Refrain from anger and turn from wrath; do not fret—it leads only to evil- Psalm 37:8
The residual pain of the marks that were left on her skin did not hurt as much as the looks that the community levelled at her.
After twenty-five years of living in their space, Dahlia still could not get used to the communal judgement dished out at those they perceived as imperfect.
And to be fair she should have.
The community showed her long ago what they really thought of her and her mother's outsider status in their carefully crafted environment.
Neveah had been a convert. Their leader had been drawn to the nondescript strip club that she waitressed at and, as her mother described it, it was faith at first sermon.
She'd quit her job and moved to the sanctuary and would later become the leaders' third and final wife.
To this day, Dahlia did not have a firm grasp on understanding why the people in their community didn't welcome her with open arms. She suspected it might have had something to do with how she looked; not the colour of her skin, but rather how her body encouraged an excess they superficially rejected.
She felt this rejection as she walked through their land, underscored by a malicious glee that she had fallen from grace.
And it burned and cut deeper than the scars on her back.
Despite her pain, Dahlia was on a mission. A righteous voyage that would right a lot of wrongs that led to her public penance.
Ruye was the common denominator, the catalyst, the central malicious entity.
She had brainwashed and harmed her Husband for years and it was up to Dahlia to slay the dragon, in her husband's inability to do so.
What was a marriage if not an endless cycle of humble ventures to defeat each other's problems?
Her Husband taught her to be submissive, pious, and domestic; the three key features of a real woman.
Ruye was none of these.
And yet her Husband delighted in her company, if the vigour with which he took her was any indication.
At the thought Dahlia's ordered steps faltered. Did she really have any moral claim to reprimand Ruye's actions?
After all, her extracurricular endeavours with the demon in her bathroom, was not characteristic of a loving Christian wife.
Nowhere in the Scriptures told her to let a sex demon repeatedly thrust his finger into her and suckle on her heavy breasts, until she lost consciousness to be closer to their God. If anything, their deity would be vehemently against such actions.
It didn't matter though; she was not like Ruye, she loved her Husband. The demon was a fever dream of an overactive artistic mind.
Astutely ignoring the window, she stood at to watch her Husband take another woman, she strode to Ruye's front door and began an incessant knock that would irritate even the dead.
A dishevelled Ruye opened her door, aiming an unimpressed look at Dahlia's heaving form.
"I was waiting for you. I should have known you would pick the most in opportune time to visit."
"I need to have a word with you Ruye."
"I suspect it will be more than one word but do come in."
Tentatively, as if expecting a den of inequity, Dahlia stepped into the house and started as the door clicked close behind her.
"Do you want tea? I have peppermint, chamomile, and lemon grass. I also have vodka and by any indication of the righteous anger on your face, I do think we will need that instead."
Affronted, Dahlia admonished her bold misbehaviour,
"We are women, Ruye. We do not indulge in spirits."
"Right, I forgot you were a conformist," replied the other woman and she poured herself a healthy finger of alcohol. "Well, to some extent anyway." Ruye included as she pointedly looked at the bandage around her back.
An unmatched man interrupted Dahlia's retort as her alighted from what appeared to be Ruye's bedroom.
"I would like that chamomile now." Dahlia whispered as she took in his semi naked form peppered with what seemed to be bite marks.
As she placed to cup of tea beside her seeming adversary, Ruye took the opportunity to examine her appearance in the sofa where she took the woman's husband in last night. She wondered how affronted she would be if she told her; how much righteous rage would burn through her curvy body at Ruye's alleged betrayal of her gender.
"What happened to her?" Ruye asked.
"What happened to who?"
"The woman from a week ago. The one who refused to scream as the whip ate at her skin. The one who was supposed to rise from the ashes like a Phoenix and burn this place down."
Dahlia sat stupefied. The cup of tea froze halfway to her mouth and her hand trembled with irate fear.
"Who are you to ask where she is? You, the Babylonian whore who helped to destroy me in the first place? A living breathing symbol of my Husband's inaffection towards me? You like it. This bewitching power you have over the other women. The way they fear you; the way the men revere and bed you openly. How do you live like this? As the other woman, as a ruiner of loving relationships and happy homes? Why do you slut yourself out to righteous men and tempt them from God's path with your whorish ways?"
Dahlia's chest heaved with the conviction and the weight of her words. Her tears were held back by the sheer will not to concede to the power Ruye had. She was in the wrong here. Her life would be better if she left. She just had to berate and convince the other woman until she saw it her way.
Ruye took a heavy drink from her glass of alcohol. With exaggerated dramatics, she reclined into the opposite end of the sofa and seemingly brushed off Dahlia's weighty words.
"You are not the first wife to confront me, you know? You are all cut from the same white cotton. Malleable and breathable to these men's incorrect will. You bow to their instructions and paltry god. I'll let you in on a secret. The faith here is false. It not rea-
"Blasphemy!"
"Is it though? I know you feel it. I saw it in your eyes that day. You are becoming untethered to this place. Right now, you are traversing between the worlds of the 'sacred' and the profane. And something tells me you like the profanity. Does it not feel more tangible to you? Do you not taste it on your tongue?"
Dahlia sat silent as she considered Ruye's words. Ashemdai's sexual ministration on her body felt more potent than any action her Husband has ever performed on her body. But wasn't she a swinging pendulum between both extremes? Her Husband ought to be the paragon of virtue and her demon was, well a demon.
How could she reconcile herself amid this spectrum?
"If you are so self-aware, why do you still have sex with them, Ruye?"
"I like sex. And I like sex with multiple people. Variety is the spice of life after all. Your husband has a particular brand of animalism that leaves my walls sore but satisfied.
"What, too soon?" Ruye questioned when she saw Dahlia flinch.
"Malachi, for all his pomp and pride, likes to be dominated when we mate. My point is, I do because I like it not because of any greater meaning or design or plan. It makes me come and I love that for me."
"It does not work like that. We serv-
Ruye drew up in an anger that reminded Dahlia of her demon for a fleeting second.
"I. Serve. No. Man. If you leave here without anything else, you will understand that I am my own woman. I don't exist in relation to any man."
"Isn't it very lonely? To not have a husband to lead and love you?"
"What makes you think it is? You only need it if you want it. I, for one, am fine with the many orgasms I get from "husbands". They are ironically devoted to worship of my body."
Dahlia cringed internally. Her husband was one of those who worship the woman's body. Suddenly, she felt very tired. Tired of not leaning on the couch to protect her wounds. Tired of fighting Ruye. Tired of the constricted feeling that followed her every where in the community.
"I have a question for you, Dahlia. Why confront me? I owe you wives nothing. I am not married to any of you and the only thing we have in common is our sex. So why are you lot irate with me and not your husbands? Did they not vow fidelity? "My beloved is mine and I keep shall keep her in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as we both shall live" Did he not recite those to you?"
"But he is the man."
"And?"
Dahlia could no longer manage Ruye's berating and persistent questions. The foundation of her faith in her marriage was already built on sandy ground and Ruye's words were causing cracks in the poorly built structure. It was like learning to colour in the lines then seeing other people ignore those lines to create their unique pieces that kicked your conformity to the curb.
She shakily rose to leave, hissing as the bandage shifted across her back. Ruye sipped her alcohol as she watched her run from the truth. As Dahlia opening her door to exit the nefarious home, Ruye released a parting shot that rocked her core once more.
"Tell the demon to bring sage with him next time, will you? Some of us have very sensitive noses."