by Winter James
* * *
Jake
At the end of the day I want to run through the woods and tear down everything in my path to find her. I’d destroy the gate and the entire compound that’s rumored to be back there if I had the time. My mind is too fucking logical. What then? it asks. It’s fine to go in like a goddamn Tasmanian Devil. In the moment it feels great. That’s how I landed my ass in jail.
I’m due back at the halfway house where I have a room.
My jeans stick to the seat of the ancient-ass Buick I bought with the few hundred dollars I’d managed to scrape up from prison and the part-time job they set me up with. Road construction at least pays better than stacking pallets for the shipping company within walking distance of the halfway house. Those assholes know they’ve got you over a barrel. They won’t pay a cent more than they have to.
The Buick makes it to my spot behind the halfway house without shitting out, which would normally make this another successful day. I keep my hands on the wheel and imagine driving this thing until it died, then walking until I found someplace else to land. Someday.
The car heats up quick. It’s time for a shower inside the depressing-as-fuck living space that is the halfway house. My boots go in a row of boots by the rickety back door that takes a slam to shut. Pete, a guy who always has a pair of knockoff headphones on, stirs something in a pot on the stove. The pot and the stove are both peeling. Whatever he’s cooking up will have some extra Teflon in it tonight. The rest of the ground floor is taken up by what used to be a formal dining room that has a bunch of mismatched tables and the living room where we have the pleasure of bickering about what to watch on the single communal TV. I don’t spend much time down here.
Upstairs isn’t much better. A long hall of narrow bedrooms and two bathrooms shoved together. My room is third on the right. I shove open the door to grab my towel and shower stuff.
Gray. Gray. Gray. Peeling gray paint. Gray blankets that have lost color from being washed so many times. Somebody even painted the floor gray to try and hide the fact that this house is old as fuck and nobody particularly cares about the guys who live here. It’s all a reminder of how, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t take that girl with me. I couldn’t bring Dove here. There’s no place for her in the halfway house. There’s no place for her in my life.
And now, because of me, who fucking knows what’s happening to her tonight. Worry pinches at my throat. That other girl, that Robin, she’s no good. No good at all. And Dove lied to me when she said they wouldn’t hurt her. They will. Those kinds of places always do. That’s how they keep people in line. I bet it’s not much different than prison.
I choose the bathroom on the left and give the door an earth-shaking knock in case some asshole is in there and needs to be startled out of whatever he’s doing. Even in this tiny space, they’ve managed to fit two shower stalls, a sink, and a toilet. The thought of showing Dove this place makes me choke off a laugh. I don’t need any of the other guys to hear me laughing like a fool in here. Not today.
Especially not when I’m thinking about her.
She’s the only thing on my mind. And it makes me a sick bastard, I know. She’s probably facing the consequences of kissing me right the hell now, and what goes through my mind is the way her ass felt under my hands. I turn on the shower full blast and step in. The hot water does nothing to wash away the sensation of those perfect little tits against my palms. No fucking bra. I could feel everything. Every inch of her, separated from me by a few flimsy layers of clothing.
But that wasn’t even the best part.
The best part was when she put her hands on me. Voluntarily. And it wasn’t fear in her eyes while she traced a path up to my collar and stuck one of her fingers underneath. It was wide-eyed curiosity.
I let out a groan at the memory of it. She’s not scared of me. Fuck, it’s a wonderous thing. Never thought I’d say that again about anything, but the sensation bolts through me like a hit injected straight to the veins. It feels like...hope. A strange, overpowering sense of hope.
I haven’t felt that fucking ever.
My body responds to the memory of her as powerfully as it did to the real Dove pushed back against the oak tree. One thing about prison is that it gave me a vivid imagination. What the fuck else was I supposed to do for all the hours I spent alone in my cell, or worse, with some fuckface who was dead set on making life in hell worse than it needed to be? The heat of the water on the back of my neck turns into the glare of the sun. I’m right fucking back there, kissing her hard.
And doing more.
I’m not in the cramped shower stall anymore. I’m in a daydream that’s realer than anything in the halfway house. I know how she’ll feel in my hands when I spread her open underneath me. On a bed. On the grass. Fuck it. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter. What matters is the way my tongue will work over the sweet hot center of her. She’ll lose that demure attitude she wears like armor when I’ve got her legs in the air, up over my shoulders, and my mouth buried in her pussy. My cock jerks and throbs and I let the vision play out while I fuck my fist. I let it play out all the way to the end, with Dove trembling underneath me, hands desperate on my shoulders and me still holding her in place. Spent. Inside of her.
When I finally pick my head up and wriggle some feeling back into my toes, the water has gone cold. The other guys’ll be pissed about it. I don’t fucking care. I’m wrung out by the force of my own release and firmly back in the colorless no-man’s land that is my life. I eat a plate of what Pete was cooking without tasting it. Spaghetti, turns out. Add enough of the off-brand sauce and you can’t even taste the Teflon. The TV can’t hold my attention and eventually I go up to my twin-size bed.
I’m tired, but I can’t sleep. Maybe I should have taken her with me. But there’s nowhere here for her. It’s a circular madness that goes around and around until my brain gives up.
My alarm goes off early the next morning, startling the shit out of me. I’d finally fallen into a dream. The only thing that could be better would be seeing her. Making sure she’s okay.
The girls in the white dresses don’t appear at the gate until we’re on our second break, close to lunchtime.
They each have their flower basket over their elbow.
There are only two of them.
One with dark hair. One with red.
My girl is nowhere to be seen.
Chapter Seven
Dove
Robin shoves me down when I’m halfway back to the compound. It’s a quick, forceful blow, centered between my shoulders. I come down on one arm in the dirt and her foot jams into my upper arm a second later. The weight of her is enough to make me curl up, arms around my knees. Is she coming back for more? Silence moves outward in a pool around me while I catch my breath. After a minute the birds start singing again, calling to each other through the trees.
I shouldn’t go back.
My heart jumps up into my throat every time I think about what’s going to happen. What’s going to happen, of course, is penance. Leader Michael and the rest of the members will expect it of me. Robin’s running ahead right now to make sure I pay. There can be no other explanation for how quickly she left me in the dirt. It would have been such a good opportunity for her to mess with me, out here where nobody can see.
She’s got better things on her mind.
I push myself up to a sitting position, then stand up. Am I hearing footsteps? Big, thundering footsteps, like Jake in his boots? Hope springs up like a summer bloom and dies again just as quickly. There are no footsteps. I only wish there were.
Brushing at the dirt on my dress does nothing. Running back to Jake would be worse than nothing. It doesn’t make sense, but I want to. I want to sprint across the highway and throw myself into his arms and beg him to take me with him. I’d stay anywhere if it meant I didn’t have to face Leader Michael.
But it’s not so simple, is it? Jake has been in prison. He can’t afford to get into trouble. Oh, n
o—is he already in trouble for what we did? How far can Robin go with this? I spin to face the direction of the compound. Is there anything I can say, any story I can spin, that will convince Leader Michael not to take revenge on Jake? Leader Michael knows everyone—he could get him sent to prison again, I’m sure of it.
Maybe it’s better if I warned Jake myself. My body jerks in that direction and I almost trip over my own feet. No, no. He saw Robin the same as I did. For all I know, she said something to him before she left. He’ll know to be careful.
Tears well up in my eyes. I told Jake they wouldn’t hurt me, but that wasn’t true. I didn’t want him to worry, or think I couldn’t handle the penance for kissing him. It was worth it. It will be worth it. The shock and embarrassment of getting rejected by Jake—by a convict, by a dangerous man, and one I desperately want to kiss some more—twine together and wrap themselves around my heart. “What were you thinking?” I whisper to myself in the privacy of the forest. “That he’d whisk you away to some hidden place? That he’d save you?”
I did. I really did.
He still hasn’t followed me and he’s not going to. That much is obvious, even to me. I listen to the birds while I wait for the last of my hope to wither away to nothing.
Then I square my shoulders and go back to the House of Rapture.
* * *
Dove
Leader Michael paces across my bedroom, his hands covering his mouth. Head bowed. He keeps his eyes raised to a spot in the distant sky. That look freezes my blood in my veins. Any other person might think he was just disappointed. But I know his disappointment comes with other consequences. He says that all of the requirements to do penance come directly from the Lord. It’s all I can do to stand still and face what comes next.
I just wish he would tell me already.
I dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands and take deep breaths. Being impatient won’t help. Showing my impatience would be a terrible mistake. An even bigger mistake than letting Robin see me with Jake. It’s wrong, but I try to concentrate on him instead of the expression on Leader Michael’s face. I should be focused on asking the Lord for forgiveness in silent prayer while I prepare for penance. Instead, all of my silent prayers involve Jake. Whether he’s okay. Whether I’ll see him again. Whether any man like him will ever be an option for me. The questions run together in my mind until they’re more of a silent plea.
Penance. Another word for what will happen is punishment.
Leader Michael finally stops walking and closes his eyes, his hands folded underneath his chin. His lips move, the words quick and indistinguishable, all except for amen. Then he looks at me with a steady gaze and a frown on his face that makes my stomach tighten and the air go out of my lungs.
I never knew my feelings could be this complicated. I’ve betrayed Leader Michael and the House of Rapture. But it felt so good to do it. It felt so good to have Jake’s body up against mine.
This? Standing here in this room? It feels awful. I know by now how to swallow down my own feelings, but it’s hard with my pulse pounding in my neck.
“What you did today, Dove—it was wrong. Do you know why?”
I pause for a beat. Leader Michael won’t accept my answer if it’s too fast. He’ll only take that to mean I’m trying to manipulate him. “Because it was a sin.”
“And why was it a sin?”
I press my lips together and force myself to meet his eyes. “Because it displeases the Lord.”
“Because letting a man who is not your husband breaks the divine law that the Lord has set out for us.” Leader Michael’s eyes flash. “Touching that man spits in the face of all the things the Lord has taught us. Tomorrow morning, you will thank Robin for coming to me with your sin.”
It takes everything I have not to let my chin sink down to my chest. Thank her? Even the thought of it brings a bitter taste to my mouth. I don’t want to thank her. And I won’t want to thank her when Leader Michael leaves my room. Sick dread wells up until I have to swallow again and again to make it go away. The waiting is what kills me. I can survive anything, but it has to start.
The anger leaves Leader Michael’s eyes and is replaced by a soft disappointment that makes my stomach turn. It’s not real, that softness, and I know it. I shouldn’t be thinking things like that about him, though. He will only sense it and it will only make things harder for me.
“Yes, Leader Michael,” I say demurely. That’s what he wants. He confirms it with a nod.
“Are you ready to accept the rest of your penance?”
No. No. Please, no. “Yes, Leader Michael.”
He bows his head in prayer one more time, then steps out into the hall. I can’t help but follow the sound of his footsteps. I know exactly where he’s going.
At the end of the hall, in front of a blank wall, there is a low prayer bench. It’s only used for prayer during penance. I hear the clunk and scrape as Leader Michael picks it up. What I don’t hear, because it practically makes no sound, is the strap coming off its hook above the bench.
Leader Michael reappears a moment later, mouth set like he’s wishing he didn’t have to do this. A wild urge rises—maybe I should beg, maybe this time would be different—but I bite my tongue. It will never be different. At the House of Rapture, this is how it is.
He steps up next to me and puts the prayer bench next to my bed.
“Kneel.”
I do. The wood of the bench is too hard under my knees, which shake in spite of myself. Oh, please, I don’t want this to happen. I don’t. But I know it’s going to, so I numbly arrange my skirt and bend forward, bracing my elbows on the bed and folding my hands together.
There’s a swish as Leader Michael ensures that the door is open all the way. We can all benefit from witnessing each other’s penance. That’s what he says. Robin and Charlotte won’t come to watch—we don’t do that, not even Robin takes enjoyment from our pain—but everyone who comes into the house will hear it. Everyone who is in their bedrooms right now will hear it.
I say a quick prayer for strength, but I don’t feel it.
Maybe God isn’t listening to me. Maybe he’s angry at me, the way Leader Michael’s angry.
I keep my eyes forward, just like I’m supposed to. A cross hangs on the wall next to my bed at the perfect level for penance. I know he made the room this way, and the heavy strap that way. Leader Michael moves into position on my left. I can barely see him out of the corner of my eye—he’s more of a menacing shadow looming over me.
“You will pray to the Lord for forgiveness,” he intones. “Your prayer will be unceasing. We’ll begin again as many times as it takes to please the Lord.”
“Yes, Leader Michael.” This is supposed to be a time of reflection on how very bad I’ve been, but when I press my palms together and brace for the impact of the thick leather strap, all I can think about is Jake. How sturdy he felt, putting himself between me and the world. The real worry in his eyes when Robin found us there. The rasp of his voice when he asked me if they’d hurt me. Forgive me, Jake. I didn’t tell you the truth. They always hurt me.
“Psalm 51,” says Leader Michael.
This time, I can’t help but say it fast. Anything to get this started, anything to get this over with. “Be merciful to me, oh Lord, because—”
The first blow comes, a stripe across the center of my bottom. The shock of it is worse than the hurt, but only for a few seconds—then the stinging ache sets in.
“—because of your constant love.”
Another lash.
“Because of your great mercy, wipe away my sins.”
Two more in quick succession. I wanted to stay strong through this, but tears threaten at the corners of my eyes. It hurts even through my dress. Oh, it hurts, it hurts.
“Wash away all my evil and make me clean from my sins.” The last word becomes a cry.
“Amen,” says Leader Michael, and the strap comes down again.
“I recognize my
faults.” Two more. “I am—I am aware of my sins.” I’m holding my own hands so tightly it’s cutting off circulation, but that’s the only way to stay upright. “I have sinned against you—only against you.” Two more, and instead of feeling contrite, anger springs up in place of guilty. Why does it feel like I’m only saying this to Leader Michael and not to God? Why does this all feel so wrong? Why do I want to sin more, until I’m so unclean that even the House of Rapture can’t save me? “And I’ve done what you consider evil.”
Leader Michael murmurs something else, but I can’t hear it over the haze of the pain.
“So you are right in judging me.” Three more. This is wrong, it’s wrong, it hurts so much. “You are right—” He doesn’t let me finish. Another two. “You are right to condemn me.” The next lines turn to ashes in my mouth. I don’t believe them. I don’t. That probably makes me irredeemable. “I have been evil from the day I was born. From—from the moment of my conception, I have been a sinner.”
“That’s right.” Leader Michael’s voice is heavy with something that sounds curiously like lust, and my stomach turns. “Only I—only we—can save you from that sin. Fall silent, Dove, and take the rest of your penance.”
“But it’s over,” I say, the words escaping my lips before I can stop them. I know better than to complain or protest or do anything other than take my penance with grace--but the pain is too much. It should be over when I’m done with the prayer. It’s always over now.
“There’s more this time,” Leader Michael says in that same strangely thick voice. “You deserve it. You need it. It’s the only way to get the devil out of you.”
I press my face against the unforgiving wood, on the bench where so many other young women have had the devil driven out of them, wondering if I can take any more. Tears are slick on my cheeks. No, I can’t survive it. The strap hits my searing flesh, and I cry out in pain. Wordless, animal sounds of agony. Inside there’s a more specific plea. Jake. Come find me. Take me away.
Chapter Eight