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“Then on Sunday, I'll go to church to put in a good word for you too, sheriff,” the guy bows and seems to be praying to the saints hidden in the car ceiling. “Oh dear God, a new car, here I come!”
“If you don't get on your knees, it's all in vain,” Manasseh grins and triggers odd memories.
He's doing it on purpose!
During our teenage years, under the influence of our pact, Manasseh had made me recite the evening prayer in his presence, kneeling and all, after catching me off guard with a midnight visit to the church. It had been weird, and honestly, only now do I understand his twisted intentions.
I bump against the backrest and cross my legs, sulking. When my thigh reveals itself through the slit of my airy dress, I feel Manasseh's curious gaze fixate on me, with a hunger that makes me want to cover up.
“I was supposed to pick out my own dress,” I mutter.
“I like seeing you wear things from me,” he says casually and cracks his neck loudly.
I cringe at the irritating sound and sigh.
“I hope you break it someday,” I mumble and pull my shoulders back.
“You're not that lucky,” Manasseh grins and strokes his chin, still fixed on my feet, this time covered.
The dress I'm wearing this time is white, long, with a split on one side, cinched at the waist with a wide, golden belt. It's sleeveless, with a delicate cut, and puffy, transparent sleeves and an open back. My neck is adorned with a wide choker with little stars and a crescent moon at the center. I have the same rose gold crescent moon earrings in my ears. The curls that have held up throughout the day cascade lightly down my back, and the front part is pulled back, secured with a crescent-shaped clip, with loose strands framing my face. At the salon, I had my nails done in white, feeling more pampered than ever. Due to my involvement in sports, I usually didn't bother with my nails, simply keeping them short. The salon attendant had applied gel nails, and I had agreed to it, hoping to break my nervous habit of biting them to the point of bleeding.
I gaze at my reflection in the tinted glass and barely recognize myself.
I feel like I'm back in childhood, when I cared if Sami noticed my cherry-scented lip balm or if he realized I had bought a cute dress and matched it with white leg warmers. My femininity returned to me, all to please Manasseh once again. After seeing my mother today, well and happy, that surge of anger and violence within me had been quenched by the gentleness on her face. The thought that everything I do is for her comfort makes the impossible possible, transforming the tomboyish Becca into a delicate and feminine one.
“I can't believe we had to endure a five-hour drive to get here. Couldn't this meeting have been closer to London?” I complain as I stretch my limbs outside the car, loosening my bones.
“Do you think I chose this?” He cracks his neck and narrows his eyes, making me roll mine.
Ugh! I can't stand it when he does that.
“Who did, then?” I gesture irritably. “I bet it's another one of your sick games.”
“Why? Are you tired already?” He touches my cheek, and I pull back.
“I don't like your games, but no matter how tired I am, I won't be groveling at the feet of any man, especially not yours. Don't forget who you're talking to.”
“Oh, I won't!” He straightens his back and squares his shoulders, looking down at me with superiority. “Rebecca Godwill, the preacher's pure girl, who at sixteen was eager to join a pagan cult at any cost, ready to sell her soul for love. I wonder, did you kneel before him like you did for me when you said that prayer? Did you unclog his rusty pipe, or...?”
“You fucke...” My hand raises before I realize it, but Manasseh grabs my wrist, laughing.
“Mmmm! Not today, love. You're not allowed to hit me because I need to look presentable.”
“I hate you!”
“Fine, because that's the only way to keep me from feeling guilty. I won't show you an ounce of mercy, Becca, because you don't deserve it. You're asking for trouble, and you're already getting on my nerves.” A vein throbs in his temple, and I notice his fingers clenching into fists. “You're being disobedient again, and at this rate, I might just erase you from the list of favorite visitors, just as you've barely gotten there.”
My hand weakens and ends up in the broad palm of Manasseh.
“Sorry,” I mutter and feel humiliated.
“Sorry?!” He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “You look pathetic when you give in so easily.” He adjusts his jacket and then his hair.
“And you look pathetic when you play the master, but everything you have is thanks to Daddy,” I tilt my head and bite my lower lip, blinking slowly.
“Listen... this is an important meeting for me. Behave yourself, Becca! I'm serious,” he speaks in a concerned tone, “and not just because of me, but also because of the circumstances.”
“Now you're begging?” I scoff arrogantly.
