—J
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Lisa's gone when I wake the following day. When I notice she's not here, a lump rises in my throat and stays there as I sit in bed, not knowing what to do with myself. For the first time, I'm alone. Even those times she shut herself in the bathroom, at least I knew where she was. Now, it seems quieter with her absence, and I hate that I missed her leave. After how we ended things last night, I wish I'd seen her so I could tell her she isn't an abomination. How can she be?
Sinister clouds threaten a storm outside, the wind already blowing against the window. How fitting, I think, even the weather wants to join in on making this day as miserable as possible.
As a distraction, I begin my tedious morning routine, showering and dressing in another white dress. For the thousandth time, I wonder why Father Aaron makes me wear just white, until deciding I don't want to know. I brush my hair and teeth for a little longer than usual, knowing I do all of this for nothing, but it's all I have.
Then I go back into the room, and after making the bed, I sit and wait. The clock seems to tick so slowly, the noise grating on my nerves as the hours pass. Noon arrives, and then dinnertime. As day turns to night, thunder cracks in the sky, and rain pelts against the window like someone's throwing stones against the panes of glass. When my stomach growls, I realize John didn't come. There's no scent of food in the air or hint of movement beyond the locked door. I'm not sure anybody's home.
Today hasn't felt like a day at all, more like a bad dream. All I can do is lie on the bed with my knees pressed to my chest. With Lisa not here drawing beneath the flicker of candlelight, it's like there's a gaping hole in my chest. I crave her being here, her pencil whispering softly against the paper, something which helps me drift off to sleep. With her gone, I can't sleep. Can't stop thinking about what might be happening to her.
Thunder booms overhead. I want to light the candle, but I'm too afraid to get up, and it's stupid. If I can't do something that simple, how will I ever get out of here?
Wrapping the blanket around my body tighter, the house shudders and groans from the abuse of the weather, reminding me how much I hate storms. On many occasions, I'd hide under my bed at home when I was a girl. Little Willow is prone to them. One year especially, there was a thunderstorm so bad it knocked over trees and nearly destroyed houses. Grandpa found me hidden under my bed sobbing when the power cut out, and he crawled under with me with a flashlight. It was cramped, but we stayed there for hours, and to pass the time, he'd tell me stories until I eventually fell asleep, warm and safe curled up next to him. I wish he were here now.
Putting my hands over my ears, I shut my eyes tightly to block it out. But my eyes fly open when a floorboard near me creaks. Yelping, I quickly sit up, eyes widening at the shadow looming at the end of the bed. An angry crash of thunder ricochets through the house, followed by a flash of lightning that whitens the entire room. It's Father Aaron, and he's staring down at his red hands.
"God gave me a daughter nineteen years ago," he suddenly speaks, tone deep and ominous. "While it's my punishment, it's also my test. To see if I am strong enough—devoted and loyal enough—to his Greatness. I have at last succeeded and am now worthy of ascension."
Another rocket of thunder and a strike of lightning comes from nowhere. He's closer to me now, eyes boring into mine, hands, and shirt covered with blood. My thoughts whirl—Lisa's his daughter?
Of course. It's so obvious now—the same black hair and eyes. I didn't see it before, yet they're so different I almost don't believe it. Withdrawing a handkerchief from his pocket, he wipes the blood from his hands with a creepy, cold calmness. Blood that I'm beginning to think is Lisa's. "When she returns, you are not to help her. For she must suffer alone for being the spawn of the devil."
He leaves, and the door slams shut. Grabbing a pillow, I hug it to my chest and let out a strangled cry of both shock and disbelief. While Father Aaron's words make little sense, one thing I'm sure is he's hurt Lisa, and I'm terrified for her.
If Lisa is his true daughter, then why is he treating her this way? What's wrong with him?
Burying my face into the pillow, I rock back and forth. I don't even try and go back to sleep. How can I now? All I have left is to wait. Until the storm calms and the darkness disperses. Morning arrives, dull and dead, and it seems an eternity passes before footsteps shuffle outside the room. The door bursts open, and Lisa collapses inside, body smacking against the floor and staying there.
After the door shuts and locks once more, I'm out of bed and rushing over to her. The closer I get, the more the horrors she's endured become apparent.
"Oh, God." My knees buckle, and I fall beside her. Her shirt is shredded and soaked with blood. Through the torn fabric, I'm horrified at the deep fleshy welts covering her back. Whip marks. Too many to count. Her body brutally shakes, her breaths heavy and pained.
"Lisa?" Reaching out, I touch her shoulder, feeling worse when she hisses out and flinches with agony. I drop my hand quickly, not knowing what to do for her. Where to touch. How to help. "Tell me what to do. Tell me how to help you—"
"No," she rasps out, trying to get away from me.
"Why?" Her hand slips beneath her when she attempts to push herself off the floor. Hating seeing her in so much pain, I shuffle closer, not caring what Father Aaron said. "Please, Lisa. Let me help."
She moves her head in my direction, revealing her swollen, cut face and a trail of blood seeping from the corner of her mouth. She looks like hell. Exhausted, disheveled, and dirty, like she's been outside in the storm all night.
"Why?" she demands, eyes full of irritation. "Why do you want to help me?"
Emotion rises in my chest, threatening to burst out of me. "Because you helped me."
She looks down at the floor, body tensing as she pushes herself up with her hands until she's on her knees. "Don't you know I could hurt you?"
Swallowing hard, my body trembles. "Y-you won't."
"How do you know?" She grabs my arm, and my heart jolts from her unexpected grip. "I could be just as bad as him. Maybe even worse."
"You're not. I don't think you are." Tears tumble from my eyes as she huffs out with exasperation like she can't believe I won't accept that she's terrible. She lets go, leaving a smear of dirt and blood on my skin.
Leaning forward, I take her face in my palms, not knowing what the hell I'm doing but needing her to see the truth. Her forehead creases with confusion, eyes becoming wary. "What are you doing?"
"Father Aaron's wrong," I tell her resolutely. "You're not bad. If you were, you'd have hurt me already. So, let me help you. Please."
Our eyes meet, and her breath is on my lips. We're close, closer than we've ever been, and I have the greatest need to take her pain away, and so I do. Leaning in, I put my lips on hers and kiss her.
I kiss Father Aaron's daughter.
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