Your mom shoves you into your room and slams the door behind you, her domineering position in the way of the exit to stop any chance you have of escaping.

"Mom this is insane, you know I'm not bride material to begin with this is the worst idea I've ever heard," you plead as she moves to pull a suitcase out of your closet. "Now hush, you know how much a deal like this means, if the weirdo can pay two people to come look at brides, he'll pay a pretty penny for you." You crumple onto your mattress as she shoves dresses and blouses into the bag. "Mom…" you start, but theres nothing you can say. You feel glued down and heavy, the world around you continues as normal, and you are faced with a cruel new reality. You feel tears slide across your face before you realize you've started crying.

Essie barges through the door, hair sticking up as if they've been running their hands through it. They look enraged, expression only softening when their eyes meet yours. They say nothing, but they approach your bed and kneel next to it, taking your hand in theirs.

"Essie…" you feel a lump in your throat but do your best to continue, "Essie I don't know what to do." Fresh tears replace their predecessors and they pull you to a seated position, taking your shoulders in their hands. "Y/n, you cant just go along with this, we need you here." They look away, words hanging in the air that neither of you are willing to voice. Your mother chooses this moment to return from your closet, a second bag with shoes sits atop the first and she reaches for a third. How she thinks youll need that many pairs of socks is beyond you.

"Margo, have some humanity, you cant simply sell off your daughter like property," Essie pleads, dropping their hands to their sides and turning to face her. "You are too naive to understand, this is not about family or friends, or feelings, this is business, plain and simple." Your mother scoffs, and turns to keep packing. Essie opens their mouth, but you reach up and take their wrist, stopping them in their tracks. "Don't…" it's barely above a whisper, "It's not worth it she's made up her mind." Their eyes bore into yours and you cannot hold their gaze, so you look down at your lap. Your legs feel useless and jello-like, but you force yourself to stand and amble into the bathroom where your mother has started packing your things in there. "Anyway, like you said, you have to get used to it at some point."

Essie stares for a while, unmoving, but eventually turns and leaves as you make it clear, there is no conversation to be had. You pack in silence, your mothers enthusiasm contrasting with your slow and limp movements. As you strip your sheets and place them in the laundry, you realize youve seen dozens of girls do this, leaving for one reason or another, but you never thought it would be you. You have a moment of silent rage for them, for yourself, against your mother but moreso against the men that treat women like this. Like property. Like what you are about to be.

You sweep your eyes over the room one last time, and then your mothers voice rushing you finally pierces through your final moments and you turn to the door. The rest of the exchange is a blur, papers are signed and payments are discussed, but you are not once asked a single question. You sit there, still and invisible, and watch as your life changes without a moment of your input.