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Sonny sat across from Mama, and she held out her hand. He instinctively clasped it, and she blessed the food.
“Amen,” he muttered and splashed hot sauce on his greens. Bitter like Mama. They ate in silence, the TV as background noise from the living room.
“What’s troubling you, Sonny?” Mama asked, holding her fork in midair as if the Good Lord Himself had whispered Sonny’s sins into her ear. “What have you done that needs repentance?”
“Nothing, Mama.” Sonny’s insides jittered and his pulse pounded. He couldn’t meet her eyes.
She got to her feet.
His stomach knotted, but underneath the fear and humiliation of a grown man about to be inspected, rage simmered. Mama slowly rounded the table, circling him and sniffing, then her glint pierced his soul.
“I smell her on you. The hint of perfume lingers on your shirt.” With every syllable, spittle from her disgust dotted his lips and nose. “You’ve given in to temptation.” She poked him in the chest, her sharp nail pressing through the cotton fabric, stabbing him.
Invisible ants crawled under his skin and his bones rumbled as he pictured picking up the vase of silk lilies on the table, bashing in her skull and watching her bleed out like a pig on the faded floor. A thrill zinged through his middle until the slap across his cheek snapped him into the present with a venomous sting.
“How many times have I told you? How many times is it going to take to teach you the lesson of morality? You rotten boy. You shall be judged.”
“Don’t,” he whispered. He knew what came next, after his sins were found out. After she pronounced him guilty. “I haven’t been bad, Mama.” But he had. He’d been very bad.
It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t stop himself.
Until it was over.
Then the shame and the overwhelming guilt flooded his system and the rumbling started. The rumble in his bones and the ants crawling under his skin.
It was their fault. Like sirens singing him to shore and ensnaring him.
“Get in the bedroom. Right this minute.”
No. No, he hated this. He slammed his fist on the kitchen table, the glasses sloshing tea and the vase teetering. “You don’t tell me what to do anymore! You can’t make me.”
She stepped into his personal space, her dark eyes boring into his, and he cowered.
Like he always had. Like he always did.
“You. Will. Take. Your. Punishment. Or you’ll burn in the pit for eternity. Do you want to burn for eternity, Sonny?”
Tears burned his eyes and wet his cheeks. “No, Mama. Don’t let me burn,” he pleaded as paralyzing fear overcame him, but he forced one foot in front of the other until he reached Mama’s bedroom.
He knew the drill. Been here many times before.
It was time to face the collage of crosses on the wall, reminding him of his sins. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt.
“That’s a good boy,” Mama cooed. Her cool hand ran down his bare, scarred back, her nails raising gooseflesh on his skin. “This is for your own good.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he mumbled.
He braced himself as the dresser drawer squeaked open.
“Say it,” she demanded.
He balled his fists. “Forgive me for I have sinned,” he whispered. “‘Lust not after her beauty in thine heart; neither let her take thee with her eyelids.’”
And the first lash of forty to come lit his skin up like raging fire.
“Again! Say it.”
Chapter Two
