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The three of us climb on the backs of our motorcycles and our boots smash down on the kickstarters. We need to roll out of this empty parking lot before some passerby calls for the cops.
Our engines purr and one by one, each bike lurches forward. We steer into a triangular formation, rolling home at a rapid clip.
I love this. I love everything about riding. It’s always been practically therapeutic for me.
I savor the feeling of the wind blowing through my hair, but it does little to salve the fresh wound in my heart.
Chapter 32
Marigold
I watch the sky turn from late afternoon sun to dusk and then dark.
There’s nothing else for me to do.
I’m staring out of my bedroom window. It’s my only form of entertainment. They have stripped my room of all electronics. There’s no television. No laptop. Not even a radio.
But the real icing on the cake, the real cherry on this shit sundae, is that they’ve taken all of my books. My father and stepmother couldn’t even leave me something to read.
I hear rapid knocks on my bedroom door before it swings open. My father strolls inside, smug and red-faced, as if everything is normal. Like there’s no religious goon sitting outside of my door. Like I’m not being held captive in the place I once called home.
“Marigold,” He says. My father’s rich baritone voice is impersonal.
I’m still staring out the window, a minor act of defiance. I hear the sound of the door closing behind him.
“Look at me!” He screams.
I reluctantly turn my head in my father’s direction. His nostrils are flaring and his jaw is jutting forward.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
My mind races, but I have no excuse. Blaming my escapade on the seduction of bikers is just not going to cut it.
And who is my father to lecture me, anyway? He’s the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever seen.
I feel rage bubbling inside of me and I feel my spine straighten. “What about you, Dad?” I ask, my voice soft but strong.
My father is striding over to me, but I’m not backing down.
“What business did you have with them, Dad?”
My father responds by swiftly slapping me across the face.
I didn’t expect it, though he’s done it before. My head whips from one side to the other and my cheek stings like it’s been lit aflame.
Reflexively, I hold my palm to my face. Tears well up in my eyes, but my father shows me no pity.
“How dare you question me!” He snarls, holding up his hand as if to strike me again. The Reverend sneers when I cower.
“You’re my daughter! You belong to me!” He booms. “You could have shamed my entire legacy!”
I sit there silently, tears streaming down my face.
“You will not bemyproblem any longer,” My father hisses and the implications of his words send a cold shiver down my spine.
“That’s right. I have already announced it,” He says and his lips slowly turn into a sinister smile.
“No,” I gasp and my father nods at me.
