A/N: Terri Ryan discarded this. It was several times longer, and a fair bit darker than it is now when she wrote it. After all, it was supposed to be a chapter of her fic The Diary.

I will warn you right now that this fic does contain corporal punishment (spanking). In fact, in the first two chapters it's quite severe, and the following 3-4 chapters will have mentions of the events in the first two chapters. Chapters one and two have spanking of an adult, later chapters will probably have spanking of both children and adults.

I don't own All Saints. Channel 7 owned the show, EMI owns the DVDs of Series 1-5, and another company owns the DVDs of series 6-12.

How it all Started

My name is Terri Sullivan, and I used to be a member of a religious order called Our Lady of the Light. That's right, I used to be a nun. And before that, I was engaged to an incredibly sweet man who I adored and who adored me. I'll tell you about what happened the first time around another day, if you haven't read the entries about it from both my and his viewpoint in the Ward Journal by then. (The Ward Journal is written up in Terri Ryan's fic The Diary)

Anyhow, what I'm writing about right now is the process which eventually lead to me leaving the Order. I'm still in touch with them, I visit regularly (well, I try to. I must go back and see them one day this week, before Bernard starts giving me a hard time again!) and I pray for them regularly. But I don't miss life as a religious. Maybe I should, but I don't. And since I'm still in touch with all my closest friends from that time, I can't say I miss them, either.

Life as a religious was becoming difficult for me, I was in trouble every other day it seemed by the time I left the Order. The final straw was a suicide patient who started giving off toxic fumes... or at least the aftermath of what happened that day. I'll explain that later, right now I guess I'd better tell you all about what lead up to that happening.

Mitch only ever pulled rank once. On me, no less. Because apparently a patient appeared to be a bit 'wrung out' (his diagnosis for the time being) and I was protesting the man taking up a bed when he didn't seem to need one. The patient turned out to have GBS, so thank God Mitch DID pull rank that day! He never pulled rank again, not that I know of. Even in the early days, before our relationship picked up, he was so sweet, so understanding. And if a nurse disagreed with him, he always listened. He never pulled rank just to get his own way... he'd explain a decision, ask for help if he needed it. He accepted it if he was wrong, and with a good grace, no less.

Better yet, he never gloated if he was proven right. He boosted the egos of those around him. He always reassured people that their errors weren't the end of the universe, and that it happens to everyone. He usually had a funny anecdote about how something had happened to him, about how he'd done the same thing or screwed up the same way. And how someone else had saved his bacon. He also told everyone that they couldn't be perfect all the time, that they'd figure it out sooner or later, and that screwing up or overlooking something wasn't a disaster. But now I've gone off topic again, haven't I? I'm talking about how Mitch and I started dating again, instead of me leaving the Order, which is what I was meaning to talk about.

I guess I should really be complaining about Bernard. I think the process which culminated in my decision to leave the order may have started with Peter Morrison's injuries. She thought I had forgotten I was a nun. Hmph. I pointed out to her in the last days of my time in the Community that the reason I had such a hard time with Mitch back was that being a nun was the centre of my universe.

But I took being Godmother to Laura and Simon very seriously, and Peter was going through a really bad time. But I had no grounds to remove Simon and Laura from Pete's home, so my only option was staying with them. Of course, Bernard didn't see it that way... well, maybe I was neglecting the other sisters a little bit. I don't want to think so, but maybe I was.

Then bloody Mitch Stevens shows up again. One month of Mitch being back and we're already almost best friends again. The first day he was back, my heart was doing flip flops when our eyes met across the courtyard. We almost walked into each other in a stairwell, and I bolted around a corner, breathing hard, praying he hadn't noticed.

A couple of nights later, I walk into my office to find Mitch on my phone. Then he says he wanted to shoot the breeze before going home. Apparently we have a lot of catching up to do because it's been eight years. I was sceptical. And the bugger wouldn't stop flirting with me, either, which was driving me NUTS.

I spent one night lamenting in Cougars. About how everyone who matters to me leaves me. Mitch was there too, and apart from a couple of sarcastic remarks, and a few smart-arse comments, he was very sweet and understanding. In other words: he sat there and listened to me vent. I really appreciated him for that, it was so sweet of him,

He also, unfortunately accurately, pointed out that being a nun wouldn't stop a man from falling in love with me. I told him he was being ridiculous, because I was so sure he was talking about Peter. And yeah, Pete and I were good friends. Very close. But I had been closer to Jenny. I only worked out a few weeks later that he was talking more about himself than Pete.

But I believe the day Bernard had the GALL to tell me that I had to think about leaving my Ward, my HOME, my entire LIFE... (Well, the order was important to me, but All Saints was my life and very much a large part of my world.) was the day I finally realised I might have to consider leaving the order.

Apparently refusing to listen to Bernard, who was giving me a hard time, meant I was falling victim to the sin of pride. Frankly, Bernard and her ilk were welcome to care for my soul... so long as they left me the hell alone while they did it. Mitch showed up on the porch that same night, tossing pebbles at the window to get my attention.

He asked me if we could've made it work. He asked me to confirm the good times we had shared, and I couldn't deny them. We'd shared the best of times, and the worst. Perhaps we could've made it work. Probably, even. I spent the rest of the week or so haunted by memories of the time before he went away. Which didn't help the hell I was going through.

I'm going to tell you about several instances of 'guidance therapy'. Also known as 'redirecting wandering feet' and 'soul saving', to the order, and to most others in my life, as a damned good thrashing. I got about four of them in two months, during that time, culminating in one which reopened the previous years' scars, and created new ones as well.

But that can come later in the story. The first one was an encounter with a hairbrush. I had been offered a possible new position, which would move me permanently out of the Ward. Well, of course, to me that was out of the question. So Bernard said I'd have to leave the hospital altogether. I told her that I was tired, and that I was going to bed.

A few minutes later, just as I had changed into pajamas and was hanging up my uniform, Bernard came into my room. I got a five or ten minute lecture about commitment to God, self-denial and various other things. I'm ashamed to admit that I was ignoring her most of the time, having tuned out after about two minutes. In fact, I was halfway into making the decision to tell her to buzz off and that I'd see her in the morning when Bernard grabbed my arm,

I guess I should have expected it, but I didn't. Next thing I knew, I was lying face down across my bed. Or more specifically, Bernard had seated herself on the bed, and I was face down across her legs. I spent five minutes (Yes, I timed it!) trying to free myself from her grip, before giving up in disgust. During that time, as I learned when I stopped struggling, Bernard had managed to work down my pajama trousers. I felt like I was six again, over my mother's knees, and I promise you that is NOT a pleasant feeling.

But an even less pleasant feeling is wood on bare skin. Unless you're in control of it and its just a ruler or hairbrush... being used for its original purpose, that is. Holding a hairbrush to style your own or someone else's hair is a good feeling. So is using a ruler to draw a straight line. Never liked wielding the bloody things in a corrective manner, even though I know it's part of my job as boss of a ward to keep discipline... Anyway, I just got sidetracked, didn't I?

Like I said, cold, heavy wood on bare skin is a rather unpleasant feeling. I recognised it at once, just from the feel of it. Large, square hairbrush. One of the heavier ones. Clearly I'd been showing too much attitude or something, if Bernard intended to start straight out with the damned thing, since I had kinda been expecting a warm-up of some sort. I don't know why, but I found myself shivering uncontrollably.

I got pretty much the spanking of my life that night. It was as thorough a spanking as I had ever gotten from anyone in the order. I think... no, I know, that Harry Williams had done worse to me. I think, if I'd provoked him, or if Mum had let him get near me when he was drunk and I'd been bad, Dad might have done worse to me. And I remember, vaguely, a couple of times someone in the community had done worse to me. But that was always with Crook. I don't think anyone other than Dad would've been able to use a hairbrush that harshly.

I don't know, because I never actually checked, but I wouldn't be surprised if I got bruises from that night... and that was the first spanking of that night. Bernard got me settled, told me to go to sleep, and left my room, leaving me lying on one side, sniffling a bit and feeling rather miserable. I had just managed to drop off to sleep when I hear rattling, followed by chinks.

Well, of course I sat up and pulled on my slippers, ready to go and investigate. I heard Bernard's indignant "who are you? What do you want?" and Mitch's quiet, slurry identification and request to see me. I was already coming to investigate, so I told Bernard I would deal with it, and that she should go back to bed. She nodded, but the look she gave me said "this isn't over, Theresa". That's why the first thing I said to Mitch wasn't "what are you doing here?", but "are you TRYING to get me excommunicated?"

Frankly, that night, I thought excommunication might just be preferable to the spanking I got once Mitch had left. Bernard hadn't gone to bed, she was waiting for me in my room. I had no sooner shrugged off my dressing gown than Bernard grabbed my arm and pushed me across the desk in my room. I had turned my head on one side, rather stupidly I guess, so I was watching her every move. I guess I thought being able to see the strap coming would help me prepare for each whack. It didn't, of course. I still got taken by surprise by most of them, and even the ones which didn't catch me off guard burned unpleasantly.

I'm quite sure I ought to be grateful she didn't use Crook the whole time, but at the time all I could focus on was the way her body kept twisting slightly every time she swung that strap. Bernard finished up that night with six quite firm but not especially harsh (if that's possible from that rotten little rod—but I think the intention of lower severity was there) swats from Crook. The last line of the lecture I was getting while I endured this latest thrashing was "and no more 'gentlemen callers' Theresa. Or have you abandoned your vow of chastity altogether?" Maybe Von's continually calling Bernard 'Nazi nun' wasn't too far off the mark... and i just lost my point. I shook my head hard because I was crying too hard to respond coherently. That damn strap hurt worse than bloody Menace, for all that it was a single tailed strap and Menace is a split strap with three tails.

Bernard dropped Crook, and helped me stand, supporting me so I could fix my pajamas and wipe my face, before giving me a brief hug and telling me to go to bed, and that she would see me in the morning. I nodded, forcing back tears and mumbling something to the effect of 'good night'. I eventually managed to crawl into bed and get to sleep, after spending a couple of hours pacing my room, deep in thought. I didn't sleep well, though. I don't think the other women did, either, since every time I woke up from a nightmare or rolling into a bad position there was a different Sister sitting by the bed. I appreciated their care, but they really shouldn't have gone to such lengths for me.

The reason I spent so long pacing before I finally went to bed was that I had realised I might need to re-evaluate my life, and my priorities. After all, if Mitch turning up in the middle of the night, wanting to talk about who knows what was indicative of an abandoned vow, then I didn't want to make vows, and doubted very much that I could keep the vows I had made.

That was the beginning of the end. The next event which convinced me that I might need to take a long, hard look at my life, and decide whether I was happy with where I was going, came a few weeks later. And when it came, it was one HELL of a bad day. But that's another story, for another time.

The spankings in this chapter were quite severe in comparison to in most following chapters, but rather tame in comparison to the one in the next chapter. If you don't want to read that, then just skip the next chapter, because chapters three and four will recap the important events of chapter two, in nutshell and sanitised form.