Cramped Quarters - Love Under Lockdown

Maybe we could study together virtually?

Conspicuously absent from the list was Rachel O’Flanagan. Despite the fact that, in my humble estimation, she needed more help than any of the rest of them. I was a little surprised that she wasn’t just plagiarizing my notes, or even putting them into her own words.

What little she had up at least seemed to be on her own analysis, mostly using my notes as a means to understand what was going on. Like a latter-day Rosetta Stone for film analysis.

She was nothing if not honest, in terms of both facts and fairness, as far as I could tell. That fact alone spurred me to think that she might be okay after all. Despite, no doubt, having a head full of dogma.

I had just poised my fingers over the keys, fully intending to invite her to chat when I thought better of it. Remembering how she had reacted when she first saw me in the dorm, I decided it was probably better to ease into things gently.Chapter Eleven - RachelI couldn’t move. The ropes were too tight. I tried to lift my head but all I could see was the floor. All I could feel was the table beneath me. Cold and smooth.

My wrists and ankles were tied to the tops of the table legs with gentle silk ropes. Dad always said the idea was to hold me, not hurt me. Like a great big hug.

We were at home. I knew that much. Last time it had been in the church. In the basement. I didn’t think the pastor knew but if he did, he never said anything. Ours was a sect that still believed in literal exorcisms, so a bit of light bondage was unlikely to raise any eyebrows.

“Daddy?” I asked, as a floorboard creaked.

It was what he liked me to call him.

“I’m here, kitten. It’s alright?”

“Kitten” was his nickname for me.

“What’s happening, Daddy? I can’t move.”

“That makes it easier, kitten. There’s something Daddy has to do, and it's easier if you can’t thrash about. Remember what happened last time?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I said through tears.

I could smell it. It wasn’t the kind of thing that was easily forgotten. Particularly what happened afterwards. It was a truly terrible thing. To smell your own flesh cooking.

My father said it was just to give me a small preview of what awaited in the fires of hell. I started screaming before the flame touched me.

The scream continued into the waking world. Not thinking about anything other than the terror, I ran into the bathroom, whipping off my nightdress as I went. Stark naked, I stood under the harsh, fluorescent lights, staring at my bare back.

It was fine. I was fine. The dream seemed so real, and I was glad it was over. I looked at the cross burned into my flesh. I wanted it gone. To take the sharpest knife in the well-stocked kitchen, and slice it away, like peeling an orange. Any scar that might form in its place seemed preferable to the current disfiguration.

I gasped audibly, shocked and disgusted by my own self-violence. I’d never thought anything like that before.

Graves.

He must have been getting into my head. Making me think things a good, Christian girl never would. Except how could he? He’d barely said a word to me since I found out who he was.

Did have some kind of mind powers like Dad had said? The laugh burst from my throat. A natural and involuntary reaction to a truly ridiculous idea.

No, it wasn’t him. It was me, finally realizing what had been done to me in the false name of love and righteousness.

It felt like I might vomit. The sheer weight of the realization seemed as though it might just crush me. I settled myself and tried to control my breathing. Everything was fine, I told myself.

I was safe. The pandemic was outside, and I didn’t even have to go to class in the physical sense. My father was far away, back at home. The only thing I might’ve had to worry about was Augustus. Though even that was starting to seem increasingly ridiculous.

Seeing the shower reflected in the mirror, I turned on the water. It wasn’t too early and anyone who might have been woken by the sound of the pipes should have been up already. I hadn’t heard anything from Augustus, but I also wasn’t really paying attention, either.

The warm water felt like a blessing as it came cascading down, cleansing my exhausted and scarred body of filth and tension, if not the wages of sin. Sins visited upon me when I was too young to understand them, nonetheless getting the effect of the intended correction.

I shivered as my hands grazed the raised ridges of the scarring. Dad had meant them to be a reminder. Though he likely hadn’t meant it in the way that was beginning to develop. I remembered alright, and it made me want to stay far away from him.