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His hands.
The hands that doled out punishment for every minor infraction. Even imagined ones. The hands that doled out different punishments to his daughter than his son.
Rev struggled to breathe as he stared sightlessly across the barren kitchen. Nothing was ever left out unless the item was in use. The counters were clear, the table was empty, the walls were bare except for another cross. None of the crosses in the house were the kind with a crucified Jesus. None were fancy. They consisted of only two strips of polished wood.
The house was not full of knickknacks or decorations. No family photos. No drawings or crafts made by their children were displayed. Plain curtains were used only to block the sun or to give the family privacy. Or to be pulled to avoid seeing what her husband was doing to her son in the backyard.
Was it to fight the temptation to go out and stop him? Or was it because she believed Michael was getting what he deserved?
Or was it because if she intervened, she would take his place and receive the lashes instead of him? Of course, with some additional strikes added on to the number for stepping out of her place.
He wondered how many times his father had made his mother bare her back so he could paint stripes on her skin with a switch. All with the excuse to remind her on how to be a good wife.
Or did she marry him already trained to serve him? Trained by her own father like Michael’s father had been “training” Sarah?
Everyone in their church seemed to look the other way when it came to things like that. Like it was normal. When it wasn’t.
None of it was normal.
It was all fucked up.
All of it.
He made fun of the Shirleys and their cult-like ways, but in truth, he had grown up in a community no better than theirs.
Unlike the Shirleys, they did not hide and keep to themselves, they walked among the greater community. Their secrets hidden in plain sight.
Their children constantly complimented for being so well-behaved.
Until they weren’t.
Until they acted out. Until they fought the chains that bound them.
Until they fought to be free from the restraints forced on them by their parents, grandparents and the members of their order.
Those disobedient children were prayed over.
And when that didn’t work, they were punished.
Brought to heel.
The rod was not spared but instead used generously.
It was also highly encouraged.
Rev squeezed his eyes shut and simply breathed as a hand pressed to the center of his back, grounding him. Bringing him back to the situation at hand.
Which was his mother. Stepping closer. Inspecting him. Seeing the multiple piercings in his ears. The hoop in his nose.
The forbidden tattoos that covered his hands. He had worn a long sleeve T-shirt but it was impossible to hide the tattoos that spilled past his cuffs and onto the backs of his hands.
She would probably drop to her knees and ask for God’s forgiveness if he whipped off his shirt and she saw what was underneath.
Not scars from his father’s punishment. But different types of markings. More of what was already revealed. What she only got a glimpse of. The marks his father left behind on his back now mostly gone and the very bold statement of who he was, where he now belonged, in their place.
He chose not to join the fellowship his parents groomed him for, but instead a fellowship of another type. A brotherhood that stood stronger together than apart.
Also full of secrets. But nothing like the secrets kept within this house.
Within their church.
Within their minds.
She did not hide her disgust, or the fact that she was judging him, when she said, “Leviticus 19:28, Michael. Have you forgotten by accident or by choice?”
Ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor print any marks upon you.
“On purpose, Mother mine.”
Her mouth tightened and her blue eyes narrowed. Yeah, there was no doubt where he got his eyes from. Only his weren’t so damn judgmental.
“You are not welcome here, Michael.”
He shrugged “Ain’t a surprise.”
“So then, you will leave.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Brother Matthew, see your nephew out,” she ordered.
“I won’t, Sister. I had a purpose when I asked him here.”
“To create problems. John doesn’t need this stress right now. His passing over should be peaceful.”
Rev hoped to fuck it was anything but. The real reason why he came. Why he was putting himself through this. Bringing himself back to a past he’d left far behind.
She turned and headed back to the stove, clearly dismissing them.
Reilly tugged on his arm. “Maybe we should go, Rev.”
“Rev?” His mother spun back around, a wooden spoon in her hand, her face now showing some emotion. Disbelief. “Are you a Reverend now? What church allows all those tattoos and piercings?” She pointed the spoon in his direction and waved it up and down. “The marks of the devil.”
