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OANA COTHAM, AKA MOMMY’S LITTLE SINNER
I’ve got sinning inmy blood. Ever since I was little, I’ve always challenged the rules—stole the last cookie, snuck out of the house to dance in the rain, napped during sermons, and asked rude questions during Sunday school. In my small hyper-religious community, I was a rebel.
As I grew older, I learned why I might be so wild compared to the rest of my family. Our neighbor Alan Wesker has “kitty eyes.” His kids do, too. And so do I!
I don’t know if I was born of lust between my sinning ma and her equally lustful neighbor. Or if Alan pushed his horny ways on my submissive mother. All I know is I was created during a sinful act. That would certainly explain why I embrace my temptations.
Meanwhile, my prideful mother lives in denial of her envious nature. My father’s a glutton with a taste for booze. My brothers are full of rage, bitter toward the world, and always looking for fault. My sisters—except “weird” Anouk—are greedy, having already put their kids to work to ensure their families get nicer homes in the better part of our church’s part of the neighborhood.
The Cotham family attends the Trinity Church with our “extended family.” We’re meant to hold the line as the world crumbles under the weight of sin. Yet, our preacher seduces every young woman he can trap in a room away from prying eyes.
He even showed interest in Anouk and me when we reached our mid-teens despite us being known as “wrong.” My sister is a mousy brunette who wants to hide in the corner and be left alone. When he took her into his office for special prayers, she followed like a good sheep, only to scream once the door shut. Her fear was so palpable that she fainted.
A year later, when it was my turn to receive special instruction, I simply refused to go with him. My embarrassed parents tried pushing me into the room. The pastor backed down before they did. Once I whispered how I planned to bite anything he wagged at me, he simply ordered me to be sent home and punished. Yet, my parents kept trying to drag me inside the office. I got a terrible whipping at the end of the day, but I never did end up alone with the pastor! No matter my sore butt, I proved triumphant!
Except I remained trapped in our life. I have no skills or money. When I ran away once and tried to get a job, I couldn’t fill out the application. I had no phone number and didn’t know what a social security number was. I couldn’t get a driver’s license without my birth certificate and a social security card. I wasn’t even sure my parents had those forms. I was born at home, and my family doesn’t like the government tracking them.
At eighteen, I accepted I was trapped. That realization broke me in a way that my parents’ punishments never could. I’d fallen into a terrible depression until a sign from the outside world gave me hope.
One Sunday at our church, the members of the “homestead” played a dirty song about a wet pussy. The congregation was horrified as the sinner women danced to the foul music.
The church’s men were ready to attack the dancing women and save us from the hellfire they inspired with their wanton acts. Except they’d need to face off against a crew of large men watching the spectacle.
The Rawkfist Motorcycle Club is full of outlaws who ride motorcycles, stain their skin with sinful images, and listen to music about fucking. I’d always found them fascinating.
Yet, despite our town’s size, I never knew any of them. Homeschooled and isolated, I only caught glimpses of the bikers.
Knowing they existed in the same small West Virginia town gave me hope. So did a man named Zeb Earlham. His daughter and granddaughters started the homestead, which is a large piece of land where the family lives all together.
Zeb is a moonshiner. People claimed he was rude and sinful. Most importantly to me, I learned he had successfully lived in the woods for decades.
That was my new plan! If I located a tent, I could probably survive on my own even without a proper job. I might do random work to get by. If that incredibly old man could survive, I bet I’d do just fine.
That’s why I slipped out of the house every week and walked through the woods. Eventually, the lush, mazelike forest would become my home. I’d always need to hide out from my family, so they didn’t drag me back to my prison.
My sister, Anouk, knew my plan. She even seemed to consider going with me. We’ve both reached marrying age. Only our off-putting personalities have kept potential husbands away.
I knew if I ever married a man chosen by my family that I’d only be trading prisons. Soon, I’d give birth to kids who would one day also want to run away.
