"I mean, I've heard of shotgun weddings, but this is the first time I've actually seen a wedding at gunpoint."

"Mur, I know you're my best man, but this is the perfect time for you to shut the fuck up."

The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to be cut with a knife, which Henry wished he had at the moment. It wasn't for Murray's lack of tact, but mostly thanks to Henry's utter fear of what was about to come. Not even his sharp tuxedo--all white, as requested by Zizi--was enough to boost his confidence. There was a knot in his throat just where the bow-tie was placed. An itch on his lower back where the jacket was too tight. A light throb on his feet thanks to his laces being particularly tight. Everything felt slightly wrong.

"Look how handsome you were, hon. Like a doll, all innocent in white. But White is never innocent, not with you."

In truth, he couldn't get away, even if he wanted to. Since that day, Murray had been tailing him, alongside two other corporate goons that acted as his "entourage". They were just sentinels placed by Jabin to keep an eye on him. Even Murray's appointment as the best man was a move to keep Henry in check--that, and the fact that Zizi genuinely loved having him around.

"You're just being a little bitch," said Murray, sipping from a flask-rum, by the smell of it.

Henry turned around in annoyance, looking at Murray straight in the face. "Can't you even let it go for today? I'm already being fucked by Jabin, and I don't need you to give me a reach-arround."

Murray snickered with a lopsided smile, wiping away a few beads of sweat from his forehead. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I bother His Majesty with my jokes? Please forgive this jester. It shan't happen again."

Henry took a deep breath to retort but was cut off by Murray.

"Three months ago, I told you I was after Zizi. I trusted you. I thought we could have been partners," he said, walking slowly towards Henry. "The very same day, you run off with her to God knows where doing God knows what. And then, you know what happened? I got a call."

At this point, they were so close, their noses were almost touching. Henry was able to smell the alcohol in Murray's pungent breath, being able to easily distinguish the cinnamon smell of Captain Morgan.

"It was Zizi. She called me, half crying, half laughing, telling me she was pregnant. You gator-loving prick. Do you have any idea of how it feels to have the woman you have been secretly in-love with for almost a year suddenly calling you, carrying another man's kid in her? It broke my soul. You broke my soul."

Murray jabbed his fat index finger right in the middle of Henry's chest, making sure to make it hurt like hell. "You listen to me, and listen to me well: You better treat that girl like a goddamn princess, or-"

He never got to finish that sentence, as a sharp knock on the door commanded both men's attention. The person didn't bother to wait for an invitation before letting himself into the room. Of course, Jabin Geber didn't need to be invited anywhere; he could enter wherever he wanted. He owned Henry.

"Hello. Just passing through to see if everything was in order," he said in a jovial tone that didn't translate to his face.

"All peachy," sneered Murray, hiding the flask from view.

"S-same," said Henry, obviously a little shaken up after Murray's rant.

"Good, good. I remember my own nuptials," said Jabin, taking a seat on a cream-colored couch near the door. "I was frightened. I was repeating the words I do over and over again, in fear that I could somehow forget them. I had a beautiful speech in my mind, on how I loved Zeinab. Zeinab was Zinet's mom, of course. But when I saw her walking down that aisle... she blew every word out of my head."

"You know, I really don't remember my mother all that well. I can only remember her chestnut hair, and how she always seemed to smell like lemongrass, especially between her breasts."

Jabin was looking down at his hands, with a melancholic smile. As if he remembered a joke, he let out a small chuckle to himself. That was the first and last time Henry saw him smile. "I hope you can get the same feeling today. This day is all about Zinet, after all."

"Yes, sir," said Henry, wishing he had taken some of Murray's booze.

"Good. Prendergast, can you give me a minute with White? I wish to speak to him in private."

Murray took a look at Jabin, then back at Henry, before bowing and leaving in a hurry. As soon as he crossed that threshold, the atmosphere of the room changed from "tense" to "sepulchral". Jabin tensed up immediately, standing up from his seat to tower over Henry. His eyes penetrated every fiber of Henry's being, like a hawk hunting a mouse. His words were clear and commanding, dotting the I's and crossing the T's.

"Now, listen to me, and listen to me good. You are nothing. You are but an incidental DNA dumper on my daughter's womb—an outsider who has irrupted into the virginal future of my family. You are marrying my daughter, but by no means do I consider you part of my family. I do not even consider you part of my inner circle. You are an employee, whose only job is to make my daughter happy. She is the man of the house. She makes the decisions. Your answer to everything must be Yes, Zinet to her every whim and desire. You are no longer a man, you are a slave. Slaves do not choose, slaves obey. Are we clear?" said Jabin, all in one breath.

Henry was stuck like a deer in headlights. His brain could barely process what was happening to him. On his wedding day, he was being chewed on by everyone around him. It was a bit too much. Lucky for him, Jabin was not the sort of person to wait for others, as he continued his rant.

"If you make my daughter cry. If you make my daughter suffer. If I see anything remotely wrong with her physique--scratch, a bruise, a cut--I swear to all the gods, I shall hunt you down and rip off your skin, little by little until you die of shock. Are we clear?"

This time, his stare held Henry's, commanding him for an answer. Henry could only nod meekly.

"Good," he said, sitting back on the sofa.

Henry released his breath. He hadn't realized he was holding it until that moment. He was practically drenched in sweat already.

"I have a gift for you," said Jabin, grabbing a small box that sat next to him. Henry couldn't remember if he had it when he came in.

He stared as Jabin grabbed the box with one hand, extending it towards Henry. When Henry didn't respond to it, he waved the box dismissively at him to catch his attention.

"Grab the box, fuckface."

As if snapped back from a trance, Henry quickly reached for the box. It wasn't anything special. A few inches long, wrapped in brown paper and some twine. Nothing to write home about.

"Well, are you going to open the box or what?"

"Yeah, I wanna know what's in the box."

Henry ripped the paper with great care, fearing it would somehow anger Jabin if he was impulsive in any way. Jabin stared at his face with fierce eyes, waiting for Henry to reach the center of his gift.

And sure enough, inside the box was the very same gun Jabin used to threaten him.

"I think it's a nice memento of this whole affair," said Jabin standing up. "This time, I did not put blanks in it. Enjoy it, and remember:" he said, placing a hand on the door's handle, "I own you now."

The ceremony was bizarre, to say the least. As per Zizi's request, the main event was held on the Commons, under the tree where they had their first kiss. Aside from being a logistical nightmare because of the winter winds, and the fact that it was held in a public park, the whole thing looked like a diarrhea of rainbows. Mismatched fabrics hung from the trees, singing their syncopated tune with flower arrangements, hand-painted by her, that contained everything from daisies to wisterias to an actual tomato branch. It screamed neither class nor wealth. It was quite literally the work of a child. Or a genius.

"In hindsight, it might have been too much."

But Zizi was content, giggling like the schoolgirl she was with her bridesmaids: two friends from school, and a very awkward Clara, all dressed in different primary colors. Henry's only solace is that Murray and the other two goons on his entourage had to use the same garish colors as well.

In a move that surprised no-one, Zizi's wedding dress was jet black, contrasting with Henry's white tuxedo.

"What can I say? It was Versace."

Her smile was brilliant, shining through the cacophony of colors. Her side of the aisle was full to the brim with family members, friends, and other attendees, cheering for her, snapping pictures, the whole lot.

Henry's side, however, was padded with company workers who were practically forced to be there. That, and corporate vultures waiting to rub shoulders with Jabin, to get on his good side. Not even Henry's parents could attend, given the improvised nature of the affair. Any later and Zizi's belly would've shown.

The reception was held in no other place than the Imperial Ballroom of the Park Plaza Hotel. This was a much bigger event, full to the brim with people whom Henry had never seen before.

"Just friends of Baba's," commented Zizi, nibbling on a piece of cheese from a very assorted tray on their table.

He was content to be alone with Zizi, at least for a moment. Everyone was mingling with them, drinking Moet and eating crackers, trying to get face time with Jabin, too busy to pay attention to them. From time to time, a person would come to them, giving them their blessings or an envelope full of cash. Everyone paid attention to Zizi, not him. This whole place was filled with people loyal to the Geber family, not him. He was a footnote on his own wedding. A footnote in his own marriage.

A loud clinking sound took Henry out of his trance. On stage, Jabin held the microphone, making the jazz band playing in the background to stop cold turkey.

"Thank you all for attending my daughter's wedding," he said after everyone was quiet. "I know it was a sudden affair, but those who know our family are well familiar with the love between Henry and Zinet, and how it has impacted all of us," he lied. It was the official discourse that everyone agreed on. Jabin was too prideful to admit that this was a shotgun wedding, so he had fabricated years of romance between the two.

"I have always said that love is best tied quickly. I married Zeinab--may she rest in peace--after two years of courtship. These two young people have a fervent love, a love that transcends time itself. A love that is never-ending. Patient. Peaceful. As deep as the ocean and as bright as the morning star. Such love should not be wasted, and thus, today, we celebrate their union."

He raised his cup to the couple, making sure to connect his eyes with Henry. "To the couple. May their love be an example for us all."

The whole room seemed to explode in applause. At them, or at Jabin, Henry didn't know, but he followed along with it, kissing Zizi tenderly on the cheek.

"And now," said Jabin, "let us see their first dance as a couple. Maestro, hit those drums!"

At his command, the band started playing again, the first few bars of a song that Henry knew too well. "A Kiss to Build a Dream On" by Louis Armstrong. Zizi almost bolted from her seat, grabbing Henry by the wrist to pull him into the dance floor. Henry tried to protest, but Zizi was having none of it.

"Just shut up and dance, honey."

And so, he did, reluctantly.

Her sway lulled him. Her warmth enticed him. It was difficult to forget that night a few months ago. Had he seduced her? Or had she seduced him? Looking back, it did not matter to Henry.

"I totally picked you up, by the way."

"I got you a present," said Zizi, getting closer to Henry on the dance floor. "Well, I didn't get it per se but...well. You can judge later."

"But," said Henry, taking a glance at Jabin who was still on the stage, leering at them, "I got you nothing."

"Silly honey," said Zizi, almost whispering in his ear from the closeness of them both. "You don't have to get me anything. But..." she said, making a brief pause, "I do have a request."

He remembered Jabin's words before the wedding. "Say yes, Zinet."

"Of course, bear. What is it?" he said with his best smile.

"I wanna, you know, name the child," she said, whispering that last part.

Henry sighed. "Of course you can," he said while staring at Jabin, "how would you like to call it?"

"Well, if it's a girl, I wanna call her Zeinab. Like my mother. And if it's a boy-"

"Please don't say Jabin," he said, entirely too loud for his comfort.

"No, silly," she said giggling. "I wanna call him Zackary, like my grandpa."

"I haven't met that grandpa."

"He died when I was young. He gave me my first brush, encouraging me to paint."

"I see," said Henry. She had a gleam in her eyes, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. She looked stunning, naive and frail. Maybe, just maybe, I could love this woman, thought Henry.

"Of course. Little Zei and little Zacky. I don't mind at all."

"Thank you, honey! I love you!" she yelled, giving him a hug that practically left her dangling from his neck.

Just at that moment, the song ended, and the rest of the guests took that opportunity to take the dance floor for themselves. A quicker tune picked up, more improvised and atonal than the last, way out of both of their league to dance. They took that chance to get back to their table.

"What was that gift you had?" asked Henry.

As if remembering, Zizi began to search around her in a hurry. Fortunately, Clara was nearby, holding a small box.

"Looking for this?" she said, presenting it to Zizi.

"God, thank you, Clara. I knew I had forgotten it somewhere."

"At home, perhaps?" said Clara cheekily.

"Sorry, sorry."

Zizi grabbed it from Clara's hand, taking a deep breath before handing it to Henry.

It was a small box, not bigger than his hand, obviously made to hold jewelry. Henry opened it up, ignoring Zizi's intense eyes upon him. Inside was a pocket watch, made out of faded bronze. On top of it was a date carved. May 26 - 1890. It was a watch Henry knew well as it was the heirloom of the White family. Passed down to his father by his mother, and to her by her father, it was a memento of the Boxer Rebellion. And now, it was his'.

"I...got in touch with your mother. She was so sad that she couldn't come. You father was sad, too. He said something like, it was a shame he couldn't come see you become a man. But they sent this, saying you are ready for it."

Henry held it in his fist, feeling the cold bronze burn his hand. The energy of generations of White family members pulsed in his hand.

"Your father wanted me to say something to you. A message," she said, grabbing a hold of his arm.

"He said: The White men are fighters. They have survived wars, depressions, heartbreaks, turmoil, and countless crises. You might not have taken the path of a warrior, to serve your country, but that doesn't mean you are any less of a fighter. Fight. Don't let anyone down. Never surrender. I am proud of you, my boy."

Henry wanted to cry. What am I doing with my life? He thought. I'm being pushed around by everyone. My wife. My boss. My co-workers. It was enough.

He took a long, hard look at Jabin. He clenched his fist, enveloping the watch with his fingers.

From that point onward, he was going to fight back.

"I...don't look at me like that," said Zizi with a surprising meekness. It was not the first time she was naked in front of Henry, but there was a kind of shame, a perverted kind of embarrassment hanging in the air between them. They both knew this was not the ideal setting for them.

Henry couldn't take his eyes off of her. She was mesmerizing. Her golden skin was glowing, even under the dim lights. Her breasts, usually small, were slightly swollen, perkier even, waiting to be sucked.

"Those are some very perverted thoughts, even if she's your wife."

Henry was sitting on the bed, almost hypnotized by her body. He reached out to her, desiring to touch her skin, but just as he placed a finger on her, she batted it away, covering her breast with her arms.

"No!" she yelled, reeling back a little. "I'm sorry, I didn't... just... let me wash up first, okay? I want this to be special, not some mindless fu-fu... you know, like we did before. It's our first time as a couple. A married couple."

"Okay," said Henry, trying to calm his boiling blood down.

"Okay," repeated Zizi, like a small prayer to herself. "Be right back."

Pull yourself together, thought Henry. It's not the first time you do it. Just...think of clouds.

Nothing he said to himself managed to lower his testosterone. He was still raging. His heart was still pounding. A feeling overcame him, a feeling of control. He wanted to have his way, and he wanted to have it now. Up until that point, he was emasculated, and controlled, but now, something had awakened in him.

He needed meat, and he needed it now.

He stood up in a rage, going straight to the bathroom door. "Open up!" he yelled while pounding on the door with his fist.

Nothing. Only the sound of the shower running could be heard from inside.

"Zizi! Open up! Now!" he commanded, punching the door once again.

But yet again, not a sound aside from the shower. That's when he realized something was not okay.

He was about to pound the door again, but he heard a sound—a cry, followed by a wet thud.

His rage turned into panic. "Zizi! Is everything alright? Zizi?! Answer me?!"

He received no answer, only more crying.

With a running start, he tackled the door, swinging inwards with full force.

Zizi was on the floor of the shower surrounded by a pool of blood being washed away by the running water.

"Honey... I..."

"Okay, that's enough," said Zizi, tapping Henry three times on the shoulder. The bathroom disappeared in a puff of smoke, being quickly replaced by the furniture back at the Back Bay mansion. Henry could barely focus on the familiar environment before being forcefully yanked by the jowls by Zizi.

"Is that how you remember it happened? Is that really how you remember it? Just me, collapsed in a shower? Don't make me laugh!" said Zizi, chuckling an eery ditty. "You coward. You lied to yourself, and best of all, you believe your own lie."

Without breaking eye contact, she sat on Henry's lap, facing him full on. She felt cold and foreign to the touch.

"Remember what Baba said he would do to you if you made him mad?" she said, running her left hand up Henry's arm.

He wanted to answer, but he found himself tongue-tied.

"Oh yeah, I forgot you couldn't talk. Cheap Glocal knockoff. Well, let me remind you."

She raised her right arm, grabbing a knife from the ether

With all her might, she brought it down, right on Henry's left hand. It was a sharp dull pain and ran all the way from the tip of his fingers to the base of his skull. Even in his drug-addled mind, he let out a sharp shriek of pain.

"Good, I see that at least you can still make a sound," said Zizi, leaning forward on his lap. "This is gonna make it sweeter."

She grabbed the handle of the knife, twisting it slowly in place. The sharp electric pull returned, making his finger spasm like crazy. His mind went white with pain, as if something was trying to come out of the middle of his forehead. Henry shrieked once again, tumbling on his spot. If it weren't for Zizi on top of him, he would have tumbled onto the floor. For a moment, Henry closed his eyes trying to muscle the pain, to no avail.

But when he opened his eyes, it wasn't Zizi on his lap, but Jabin, holding the same knife.

"I told you that, if you made my daughter unhappy, I would hunt you down and skin you, little by little until you die of shock. Thanks to this... cheap imitation, I will make you feel a thousand deaths until your brain refuses to handle it anymore."

He grabbed the knife, running the blade up his arm. And again. And again. Red lines of scarlet ran down his body, searing hot.

As soon as Henry opened up his mouth to scream, Jabin jammed the knife into his mouth, pinning his tongue to the base of his jaw.

"I do not tolerate your inane blabbering. If you refuse to hold your tongue, I shall do it for you."

Henry couldn't focus on just one source of pain. His hand, arm, and tongue played a game of tug-of-war with his brain. He couldn't focus. His mind was slipping. This was the end.

If it weren't for the doorbell ringing at that precise moment.

The pressure in the room decreased, and so did the pain in his mind as if brushed away by a gust of wind. On his head rang a dull gong, making him close his eyes to muster the pain. When he opened them, it wasn't Jabin on top of him, but Zizi. The real one. Youthful. Pink. Young. Full of love, but with a very concerned face.

"Honey, you must run, before she returns," she said, jumping from his lap. "She will come back any minute. I can't hold her back much longer. You must leave this place. Seek help."

Henry could only stare; he was still glued to the chair.

"Oh, right. Sorry." Zizi grabbed his arm, looking him straight in the eyes. "Move and speak," she said whispering. As if released by a spell, Henry sprung up.

"Wha... what the hell was all that?" he said, examining his hand for damage. Clean, as always.

"Your mind is turning against you. Thanks to the doorbell, you were brought back to reality, but just for a bit. You must purge yourself."

"What do you mean? Purge what?"

"We don't have time for this," she said, and with a swift move, she jammed her whole hand down Henry's throat.

He immediately gagged, vomiting all over the carpet. Pieces of half-digested pills littered the floor, covered in stomach fluid.

"You're welcome, by the way," said Zizi. "Now run, and don't try to look for me again, or else...she will take over."

"No," blurted Henry, without even thinking. His throat was raw, burning from the acid. "I cannot...I need you. I cannot live without you."

Zizi grabbed him by the back of the neck, planting a kiss on his lips. It felt like electricity on his mind.

"Honey... please, let me go. I know it's hard, but death is something that we are not meant to hold on to. We live, we love, and we die. I lived a happy life. Lies. Let me go. Stay with me. Don't seek me out. Join me in death. I can't hold her much longer. Run!" she yelled, shoving him towards the foyer.

Henry wasn't able to think, but his feet obeyed her. He ran with all his might towards the door, passing down all of Zizi's paintings. Each one seemed to pop out of their canvas, reaching towards Henry. He could have sworn he batted a few hands away.

"You can't hide from the truth!" a voice yelled from behind him. Henry didn't dare to look back, his mind already knew what was behind it. A devil in pursuit.

The door was in front of him. With the last of his strength, he pulled the handle, letting the light of day pierce the darkness inside.

His mind could feel the devil fade away. The hands recede. The darkness dying.

He was free.

"Good evening, Mr. White," said a shrill voice. In front of the door, Ira stood with a funny face, studying the mess that was Henry.

"You...what are you doing here?" said Henry. Now that his eyes had time to adjust, he saw Ira wasn't alone. He had a suitcase in one hand, in the other; he was holding something small, or rather, someone.

"I hope you haven't forgotten about what we talked about," said Ira, "I brought Zackary Prendergast to live with you, as per Murray and Clara Prendergast's last will. I hope you have everything set up for today, yes?"