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AGED 16
“Ignore the staring, sweetheart,” Mama whispers to me as we step into the crowded chapel. I do as she says. As we walk to our usual pew at the front, I keep my focus on the floor and count how many tiles I step over. I don’t understand why we still have to come here anymore, this is just another one of those things she insists on doing to try to be ‘normal’.
Mama holds her head up high, returning the polite smiles and ignoring the sad, pitiful stares being directed at her. Her hand squeezes around my shoulder when we get to our pew, where three spaces have been left empty.
Is everyone else here playing the game too?
I side glance Eleanor Cranum when I hear her tiny giggle. If she had the ability to read the thoughts inside my head, I bet her amusement would slip down her throat and choke her, and I throw her back a look of spite before sitting down beside Mama. She’s shifted into her position beside Mary, the preacher's wife, who takes hold of her hand and squeezes it to offer her some strength.
“We’re all with you, Anita.” Her voice is soft and kind, and it forces another fake smile onto Mama’s lips.
Like every other service I’ve attended on a Sunday, the preacher's voice is a low hum in the back of my head. I ignore his meaningless words and helpless chants, because I’m far beyond being saved. The thoughts inside my mind don't belong in a sacred place like this, I don’t belong in a place like this, and yet I make no attempt to blank them out.
I couldn't if I wanted to because I don’t control them. They control me.
I look around at the congregation, and wonder if everything is so perfect for them when they’re in the confines of their own homes.
Do any other families sitting here today have their own horror stories? Are the parts of our worlds that we choose to share with others just one spectacular performance that each of us has a role in?
When the service ends, everyone stands out on the perfectly mowed grass, same as they always do. I wonder who would have cut it this week. Church ground maintenance was always a job that Father prided himself on doing. No one else could get the lines as perfect as Peter Carter.
As the sun shines down on all the townspeople that spill out of the church doors and take the time to chat together, all eyes seem to be directed at Mama and me.
Some take the time to come over and express their shock and tell us that we’re in their prayers. Others just stare down their noses at us. Somehow through it all though, Mama remains gracious as she thanks them for their kindness.
Eleanor smiles at me from where she stands with her father, as he tucks her under his arm and talks to Mrs. Morton about what colleges he wants her to apply for. It’s not an innocent smile she’s giving me, it's a seductive one. The kinda one she gave me before I let her suck my dick around the back of the science block last week. I’ll bet my fingerprints are still traceable on her shoulders, just a slight yellowish tinge on her skin now, but still a mark of her sin.
When Mama's taken as much as she can stand, she nudges me forward to start walking back home. We pass the same diner that we do every Sunday. When I was younger, I always wished we could be like the other families and stop off for ice cream. I was just never brave enough to ask Father if we could.
But Father ain’t here today…
“You wanna get some ice cream?” I look up at Mama daringly, and the smile she gives me back reaches all the way up to her eyes and makes them sparkle.
Opening her purse, she takes out a ten-dollar bill and holds it out to me. I can’t remember the last time I had ice cream, and with a slight grin back at her, I take the money from her fingers and head inside. I spend far too long deciding what to choose, and when I finally make a decision, I pay up and take the cones out to her.
She looks happy, sitting and waiting for me on the bench outside. So happy that the hint of a laugh escapes from her lips as she takes her cone from me, along with her change.
Mama then takes a long, contented breath of air and smiles at me again before we continue our journey home in delicious silence.
When we get to the top of our lane, her lips plant a gentle kiss on my cheek, before she wipes the corner of my mouth with her finger.
“Best not tell your father about our little treat,” she whispers, as all the light dims from her eyes. “You know how it would displease him.”
Her words drain all the warmth from my chest and stop me from moving.
“Sure,” I promise her, faking a smile of my own.
I’m confident that it’s a secret I can keep because Father is never coming back…
Not from where he is now.
TWO MONTHS AGO
“I’m not him… I am not him.”
I repeat the words over and over inside my head, but they don’t seem to have any effect. The pretty little whore glances over her shoulder seductively as she leads me up the stairs toward the room she knows I have the key to.
It’s been months since I allowed myself the pleasure of a pussy. Long enough for this not to be pleasant for her. She smiles at me awkwardly when we reach the door, and it surprises me that she doesn’t seem nervous. She can’t have been warned about me yet.
