by Cerys du Lys
Every so often, I feel like she's looking at me out of the corner of her eyes, but I don't know for sure. Whenever I try to look, I don't see it. She either looks away or she was never looking in the first place.
Her silence makes me bold, for whatever reason. Shitty fucking reason, but there it is.
"I don't know if you noticed, but I've been trying to touch your hand at church. Probably not. It's dumb. I think you're pretty, Angeline. That's why I came here. I didn't know this was going to happen. I didn't know I'd see this. I'm sorry. I still think you're pretty."
What you have to understand is I said all of this over the course of maybe fifteen minutes. A sentence here and there, nothing more than that.
"I'm not going to have sex with you like that," I say. "I'll come back, though. I'll try to help you."
Fuck. She won't believe that. Why would she? She probably thinks I'm going to come back, but eventually I'll give in and become like all the rest. That's what I would think if I were her.
It's really fucking hard, but I leave her like that. I leave the room and go find the priest and the three other guys.
*** Angeline
The first time I speak to Noah, I do not talk. I am unsure if this is speaking because of that. He talks enough for the both of us. I enjoy the sound of his voice. It is soft, yet strong. There is something in him that makes me feel. I do not know what it is that I feel, but I feel it. A little tinge of warmth in an otherwise cold and lifeless existence.
He speaks to me and I think perhaps we are friends. I do not know when we became friends, but I feel that we are friends now. We are friendly, at least. I am unable to look at him. I cannot speak with him. Why would he wish to be friends with me?
I am broken. I am nothing. The priest has told me this. I am dead. I should be dead.
The priest allows the boys from my school to use me as they wish because of this. It is his way of seeking atonement and penance for our bad thoughts. It is a way of giving and receiving sin.
Sin means nothing to me, because I am already dead. Once we die, we are judged, and that is it. Because of this, I am in a special position. Because I am dead, yet alive, sin no longer holds the same significance it once did. In order to wash away our sins, we must rid ourselves of sinful thoughts. If we do not, the temptation will linger and remain with us. We must find a way to act on our sin, so that the temptation to do sin vanishes.
That is what he says, at least. That is what I am told. That is what I am forced to believe.
They wish to sin with my body. They wish to use me for sexual gratification. They are allowed this, because I am not considered a person. It is acceptable. Once they sate themselves, once their climax is complete, the identity of their sin will wash away into the ether, vanishing amidst the stars.
I am the vessel. I will become sin itself. They will be good, while I shall become a container for evil. They hurt me, they abuse me, they rape me, they berate me. Their sin is confined to me and me alone.
There is a story. I do not know if I have dreamed of this on my own, or if the priest is the one to tell it. It is not a story you will find in the Bible, and yet it is a religious story all its own.
A long time ago, a village elder declared that they needed to save themselves from evil. This was their way of stating they would like to rid themselves of sin. Because of this, they chose a man in the village whose new existence was to become the embodiment of all evil. He would become this through hate.
They hated the man. They despised him. They did not hate each other, or anything else; they only hated this man. If they had trouble with their crops during a bad season of the year, they took out their anger on this man. He was to blame. It did not matter that he was confined to a hut, trapped and guarded, refused escape. It did not matter that he was given little food and beaten regularly by those who blamed him for something. None of this mattered.
He was evil. He was all of the evil that has ever existed in the world, that existed right then, and that would exist in the future. He was...
They named him Angra Mainyu, the god of darkness, eternal destroyer of all that is good, embodiment of evil personified, bringer of death and disease.
They hurt him, they tortured him, they blamed him for everything bad, and refused him everything good. They refused to let him die, instead forcefully prolonging his life so that he could take more and more torture and torment and hate from them.
Everyone in the village became happier after that. Everyone except for the person chosen to become Angra Mainyu. He hated. He did not understand. He despised. He became hate and evil and darkness, because he knew nothing else. There was no reason for this except for the random whim of an elder who claimed it was necessary.
Eventually he died. Eventually everyone dies.
Once he passed, the village suffered. Natural disaster struck; a flood, hurricanes, lightning, wind, famine, and disease.
Did the container of hate, the vessel of Angra Mainyu, break and spill forth with the death of the man? Did is death cause the village to suffer as it did?
They do not tell you this, because they do not want you to know. I was not told this, but I learned it on my own. Sometimes we must seek answers for our own questions instead of relying on the answers of others.
They do not tell you this, but when Angra Mainyu died, he no longer knew hate. He hated, yes. He disliked his treatment. He knew, though. Everyone except for himself was happy. There was no more evil in the world, because he was the evil. He was hate, and he hated.
It is hard to hate, though. It is difficult to hate when you are surrounded by happiness. He was not happy, but everyone else was, and because of that, he loved them. He provided them with this love, whether they knew it or not. Because he was hate, he could give them love.
The hurricane that destroyed them and their village could have happened at any time. It did not happen because of the death of Angra Mainyu. If he could have, if he was truly a god of darkness, he would have done everything within his power to stop it. He would have saved them. He would not have told them this, because he knew they needed to hate him, but he would have saved them nonetheless.
I am not Angra Mainyu. I am not patient. I cannot survive. I wish that I could, but I cannot. I feel pain. I hurt. I know death. I grieve. My body aches. I feel them inside me. I have tried to scream, but I am not allowed. They laugh at my agony. They thrust inside of me, callous and disregarding towards my feelings.
I am not dead! I am not! I am not evil. I do not deserve sin. This is not right. It is not true. I am good. I am...
Noah does not treat me like I am evil. He treats me like me.
I do not know how, but even when I lay on the floor, having just been raped by three men, left there to lay in and be covered by their sickening seed, Noah sees none of this.
He does not see evil, or hate, or darkness.
I hang on every word he says. Each of them is beautiful to me.
"I still think you're pretty," he says. "I'll try to help me."
As he leaves me, I open my mouth. I do not speak, but I wish that I could. My lips move, mouthing the words that I am unable to say aloud.
Please. I need you.
*** Noah
Our cute fucking religious quote of the day is a follow up to the last one. Twisted as fuck if you ask me, and I don't think this is what they had in mind when they wrote this shit, but here you go.
"And Noah performed exactly as God told him."
It's Genesis 6:22, and it sounds kind of regular. It's that part when God decides to be a huge fucking asshole and drown the world with a giant flood. Everyone knows that story. Noah builds an ark, because for whatever fucking reason, God decides that Noah's a pretty cool guy. Goes to get animals, brings them on the boats. No goddamn unicorns, though. Fuck you, unicorns, we don't have room for your shit. Go fucking die.
I don't know if unicorns are a part of that, but I've heard people tell that story, like the fucking unicorns refused to ge
t on the boat, so Noah just left them there? You know what, Noah? Dick move, man. How the fuck did you gain favor with God by being such a dick?
I want to make it real fucking clear that the Bible's not a bad piece of literature. It's nice. I like it. You read it, and if it inspires you to do good shit, then that's real fucking great. I think that's a good idea. Don't steal from people, don't kill them, don't hurt them. All those things are really fucking nice, and I approve.
You can't always do that, but it'd be nice if we could.
This isn't that. It's twisted and dark.
Do you know what the priest meant when he told us that? This is later, down below in the church basement. Angeline is with us. They aren't fucking her today. Why the fuck am I here? Fucking A, man... I don't need this shit.
I can't stop. I need to do something, but I can't fucking do anything. There's the priest and five other guys. What the fuck do you want me to do? Be a goddamn superhero? Use my fucking laser eye powers to blow up their brains?
Get a fucking life. All I can do is leave and abandon her or sit there and watch. What the fuck would you do? I made my choice.
The priest plans on drowning the evil that we've put into Angeline. He's going to flood her fucking world until he's purged all the evil. There's a marble tub filled with water. It's just a bathtub. It's nothing fucking special. Anyone could have one. Do you have a bathtub in your house? You could do this shit, it's easy.
He grabs the back of her head and shoves her face into the water. She struggles and screams. I can hear it from where I am, gargled and muffled by the water. The echoed screams of a drowning soul are seriously fucked up. I'd never do that shit. Not then, not now, not ever. Never.
No fucking way.
This continues. I am real fucking uncomfortable right now. He's going to stop, right? What the fuck? It's just like before, right? They kick her, hurt her, yell at her, fuck her... they...
He stops. Angeline stops, too. She's not moving. Her struggles cease. The light leaves her body. For all intents and purposes, she's dead.
Apparently they've done this shit before. This is my first time. I don't know how the fuck they've done this shit before because they just fucking killed her. You don't kill people more than once. Once is more than enough, to be completely fucking honest. Dead is dead.
A few of them help pull her out of the tub. They lay her on the floor. Her eyes are opened, sort of. I mean, her eyelids aren't closed, but there's not a whole lot there. Dead. She stares at the ceiling, no spark, no life, nothing.
Her body is empty. She is soulless.
She lays like this for a second, then another. A few more. That's when they start.
There's resuscitation shit going on. CPR or whatever the fuck. The sick fucking bastard priest's lips touch hers and he offers her his dirty fucking wicked breath. I want to kick the shit out of him, slam my knee into his temple, and break his fucking skull, but then what?
They're bringing her back to life. After a second, Angeline chokes. Water surges forth and she spews it onto herself. It trickles down her body and onto the floor. She's wearing a gown now, not naked, but she might as well be. The thing is white, and if her thrashing death before didn't soak it all the way through, her vomiting up water sure did.
It's disgusting to watch. The water wasn't exactly warm. The coldness of it, chilled cloth against her small body, makes her shiver. Her nipples stand on end, visible through the cloth. I don't want to look at this. It's not fucking sexual, it's disturbing, but I can't stop looking at her. I want her to live. I want her to be alive.
I want to save her. I can't do anything for her.
They drag her away.
The priest smiles like he's just saved the goddamn fucking world.
"The covenant Noah made with God before the flood is preserved. We have done a good thing today," he says. "We have washed away some of the creeping sin remaining on earth."
I stare at him like he's a fucking nut, because that's exactly what he is. Look, you fuck, you didn't just wash away creeping sin, you drowned a poor fucking innocent girl, killed her, then brought her back to life.
You didn't fucking wash away anything; you are the goddamn fucking creeping sin.
*** Noah
I keep going, for whatever fucking reason. It pisses me the fuck off is what it does. I just can't stop. It's like when you see an accident on the side of the road and you look at it, but what the fuck would you do if you saw a dead body? It's that disturbing fucking hope or prayer; you don't want to see that shit, but you need to look in case it's there. You can't turn away, but you don't know why.
Do you want to honor their death, pay your respects? Or do you want to offer prayers and hope for their safety?
You know what I want to do? I want to get out of the fucking car, rip through the wreckage, and save them myself. If they're dead, they're dead, and I'll pay my respects then. I don't believe in prayer and hope, though. I believe in getting shit done. If I can save someone, I'll fucking save them.
If I can't, I'm sorry.
I'm sorry, Angeline. I don't know if I can do this.
They leave me alone with her, though. After they've had their fun, it's my turn. I lock the door when they go. She talks to me now. It's nice. I can try and forget what I just saw, but it's more than that. I think she can try and forget what just happened, too.
She lays there, lifeless, and it always hurts at first. She stays like that until the door is locked and I come to her. I sit crosslegged at her feet, and then slowly, she starts to get up. I hold a hand out for her and help her.
I feel it. I wish I didn't feel it, but I feel it. I feel her fingers in mine. They're so soft and fragile. I'm careful. I am really fucking careful. She's a porcelain doll, and I treat her so fucking gentle it's not even funny. I squeeze her hand lightly and pull and help her sit. She sits crosslegged in front of me. Our feet touch. She's not wearing any clothes, but it doesn't matter.
It bothered me at first, but it doesn't bother me now. What the fuck, why should it? It's not her fault, you sick fuck.
I have my coat with me. It's just laying there to the side. I reach over and dig through the pocket and pull out the wrapped up napkin. It's got a piece of toast in it, sort of. I mean, it used to be toast, but that was this morning. Now it's kind of a sticky lump of cold, toasted bread wet with jam.
I put extra jam on it, though. Smothered the fuck out of this piece of toast. There might be more jam than bread, to be honest. It's red. Raspberry fucking jam. De-fucking-licious.
I give it to her. She's fucking ravenous, I know. They don't feed her much here. A little, but not enough. Slowly, she starts to unwrap it. She always does this, trying to be ladylike or some shit.
"Just eat it!" I say. We both laugh a little after that. It's not funny, but what the fuck else do you want us to do?
She destroys the piece of toast. It's gone in a matter of seconds. I don't say anything when she eats the napkin, too. It was covered in jam and you can't just lick that shit off, you know? Might as well fucking eat it. It's got fiber. Made from fucking trees. Might as well just be another vegetable, who gives a fuck?
When she's done, she looks at me, staring straight into my eyes. I like it. She doesn't smile, but I can feel a hint of happiness when I look into her eyes. I don't know how the fuck she does it. I wouldn't be happy if I were here.
"Hello, Noah," she says.
Hi," I say.
"I missed you."
I don't know what to say to that, so I don't say anything. I wish I could, or that I had, but I didn't. She doesn't seem to mind.
"How are you today?" she asks.
Idly, without really thinking about it, I reach out and touch her hand. She's resting it on her bare knee. Also without thinking about it, she pulls away from me like I just hit her. I back away, too, snapping my hand back.
"Sorry," I say, fast. "Sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
"No," she says. She seems confused at first, uns
ure. "I am sorry, too. You..." She pauses before finishing. I know why; because if she said this to anyone else, they'd hurt her. "You startled me."
"Yeah," I say. "I didn't mean to. I wasn't thinking."
"Do you wish to hold my hand?" she asks.
I change the subject. "Why do you talk like that?" I say. "You didn't talk like that before."
"What do you mean?" She scrunches up her eyebrows and her nose. It's ridiculously fucking cute. I am seriously in fucking love with this bitch.
Not really. I mean, maybe. Maybe not. How the fuck can I love her when I can't even save her? It's been a few weeks now, and I haven't done shit except watch her be raped and drowned and hurt and...
I'm seriously the fucking worst person. Especially now. Why do you talk like that? What the fuck question is that? Fucking idiot, Noah.
"It's just all... it sounds really formal?" I say.
Yeah, I'm a fucking idiot.
"I..." She hesitates. Her eyes dart towards the door, frightened.
"I locked it," I say. "I can go check again if you want, but I know I locked it. You're safe."
For now. For whatever the fuck that's worth.
"He doesn't like it when I talk like this," she says. It sounds normal. Just casual, regular, fun. "It's weird, huh?"
"Why not?"
She lapses back into the more formal-sounding speech after that, but just hearing her, knowing she can do it if she wants, if she feels safe, is enough for me.
"He says that it is wrong. That it sounds ignorant and unappreciative."
"He does it, though," I say.
The priest. We're talking about the priest. Don't get fucking lost here, this shit's important.
She shrugs. I shrug.
Huge fucking hypocrite, that's what he is. Fuck him.
We talk a little more, but eventually someone starts pounding on the door. They're trying to open it. It's locked, so they can't get in, but that doesn't stop them from rattling the doorknob and being annoying little shits.