I don’t look up, keeping my gaze focused on the floor as I rush back to the front pew and sit down while holding back the tears desperately wanting to fall.
He says I’ve been tested this week but is forgetting your homework at home really a test? I’ve been worked to the bone, having to stay up until three in the morning doing chores.
A hand covers mine in my lap, and when I whip my head around, I see Kim’s soft smile. Her eyes fill with understanding, but understanding for what? Did she see through his performance? Because that’s exactly what it was.
She gives it a soft squeeze before looking away but doesn’t move her hand. My eyes close of their own accord, relishing in the gentle touch from someone. I can’t remember the last time someone touched me with love in their heart and not hate in their eyes.
My breaths start to slow the longer I sit next to her, my mind wandering off and remembering the day so many years ago I was sitting in this exact spot staring at my mother’s coffin.
Dad had used the same words then too—she had been tested by forces much greater than her and she had failed, giving in to evil. Only I know now what she had given into—the pain, the suffering he had caused.
I want to be angry at her for what she did; for leaving me behind, for allowing his hands to touch me in the same way they must have handled her.
She didn’t just take her own life that day; she took mine too.
I understand—at least, I try to. I never thought I’d understand even an iota of why she did it, not the day I found her, not the day I sat weeping for her. But now, so many years later, I think I get it. It wasn’t weak; she showed strength in eliminating herself from a situation she had no way to escape from.
She didn’t have a choice, no matter how much people say she did. She didn’t. They didn’t live the life she did, didn’t uphold the abuse she did. They’ll never know what it was like for her. But I do. I kn
ow what she went through because now it’s my life.
I sometimes wonder if I’ll have to make the same choice, if I’ll have to escape in that way too. I don’t want to; I want to live a full life away from here. I want to be who I’ve dreamed about being for the last five years. I want to be free, but most of all, I want to be happy.
Four months.
Four months until I turn eighteen and can escape his confides without his dictation.
“Let us all pray.” I keep my head bowed, my eyes closed as he finishes, ending with, “Amen.”
I want to shoot up out of my seat when everyone starts to move, but I keep my ass planted on the pew, waiting for the church to begin to empty.
Pulling my hand from under Kim’s slowly, I lift my head and stand up.
“You okay, Lily?”
“I… yeah,” I croak out, swiping my hands down my skirt as I look up into her brown eyes.
She tilts her head to the side, assessing me before opening her mouth, but it snaps shut when a hand lands on her shoulder.
“Kim.”
I shuffle my feet on the floor, not knowing where to look as she turns around to face my father. “Brendan.” Her voice is flat; her shoulders pulled back. “I hope you’re keeping well.”
“I am.” He raises a brow at her before moving his attention to me. “Liliana, it’s time you went and finished your chores.”
“Yes, Father.” I nod, skirting around him and Kim before walking out of the church, my ballet flats taking me away from them as fast as they can.
The congregation’s gathered outside, and I get stopped by a couple of them telling me they hope I stay on my path. I want to shout that I don’t have a path but I don’t—yet again, I keep my mouth closed and smile politely.
“I’ll see you on Tuesday.” I whip my head around, coming face-to-face with Kim again. “For bible study.” I frown, not understanding what she’s saying, but when my dad comes out of the church and stands in the doorway of the large, ornate doors, I simply nod. “My house at six.” She grasps my wrists, pulling my attention back to her as she lowers her voice. “Like we discussed inside?”
I try to read what she’s silently saying, but it’s no use. Why is she doing this? For five years she hasn’t cared to talk to me other than in passing. She was the one person I was sure wouldn’t pull away when Mom died, but it’s like she disappeared right along with her.
Moving my gaze over her shoulder, I see his narrowed eyes and straighten up. “I… Yeah, of course.”
“Great.” She pulls her hand away, smiling big and wide before pushing her light-brown hair out of her face. “I’ll see you then.”
I watch as she walks down the small path that winds between the grass outside the front of the small church, leading out into the parking lot. She halts when she comes toward the end, turning around to face the large oak tree sitting at the edge.