on wheeled racks and makeup counters were set up, each with its own personal stylist.

But before I could even get that good of a look at what everyone else looked like I was pushed into another smaller room right off the main one.

Inside was a singular makeup counter and a big white dress wrapped in a plastic cover. My stomach twisted at the sight of it.

I changed into just my underwear and a silk robe before I sat down in front of the mirror.

I was left alone with two stylists so my mom and sister could get ready, which was kind of a relief.

We were all friendly, but I was quiet as they did my makeup and hair. There wasn't much to say, I just wanted the day to be over with.

I was afraid to mention that I was hungry, at the risk of sounding obnoxious, but luckily for me, someone brought in some coffee and pastries for us all to nibble on whilst they were getting me ready.

"Smile honey," One of the men said, "It's your wedding day!"

I gave him a tight grin and wished I had the energy to make it more believable. Maybe after more coffee.

"Don't worry," a woman said with a warm smile, "Everybody gets jitters."

I nodded and they went back to messing with my hair and idly chatting.

It all passed in a blur, mostly because I wasn't paying any attention to what was happening to me.

I didn't even look up until my heard the excited squeals of my mother and sister behind me. Turning around I saw them barreling towards me in matching silky red dresses.

"You look so beautiful!" My mom looked close to tears as kept herself from playing with my soft loose curls.

"Thanks," I said, venturing a look at myself in the mirror. I did look great I couldn't deny that. And if my face carried any speck of happiness, I would have looked beautiful.

"Are you okay?" She asked. It was the first time I'd seen her show concern. But I'd also lost the ability to pick my face up off the floor.

I mustered up some energy and turned up the corners of my mouth, "Of course, I'm just nervous."

She smiled warmly and rubbed my back.

I turned back around to look at my reflection again. My stylists were standing off to the side admiring their work.

"It looks great," I said.

"Don't you mean you look great?" The man asked, laughing a little.

I nodded and then looked back down at my lap.

After a few more minutes of them messing with my hair and showering me with compliments, it was time for them go help me into my dress.

It was a long complicated process and the dress kind of felt half way between a gurtel and a box of packing peanuts.

Once it was on my heart seemed to lock itself into constant tachycardia. It was really happening.

Everyone was making a fuss over how I looked, as was natural. The dress was nice, probably designed specifically for me.

I'd tried on a few dresses a couple months before, but hadn't really cared to remember any of them. I hated the princessy dresses he'd picked out, and this one wasn't any different.

My mother was next to me, pulling and adjusting at the sturdy material. But as she was messing with things I felt her hand wrap around my wrist and bring it up to her face.

"That's odd." She adjusted my ring a little bit to reveal a dark strip of skin where it used to sit, "He doesn't seem like the type to buy cheap jewelry."

I yanked my hand away, quickly realizing how strange that reaction was.

"I'm probably just having a reaction to it," I said, adjusting the ring back over the streak of rough skin. I made sure to smile at her weakly.

"Would you like to have a moment alone?" My mother asked, whipping her eyes so she wouldn't smear her mascara.

"Yes," I said it a bit too fast, but everyone filed out quickly so at least it did the trick.

When the door closed behind them I stood silently for a minute, feeling the weight of the strapless gown push me into the floor. I wanted to melt into it, to not be here anymore.

I glanced in the mirror a few times but winced. I looked like a bride, and it was weird. I didn't feel how I'd always imagined it would, for obvious reasons.

I just felt like a kid being forced to play dress up at gun point.

There was a soft knock behind me and I couldn't help but audibly groan.

"Oh, sorry." A voice said from the doorway.

My back stiffened. I knew that voice.

Whirling around I could barely believe what I saw.

The person who closed the door between us and the rest of the world was wearing a tailored black suit with a red tie. His hair was cut, not short necessarily, but shorter than I'd ever seen it, and styled expertly. His face was clean shaven, and although he still didn't look completely healthy, his face had filled out some since the last time I'd seen it.

I didn't even say anything, I just ran forward, my dress dragging loudly on the floor.

I threw my arms around him and kissed him, almost convinced that if I hesitated for even a second he would disappear again.

He laughed into my mouth and pulled back just enough to say, "You're going to ruin your makeup."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes, "I don't care."

He seemed to consider this for a second before saying, "Nah, I don't care either."

With that I felt his hands run up my back until his fingers brushed over my bare skin. It was strange to be touched in such a soft, unintentional way. There was no hitting, no bruise cremes, no hair dye; it was just touching for the sake of touching.

He pulled me to him as much as the dress would allow. I was fully prepared to take the dress off to remedy that situation, but he pulled away before I could begin that process.

"Before we get too far into this," he breathed, "I have to give this to you."

He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and placed it in my hand. I hesitantly unlatched myself from his to unfold it.

There was just one question.

Will you smile for me now?