—J
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My first kiss was with a boy from church, but it didn't feel like this. Lips warm against mine, her taste a bittersweet combination of blood and tears. My heart races, stomach twists, and toes curl. Heat consumes me when she kisses me back, lips moving against mine, slow and careful and so, achingly deep.
But the moment comes to a crashing end when she breaks the spell and pushes me away with her arm. Falling back onto my bum, I blink up at her in shock. She glares at me, the blue in her eyes formidable. That's when it hits me. I kissed her.
The same question I have for myself blares in her eyes, and even though I wish she wouldn't, she asks it. "Why did you do that?" Her voice rattles with an emotion I can't decipher, even with the demand in the back of it.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, shaking my head with utter confusion. "I wanted to make you feel better."
The lines between her eyebrows deepen as my words sink in. Pushing herself up, she succeeds this time, despite her body swaying unsteadily. Reaching out to help her once more, she knocks me back. "Just stop."
Shrinking back, the cold burn of rejection spreads through my chest and stabs into my stomach. A tear falls from my eye and drops between my knees. She watches it, glare wavering slightly. Jaw clenching, she staggers into the bathroom and slams the door shut. Like she's taken a part of my soul with her, I sit there with tears running down my cheeks. I shouldn't have kissed her. What was I thinking? She's in pain and suffering, and I kissed her. Something she clearly didn't want and hated.
Hearing the familiar trickle of water from the shower, I imagine her struggle, and I don't want to sit here this time. I don't want to let this go. Not having Lisa here has made me realize how much I need her. She's survived Father Aaron this long; maybe she could teach me how to withstand this life.
At least, I tell myself that as I make my way over to the bathroom. I know I'm treading on thin ice but refuse to give up even with the risks. Heat caresses my skin as I peek inside. Standing in the bathtub, hot, steamy water pelts against her clothed body. Walking closer, I expect her to turn and glare at me again. Demand I get out. She doesn't. Staring ahead, her eyes are ghosted with something that makes my insides ache.
Water spits at me as I get closer, and my dress clings to my skin from the humidity. Water streams down her face and body, washing away the grime and torture she's been through. Opening my mouth to say something, she finally looks at me, and my voice dies.
Once again, there's nothing to say.
Lifting my dress to my knees, I step into the tub and stand in front of her. What I'm doing, I have no idea. Someone could walk in and catch us. We'd both be punished then. Yet, I find myself reaching to unbutton her shirt, and like I knew they would, her hands capture my wrists the moment I grab the material between my fingers.
"I won't touch you," I try and reassure her, thinking it's the reason for her caginess, but she only stares back at me. The heat from her touch is hard to ignore. Something I know isn't from the shower.
Pushing on, she keeps a firm grasp on me as I undo her buttons, only letting go so I can peel the destroyed shirt off her body. I gently pull it down her arms, careful not to touch her, the back of my throat going bone dry when it falls to the floor of the tub.
Her body sags with relief, and I gasp when she leans into me so water can get to her back. She grunts, lips sealing together to suppress the yell of agony I know is there. I take the opportunity to inspect the damage. Large black and purply bruises cover her chest, some lashes of the whip here too, though nothing compared to the state of her back. I go to shift around to see, but she blocks my way."Let me look."
She shakes her head. "It's not as bad as it seems. I've had worse."
I inhale sharply when she retakes hold of my wrists, fingers so tight around my skin, I know she'll unintentionally bruise me. She presses me up against the cool tiles, trapping me in, and I lose my breath completely.
"Stop pitying me, Jennie." It's the first time she's said my name out loud, and her tone is back to angry. "Why did you kiss me?"
My body trembles. "I don't…I wanted to take your pain away."
Even as I say it, I know how stupid it sounds. How could a kiss help her? How could I think anything I do would help her? How stupid. Childish. Now she thinks I did it out of sympathy, and maybe I did, but she's right. I shouldn't pity her—I should pity myself for being ridiculous.
"I don't believe you," she says as I lose sensation in my fingers. "You felt sorry for me. It's right there, in your damn eyes."
The back of my throat aches. "Lisa, I—"
"I wonder if you'd feel the same if I told you I did this to myself. Would you have kissed me then?" Her expression drowns me, and I'm all too aware of the fire between us. "Would you have kissed me if you knew I liked it?"
"B-but Father Aaron, he—"
"Enjoyed the show. Now, get out." When I don't move, her fist crashes into the wall next to my head. The impact reopens old wounds and makes her hand bleed. She looks down, breath quivering with rage. "Get. Out."
"I'm—I'm sorry." Frightened, I stumble out of the bath and run from her.
Retreating to the bedroom corner, I slide down the wall and wrap my arms around my legs. I stare ahead at nothing, but inside my head is a different story.
What just happened between us?
Placing my fingers against my lips, I shudder. Lisa likes hurting herself? It makes me remember the time she came out of the bathroom with cuts on her arm. She likes self-punishment, and now I'm faced with a problem.
I liked kissing her.
I don't think it's butterflies you're meant to feel when you kiss someone. It's fire. Because you're meant to burn. Burn in the depths of hell like all sinners do.
..
Lisa spends the night in the bathroom. As the morning sun pokes through the gap in the curtains, she emerges, and sinks into her chair. But not before I see the shade of death hollowing her eyes, dimming the blue to a deathly gray.
Swaying, her face suddenly impales the desk. She passed out. I'm about to check that she's okay when her exhausted snores fill the silence. With her back now to me, I take in the damage for the first time, and every part of me cringes. It's terrible—worse than I thought.
Oh, Lisa. What did you do?
While she said she'd done it to herself, I only believe it to be half true. The other marks and bruises covering her, she couldn't have possibly done to herself.
Footsteps thud on the stairs, and my back stiffens. Somehow, I know it's Father Aaron. Unlike John's steps, his are more taunting, each hit of his heel on the wood his way of announcing he's coming. A tact to inflict fear before he's even arrived. And it works. His visits to the bedroom are rare, and after the way he was last night, I'm even more worried. When he reaches the top step, I turn to Lisa, who's still unconscious when she's usually the first to hear someone coming.
"Lisa," I whisper anxiously, trying to rouse her. She doesn't move. "Please wake up." Don't leave me alone.
My heart threatens to burst out of my chest the closer Father Aaron gets. Lisa sleeps on, and my stomach knots as the lock turns. Father Aaron walks inside slowly, hands embedded into his pockets, two soulless eyes searching the room for me. When he spots me on the floor, he moves past Lisa until he's in front of me. His polished shoes nearly touch the tips of my toes, but I can't move.
With a stoic expression, he offers his hand. "I want to show you something."
Swallowing hurts. My throat's too dry to speak. When I don't move, he huffs out an impatient breath, and I know there isn't any point in fighting. He'll only force me if I don't come willingly, and then punish me for it.
Lifting my hand, he doesn't wait to snatch my wrist and drag me off the floor, his grip like an inescapable vice. As he takes me out of the room, I glance over my shoulder at Lisa, wishing she'd wake up and come with me.
With anxiety causing havoc to my insides, I barely take in my surroundings as Father Aaron takes me down a long, narrower corridor. We remain upstairs; the house is much bigger than I thought. Soon, we come to a door at the end of a different passage, and he pushes it open, revealing a large room lit with candles. It's a bedroom with dark red walls, a king-sized four-poster bed with drapes and rich satin sheets. It dominates the space, a vast, intricately detailed wooden crucifix of Jesus Christ nailed above it.
Panic prickles my neck as he stops me in the middle of the room and moves my hair off my neck, his fingers touching the skin there. I don't know what he's doing until he leans in close behind me and breathes in through his nose, sniffing my hair while his thumb grazes my throat.
"I must apologize." His tone is hushed. "I haven't been forthcoming as to what it is I expect of you now that you're beginning to settle into the family." He moves around me. though I refuse to meet his gaze. "Do you like what you see? The room?" No. It's dull and dated, with dark wooden floors and a smell of must and burning wax. My body shakes brutally, teeth now chattering. "This room will be important."
My heart stops, and this time, I do look at him. "W-what?"
"This is where you become mine in a joining ceremony." My chest caves, and it feels like he's just kicked me in the stomach. Putting my hand over my mouth, I almost get sick. "It's the perfect room—right in the center of the house. It was my great Grandfather's, this place. Passed down to my father, and now me. There are a few renovations needed to make it safer for you. All in due time."
Safer.
"I—"
"I knew you were the one when I saw you. Your virtue called to me. You will serve me, Jennie, and give yourself to me. It's why God put you in my path." I shake my head, but he ignores me. No, no, no. "But it must be right. Preparations will be made before the ceremony happens, so you must take this time to learn from my daughter how to serve and please me. For the next time you step foot in this room, we'll become one."
Sobbing, I lose the sanity I have left. I can't do this. I can't—
"Why are you doing this to me?" I plead, and his eyebrows knit together, like he's confused. I can't believe he doesn't see how wrong this is. How bad he is. "Father Aaron, please. Let me go home."
"You are home. And you are now to address me as your Lord whenever you speak to me, are we clear?"
"Y-yes." I'm on the edge of a slope. Any minute I'm going to slip and fall and perish. And maybe I want to.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, m-my Lord."
He visibly calms and breathes out deeply. "To fight this would mean you won't accept God's will and testament. But like the manipulative Eve, I know you can be disobedient creatures by nature, and he has instructed me how to teach you to conform. You will be mine, Jennie. There's simply nothing you can do about it."
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