I was indoctrinated to follow him. To believe his medieval ways that sickness was brought on by wickedness. A punishment from God to teach men right from wrong. A curse thrust upon us since Adam and Eve sinned and chose to go their own way. I knew differently. The lack of hygiene meant that no one had access to good, clean water. That's why most people would frequent the alehouses and drink alcohol to keep them hydrated, which now we knew was like trying to dry yourself whilst standing outside in the rain.

I sat in the sermon for 20 mins and it felt like 3 hours. Father was extra judgemental today. With the period of Lent looming, I knew he was preparing the flock to begin a period of self reflection and repentance. He wanted everyone to remember they were sinners and only by the grace of God were they saved. In these moments, I remembered the blonde angel's laugh. Her pure innocence made me feel so comforted. Like she was the goodness in the world. She believed as my father did, that I should be a clergyman like him. But my heart didn't lie there but with the sick and needy. I knew I didn't have Christ's healing hands but I wanted to help as many people as I could with their health. I wanted to be a doctor.

I pondered on my dream all afternoon. The streets were littered with illness and death. I wanted the world to change. I wanted to practice medicine and really try and help make a difference in the community. I had no idea how to break it to my father. I didn't want this life he had paved for me. Running the church, guarding and instructing the flock. Passing judgements and sermons week in and week out. Looking at the illness and death all around the city of London and just accepting it was all part of God's plan. No, I didn't believe that. I didn't believe it was part of his plan to steal my blonde angel from me and my family. My young baby sister needed a mother and she had none because sadly, medicine could not have saved her. I longed for an age where this could all be made possible. Where mother and baby could have both survived and been nursed back to perfect health. I loved people, I wanted them all to be happy and healthy and know that the Lord had given us immense talent and determination to pursue knowledge of medicine and really help change humanity's understanding of the human body and the world's resources and capability to help increase the overall life expectancy. I couldn't believe that we were all destined to die young or middle aged. Surely older people should be represented in this society too? 50 seemed very old, but wouldn't it be amazing for someone as old as 75 to be around, imparting wisdom on the younger generations? Father interrupted my deep train of thought.

"Carlisle? What are you daydreaming about now? You're not a child anymore, son. You're almost 18 years old!" I looked at his dispapproving glare for the thousandth time. I actually realised I had never seen him genuinely smile. He was right. I turned 18 on Sunday, the day of my inauguration as priest. Well, not King Priest, that was father's title, but I was to be his right hand man. I felt sick to my stomach at the thought. I was still a firm believer in God but my unshakeable faith had been tested since losing my mother. I shook the thought from my head. The more I thought about her, the more the pain resurfaced. Noticing I was deep in thought again, I prompted myself to respond to him.

"I know, father. Sorry, it won't happen again" He grumbled and muttered something inentelligble. I knew he didn't believe me and honestly, I didn't believe myself. I knew I was very much caught up in my own head. I always seemed to be that way, ever since I was a child. My internal monologues couls go on for hours. Like this was the real world and everything outside was just a dream I was plodding my way through.

"Well, you best go to your room and study the scriptures before Sunday. You know you need to be well prepared if you're to stand beside me every Sunday and assist me with God's work" he barked. I slumped off to my study room to study the sciptures. The bible was already on my desk ready and waiting. I sighed and sat down and began to study the book of Leviticus. But I soon got distracted by the sight out of the window. A mother and baby were sitting in a doorway, begging for scraps from passersby. The passersby were ignoring her, women tutted and narrowed their eyes. Men didn't give her a second glance but rather focussed on the well dressed wealthy women who were chatting to each other and laughing as if they did not have a care in the world. More than likely, the woman was a widow, or a prostitute who had no way of continuing her trade now she had a baby to look after. My heart went out to her but I knew I couldn't get involved. Father would scold me and more than likely beat me. I shuddered, remembering the lashings I used to receive as a boy. Father insisted it was to whip the evil out of me. The evil thoughts that disobeyed our Lord. I knew he got some sick sadistic pleasure out of it though. His frustrations often came out with harsh words or physical punishments. And even though I was a man now, I still feared him. I feared his wrath more than any eternal damnation.

I studied for two hours until the sun went down. It was late and I thought I should report my progress to father before I went to bed. I made my way to his room when I suddenly stopped. I heard a noise coming from his room. A woman's voice. I stood and listened and realised what was going on. My father was having intimate relations with her and it seemed she couldn't keep quiet. I heard him laugh and grunt, clearly approving of the noises she made, and I quickly retreated back to my room not wanting to hear anymore. I understood now he was a widow, he could entertain a woman in the evening if that was his wish, but I still felt a sting of betrayal from him. He judged people every day and warned them not to succumb to the desires of the flesh and yet here he was frolicking with debauchery. I lay down in my bed and my anger and resentment for him boiled up to the point where I felt I'd almost explode. I found my own hand wander down my pants and hover over my manhood. Strangely, I discovered it was hard. More than likely due to hearing the moans of a woman. I'd never thought about it before. I'd been such a good man, I never even considered giving in and allowing myself that stress release. I feel like I needed it now and as I began to stroke, the pleasure built. I stopped myself though and shook my head. I'd never give in, not until my wedding night. This part of the story dear reader, I never revealed to my Renesmee. But it still entered my thoughts as I recounted the story to her. About my hypocritical father.