Sidelined: A Wilde Players Dirty Romance

by Terri E. Laine

  As I stood at the altar waiting diligently for my part, I watched the other boys robotically go through the motions. They didn’t get it like I did.

  Even though it wouldn’t be until next year that I would enter high school, I was pretty sure I wanted to become a priest. Leaving behind the elementary school here at Holy Cross was just one step closer to that goal. When I graduated from the eighth grade, I would move on to the Catholic high school clear across town. My parents had agreed to bring me to early Mass every morning before school because they understood how important it was to me. Church was my home and someday would be my life.

  When Mass was over and my robes were hung in the altar server’s room, I reentered the sanctuary. Inhaling, the lingering scent of incense flooded my nostrils, and I thought of how much I loved that smell. There were items on the altar that needed to be returned to the sacristy, so I gathered them and picked up the soiled linen that was used during Mass as well. When I walked into the sacristy, Father O’Brien was waiting for me.

  “Is everyone gone, Canaan?”

  It was a strange question, one I didn’t think too much of at the time. Father O’Brien was someone I trusted.

  “Yes, Father. The church is empty. I grabbed these on my way here.” I nodded toward the items I held.

  “Good. Put them down there.” He pointed to the table where his vestments were usually laid out for him prior to Mass.

  I did as I was told and turned to go collect the other things.

  “Lock the door, Canaan.”

  “Sir?” I faced him, only to find his eyes were dark as though he were angry.

  “I said, lock the door.” The chill in his voice made me frown.

  “But—”

  “You heard me,” he snapped, pointing at the door.

  At first I thought he wanted it locked because maybe he had the money collected at Mass, and he didn’t want anyone coming in.

  “Yes, Father.” So I went and locked the door. I turned around to find his hard stare. He loomed before me, tall in stature, much bigger than me. And for the first time in his presence, I felt uneasy.

  “Come here, Canaan.”

  I did as he commanded. It was Father O’Brien, my pastor and priest, and to disobey him would’ve been a sin. Besides, I was always taught that priests were God’s ministers who represented Christ and the Church. Why would I not listen to him?

  That day he gave me my first lesson as to why I was a sinner.

  ________

  I stood there with my head hung low. My hands clenched the table—the table I had once revered because it was where the Holy Chalices rested—and I feared my knuckles would burst through my skin. I stared at the floor, where red wine from the cruet had been knocked off the table and seeped into the rug like blood. As the stain grew larger and larger, it seemed symbolic somehow—

  “Clean up, Canaan.”

  Father O’Brien’s voice was the knife that flayed my soul. His approach was silent, and I only knew he was near when his breath fanned across my neck from above. Spikes of fear chilled my blood. Although his tone was low, I heard him clearly. If only I were taller, like my dad, maybe I could have overpowered him.

  “Canaan, this is God’s way, his path for you.”

  His meaning burned a trail of confusion mixed with hatred into my heart. Foul air locked in my lungs and I was unable to breathe without choking on the scent of my own filth.

  When his hands landed on my back, terror would have emptied my bladder. Only that had already happened. I prayed to my God who hadn’t come to my aid that I wouldn’t have to endure more penance for my sins. Father taught me a lesson I never wanted to learn again. My skin crawled as his hand slid down my back closer to a place I couldn’t bear to think about. I shuddered for what seemed the hundredth time.

  “Now, clean up. We have work to do.”

  He couldn’t be right. My teeth clenched together and I tasted dirt and rust. I spun around so fast Father O’Brien stepped back in surprise. I ignored the ache in my body and in my soul and found my spine instead.

  “God would never do this to someone.” Tears threatened to spill over and I forced back the sob in my throat.

  He stepped forward, towering over me, and I flinched. He was no small man. Large and intimidating, he reared up over me with his arms extended. I shrunk into myself, fear freezing me in place. His hand landed on my shoulder much like my father’s had that morning. However, Father O’Brien’s touch sickened me.

  “You will see this is the way to become closer to Him.” His tone was hard and unyielding, much like he had been.

  Him? God? I didn’t want to believe it.

  “Now clean up,” he demanded before leaving the room.

  His voice was like a whip across my skin. I wanted to hate him with all my guts, but I was afraid. Afraid that hate would consume me more than the fear that held me in place. Shame made an appearance too. It turned out to be the key that locked my mouth tight. And somewhere deep inside, a voice kept screaming at me to forgive. Forgive. FORGIVE. I grabbed my head in anguish because I wanted to scream out my pain. Then I looked at the wine stain on the floor. And much like the rug, I knew I would never be the same again—a prisoner of my own heart and soul.

  Somehow I managed to put myself to rights before a soft knock came at the door. I still glanced around, knowing Father O’Brien wasn’t there. So I went to the locked door and opened it. Standing there was a young girl I recognized as one of the many faces that attended school and Mass every Sunday. She rubbed at her arms as if she were cold.

  “Excuse me? Do you know where Father O’Brien is?”

  I turned my head in disgust as bile rushed up my throat. “No.” My voice was bitter and cold, bordering on rude.

  “Oh, okay,” she stuttered.

  Her soft footsteps retreated and I wondered if she saw the humiliation that was etched in my skin. Then another thought hit me. How could I possibly leave her to find him alone?

  It took the strength that Samson possessed for me to scramble after her.

  “Hey,” I called after her.

  She stopped dead and turned to face me with skin so pale she looked like she’d seen a ghost.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” Somehow I managed to get my voice to boom out and not squeak from the terror that still coursed through me.

  “But I—”

  “Father O’Brien is a busy man. He doesn’t have time to see you today.”

  My gruff words stole what little light there was from her eyes and I watched her face fall. The awful feeling in my gut forced my eyes closed for a second as I willed back the anger I shouldn’t have directed at her. I tried again and managed not to sound like the wretch I was. “Can I help you with anything?”

  She hugged herself tighter and started rubbing her arms again.

  “No, thanks.”

  Her soft words were choked off at the end. She tore out of the church and headed toward the rectory, leaving me unable to apologize for my rudeness.

  “Canaan, who was that?”

  The bile I’d held back threatened to rise again.

  “No one,” I said, wanting to run out the same doors she had.

  “Are you ready to go home?” he asked, his hand landing on my back.

  I jerked from his touch but nodded anyway. Quickly, I led the way out of the sanctuary I’d once thought of as my home. Only now it felt cold and forbidding, a place where I didn’t want to be.

  Putting as much distance between that boy and me was my goal. Father O’Brien had been my final hope—the last person who I thought could help me, but it was plain I wasn’t worthy of him. I was a nobody, like my uncle kept telling me. Not only that, my heart had been shattered by Canaan, the boy whom I had secretly crushed on.

  I needed to hustle home, to that place where the devil himself lived. I snuck out and hadn’t told Aunt Kathy where I was going. If Uncle Kent caught me, I would pay for sure. After the other night, I was positive he would kill me
if he discovered I wasn’t there. Pain seared the backs of my thighs each time my feet hit the ground, but I prodded on. My dress rubbed against the welts and open wounds on my shoulder blades, but that didn’t slow me down. If anything, it urged me forward. The house was only four blocks from the church. I bit back the sting of that boy’s words—I had counted on Father O’Brien’s help. Without it, my situation was doomed. Because if he wouldn’t help me, who at the church would or could?

  When I rounded the corner, any spark of optimism I held was immediately extinguished when I saw Uncle Kent’s police car in the driveway. He must’ve popped in for lunch, something he rarely did. Maybe I could sneak in through the back door and he’d never know. As soon as I made it to the driveway, I heard him yelling at my aunt.

  “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know, Kent. I thought she was in her room.”

  “Goddammit, you can’t even do one thing right, can you?”

  My aunt cried out. He probably hit her. We were both used as his punching bags. I hurried around the back and slowly opened the door. I’d learned the trick of how to do that so it wouldn’t squeak. As I was closing it, I thought I was in the clear until his voice boomed across the kitchen.

  “Where the hell have you been? Are you sneaking around seeing boys already?”

  His question caught me off guard. Boys? What boys? He never let me do anything, other than go to school. It was dumb of him to think otherwise.

  The only boy I thought wasn’t gross was the boy who’d sent me back to this hellhole. And he was older than me. No way he thought my twelve-year-old self was even alive. I’d seen it in his blank expression not ten minutes ago. And our Catholic school was pretty small and strict. There wasn’t much time to be chasing around boys anyway.

  “Answer me when I ask you a question, goddammit!”

  Crap! I need to pay attention to him when he speaks. “No, sir. I haven’t been sneaking around seeing boys.” My voice shook as I answered.

  “Then where were you?”

  “Church.”

  His beady eyes darkened and nailed me to the floor. “Church? You expect me to believe that?”

  “Y-yes, sir,” I stuttered.

  His lips clamped together and that muscle in his jaw twitched. I knew I was in for it. “Why’d you go to church? You went last night with your aunt.”

  A trapdoor opened in my gut as I recoiled in dread. He believed I was lying, and I had no answer. I didn’t know what made me do it, but I turned and tried to run out the door. I never made it two steps. He snatched a handful of my hair and yanked me backward. I flew right into the brick wall of his chest. My uncle was huge compared to me and I was no match for what was about to happen.

  To my horror, he opened the basement door and practically threw me down the steps. My hand grabbed the railing, saving me. Still, I landed in a heap at the bottom. Wincing, I collected myself and struggled to my feet. He’d never done this before, but my instincts told me it was going to be bad.

  “When you came to live here, I told you never to lie to me. You’re a slow learner, Haven. Maybe this time, you won’t be so quick to forget that rule of mine.”

  I didn’t bother to plead or beg. It wouldn’t help and sometimes made it worse. He unbuckled his belt and watched me as he took his sweet time taking it off. That was what he wanted. He hated me so much that he loved to see my fear. His eyes glowed with the anticipation of it. And then he smiled when he knew he held me in the grips of terror.

  “What are you waiting for?” he asked snidely.

  Air moved in and out of me so fast, my vision became spotty. I was still sore from his beating last night and hadn’t had time to heal. This one would surely put me in the hospital.

  “Please, Uncle Kent,” the words slipped out, though I hadn’t meant for them to.

  His crooked teeth gleamed in the dim light of the dank basement. “You trying to piss me off even more, Haven?” he taunted. “Get that dress off, or I’ll yank it off of you.”

  I had precious few things to wear as it was, so I couldn’t afford for it to be ruined if he tore it. It was one of the only nice ones I had. I reached behind me, wincing, to unzip it.

  “Hurry it up. I haven’t got all damn day,” he sneered.

  His tone had changed and I understood what that meant. I made quick work of undressing. I stood in my undergarments, rigid as a rock. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to keep from shivering in the cool basement. In that moment, I hated him with every teeny bit of me. If I had the means, I would’ve killed him, right there.

  My throat was so dry; I tried to swallow but couldn’t. I went to lick my lips, but all my spit was gone.

  “Turn around.”

  When I did, stupidly I tried to make another break for it. I never gave it a thought. My feet just took off. I heard a growl, followed by a bellow. Then I found myself pushed to the floor. No time to watch the stars dancing in front of my eyes with the cold floor embracing me. Blows rained down, tearing into my flesh. At first I screamed, but my throat became so raw that after a while, they were nothing but hoarse whimpers. I retreated into that place where nothing could touch me…that place where numbness ruled. A land where Mom waited for me and soothed me in her warm embrace.

  “Kent, stop. Please stop,” my aunt begged. She’d come to save me. “She won’t be able to go to school if you continue.”

  His blows slowed but didn’t subside.

  “Come on, honey. Come upstairs with me. Leave the girl alone and let’s spend some time together. You look tired, and I know how to relax you.”

  Aunt Kathy’s voice lulled me out of my safe space.

  “Oh yeah? And what do you have in mind?” he asked.

  “Whatever you want.”

  I heard them mumbling, but all I cared about was he’d stopped. When their footsteps carried them upstairs, I knew what they were going to do. It was the only thing Aunt Kathy had in her arsenal. They were going to have sex.

  When I’d explained to Macie about the noises that came from their room at night, she told me what they were doing. And that was the only time my uncle was truly nice to my aunt, when she promised to go to their room with him.

  God, why did you take Mom from me and send me to Hell? What did I ever do to deserve this? Was it because I had a crush on that boy? Well, you don’t have to worry. I hate him as much as my uncle. I never want to marry, ever.

  The shouts in my head were louder than my beating heart. I shivered on the damp floor, longing to move but couldn’t. When I tried, pain surged like an eruption of a volcano. My neck, shoulder blades, all the way to the backs of my thighs felt like lava coursing through my body.

  The buckle must have dug into me good this time. Why had I thought Father O’Brien was the answer? The only things I’d gotten from my trouble were welts and more bruises I would have to hide.

  Tears dripped from my cheeks onto the floor. It was sad when you were so weak you didn’t have the strength to sob for the movement would prove worse than the release of emotion.

  It wasn’t what I expected my life would be when I moved in with my aunt and uncle after finding out Mom had died. I’d cried plenty that day. She’d been the best mom in the world. So sweet and pretty; I could remember brushing her long, blond hair.

  I wished I could erase the day I came home and saw Uncle Kent’s car in the driveway. If I’d known then what I knew now, I would’ve kept walking right on past the house. I could’ve slept in the woods, like those fairies you read about in books. Anything would’ve been better than this.

  That day he declared he was the new sheriff in my life. And he’d been right. The horrid man controlled everything from what I wore to who I hung out with. My life under his rule became a literal prison. Only his continuous punishment would eventually shatter me into nothing. And who could I tell? The only living relative I had was my aunt, and she already knew.

  Sometime later, I gathered myself together and pushed up from the floor. A w
ave of dizziness rose with the pain. If I didn’t get in the shower to rinse the blood off soon, it would dry and then I’d have a mess. It took most of what strength I had, but I made it to the small bathroom, partly on my hands and knees. The shower was as bad as the beating with the water singeing my raw and open wounds. I shivered under the cool water. It hadn’t taken me long to learn that cold was better than hot after one of my uncle’s sessions. The air dried my back and thighs, saving me from rubbing the damp towel over the welts and open sores. I found the mirror and braved a peek at the damage. When I saw what my back looked like, I buried my face in a towel. There were so many places that scars covered me now I would never be normal again. From my shoulders to my waist I looked like latticework.

  The knock startled me. “Haven, are you okay?” It was Aunt Kathy.

  “Yes,” I choked out.

  “He’s gone. Let me put some salve on for you and get some ice on that.”

  I opened the door so she could come in. When I spun around and allowed her to see, she gasped. “Oh, God, sweetie. I’m so sorry.”

  “Did you call him?”

  “What?”

  “Did you call him to tell him I left?”

  “No! I would never do anything like that. I had no idea you were gone. He came home for lunch,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting him.”

  I had to believe her. She was the only tie to my mom, and why would she lie? She was going through some of the same things I was.

  I hissed as her fingers applied the salve. “I hate him, and I don’t know why he does this,” I said.

  “I’m sorry. He’s just like that.” She finished working on my back. “All done, honey. Don’t forget to take some ibuprofen.”