Chapter 7 #2
I internally screamed, closing my eyes. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just wanted to check in. You never responded to my texts. I didn’t get to see you today and I’m worried about you.”
I could hear clanging in the background.
“Where are you?”
“Huh? At home. Sorry, was just loading the dishwasher. Now, don’t avoid the question. Do you want me to come stay with you?”
“No, Lot. I’m good.”
“Why don’t you come here. We can kick Mason to the guest bedroom and just have a girl’s night.
We can rewatch Arcane. I’ve got ice cream sandwiches in the freezer.
You don’t have to open tomorrow so we can stay up late if you want to.
Or just cuddle and go to sleep. Come on, Em, let me be there for you. ”
I pursed my lips, afraid of disappointing my friend.
I didn’t really want to be around anyone, but I was also afraid of what I might do if I was left alone.
Afraid I might break my promise to Enoch and pull the trigger, consequences be damned.
After all, I wouldn’t be around this time to witness any of the aftermath.
An image of Lottie having to identify my dead body in a morgue flashed in my mind and pulled the phone away to silently scream into my fist.
Fuck. I can’t do that to her. She’s got the most gentle soul. I’ll have to come up with a story. Say I’m moving away, and then I’ll do it somewhere no one will be looking for me. Up in the mountains maybe?
“Em? You there?”
I swallowed, yanking at my hair, only to remember it was currently tied back to hide the bird’s nest in the back.
Fucking fine. I won’t die tonight, God.
“Do you think you can help me with my hair?” I mumbled, forcing the words out past the weight of shame crushing my chest.
Lottie let out a sad sigh, knowing exactly what I meant. This wasn’t the first time my friends had saved me from drowning during a depressive episode.
“Definitely. I’ll come pick you up now.”
I let the phone balance against my cheek as I hugged my knees closer to my chest. It was weak and embarrassing to admit that I needed someone. That I wasn’t even strong enough to take the easiest way out, a bullet through the brain.
“I’ll be there soon. I’ve got my keys and my wallet and I’m walking into the garage now.
I’ll pack you a bag when I get there.” I heard a car door slam shut and the start of her engine.
“Just ten minutes. It’ll go quick. Did I tell you that my parents bought a new boat?
Well, new to them, it’s like a decade old.
It’s seriously all they can talk about. But I guess that’s what happens when you’re empty nesters and have retirement money to spend… ”
I listened to the lull of her voice as she told me about her parents’ new boat and how she wanted to take us all out soon for a day of fun in the sun.
And I was maybe a little relieved I wasn’t pulling the trigger tonight. I didn’t want to hurt any more people. I’d caused enough pain. And leaving the people that cared about me with a suicide voicemail didn’t turn out well the first time around.
Lottie didn’t ask questions as she packed some clean clothes from my closet into a gym bag, or as she drove us to her house. I stepped out of the car, holding my bag against my chest, and frowned at the sight of the extra car in the driveway.
I looked over at Lottie, and she winced. “Sorry, I called for reinforcements.”
I closed my eyes to roll them before forcing a smile. “Thanks.”
I followed her into the house and dropped my bag at the kitchen island where Hannah was standing, elbows holding her weight as she leaned against the counter.
Her dirty blonde hair was pulled into a messy bun on top of her head.
She was wearing a pair of sweats and a graphic tee that read “Save a horse, Ride a cowboy”.
The corners of my mouth twitched with a smile.
“Hey, Em,” Hannah said with a brighter than usual smile. She must have been trying to compensate for the lack of one on my face. “I hear we’re having a spa night. I brought my supplies.”
My eyes tracked her movement and landed on the stack of detangling sprays, oils, conditioners, towels, and several combs and brushes. My head already hurt just thinking about all the pulling and yanking but I smiled gratefully at her.
“Thank you. I know it takes a lot of patience to not just cut it off.”
Lottie looped her arm around my waist, her head landing on my shoulder. “Never. We know you don’t like to cut your hair.”
I recalled the first time this happened, and Lottie had found me at work trying to brush out the matting.
She had suggested I cut my hair to make it more manageable, but I’d adamantly refused.
She got the point and didn’t bring it up again when six months later the same thing happened.
Tonight, I guessed she had enlisted Hannah for help.
I hated that I was relying on them, that I couldn’t just deal with things myself.
Everything was easier when I could keep them far enough away that they didn’t see the parts of me that I was ashamed of.
Unfortunately, Hannah and Lottie didn’t back down when they thought I was isolating myself.
They called it the sisterhood bond, the pull of intuition that knew when I needed company.
“What should we watch while we work?” Hannah asked, straightening up and collecting the supplies in her arms.
“You pick,” I said, reaching out to catch the bottle of conditioner that was dangling from the crook of her arm.
Lottie lifted her head from my shoulder and gently led us to the couch in the living room. She pushed me to sit on the floor while she and Hannah took a seat behind me on the couch. Lottie gently tugged the hair tie out of my ponytail while Hannah found something to watch.
I sighed as she used her fingers to part my hair into sections, securing the strands that weren’t tangled out of the way. A towel was draped over my shoulders.
“I think we should put the conditioner in and let it sit for, like, thirty minutes, and then we can get to work. Yeah?” Hannah suggested.
I nodded and let them both work on drowning my hair in product.
Hannah had selected an old romantic comedy, and I lost track of time as they laughed and squealed over the acting. Their patient hands worked on my hair for the entire duration of the movie and by the time Lottie said they were done, my scalp burned and head ached.
“We can wash your hair out in the tub,” Han said as she gathered all the supplies off of the couch.
I nodded absently, my stomach clenching. I followed her into Lottie’s bedroom where Mason was sprawled out on the bed, watching something on their tv.
“Oh, hey. You guys need me to leave?”
I ignored Mason’s stare, knowing he was taking in the sight of my greasy strands.
“No, just stay out of the bathroom,” Hannah replied.
He nodded, settling back against the pillows and Han flicked on the bathroom light. Lottie’s bathroom had a separate tub that was surrounded by candles and various soaps.
I reminded myself that the bathtub wasn’t inherently dangerous. I tried to get my heart to stop racing, get my muscles to relax, but the fear remained as Lottie moved her vanity stool in front of the tub and motioned for me to sit and lean back over the edge.
After a moment of hesitation, I forced my legs to move and follow her instructions.
The sound of the water turning on had me digging my nails into my palms. I tried to release a subtle deep breath from my constricted chest. The last thing I needed was to enter panic attack territory. I was enough of a mess.
Hannah leaned over my body, her light floral perfume wrapping around me and I focused on the scent as she poured a cup of warm water over my hair.
“Warm enough?” she asked, her eyes scanning my face.
I nodded and she smiled, resuming her movements.
The water stopped and I forced myself to relax my jaw.
Her hands began massaging the soap into my scalp and I closed my eyes.
I wished that the motions weren’t aggravating my already sensitive scalp, otherwise it would have been the closest thing to a massage I’d ever gotten.
A strand of hair was tugged, wrapped around her finger and I winced.
“Shit. Sorry,” she muttered.
Elder Sam tsked, shaking his head at me.
“Who can remind Miss Olivia the appropriate way to form an apology?” he asked, stalking around the back of my chair.
My heart raced in my chest, nausea swirling in my gut. I flinched at the sound of metal clinking as he unfastened his belt.
Someone cleared their throat. “Please forgive me for—state the action. It was— that is where you define the sin behind your actions. I accept your just punishment as reparation, and I repent for my wrongdoings. In this case, Miss Olivia would say: Please forgive me for using profanity. It was disobedient to use a wicked word. I accept your just punishment as reparation, and I repent for my wrongdoings.”
His belt hissed as it slid from around his waist.
I swallowed the saliva pooling in my mouth.
Why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut? Why did I have to let the words slip when I dropped my book on the floor and interrupted the class?
“Thank you, Miss Natasha.”
My jaw clenched. Natasha was the only woman in the class to have yet receive a punishment other than a slap to the cheek our first week.
She liked to brag that she was filled with the Holy Spirit, so she rarely made a mistake.
I didn’t call her out on the fact that bragging wasn’t very Christ-like of her.
I generally ignored her as much as possible, although that was difficult when we shared a room.
“And why, Miss Natasha, do we refrain from using the word ‘sorry’?” Elder Sam said as he paced behind my chair.
The anticipation was almost worse than the humiliation of being scolded and punished in front of my group of peers.
“I can be remorseful that I was caught, but unless I take responsibility and admit my wrongdoings, I cannot fully repent and be forgiven.”
“Indeed. Sorry is a feeling, an emotion. Repentance is an action. Sorry can easily be empty, or a lie. I suppose, if it was genuine, it could tell me that you feel guilty, that you regret your actions, but it doesn’t require a change of heart.
It does nothing to inform me of your willingness to repent, to change, or to accept responsibility and repair what you broke.
A simple ‘sorry’ focuses on the self, not on the other person we harmed with our actions or words.
It doesn’t address the root of the problem, which lies in the heart—that we sin.
As Paul says, Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death.
Therefore, we must humble ourselves, confess and ask for forgiveness as the Lord commands.
Only then can we make reparations and truly repent. Stand, Miss Olivia.”
I released a shaky breath, using my hands on the edge of the desk to push myself out of my chair. The skirt of my dress tickled my ankles as I turned to face Elder Sam.
Thick, dark brows rose as his eyes flicked to the front of the room. I swallowed and slowly turned around to walk to his desk. I eyed the documents stacked on the left side, his open Bible and the cup of pens.
His footsteps were heavy, right behind my own, and the sweat itched my underarms as I stopped, my hips on the edge of the desk.
“Bend,” he commanded.
I turned my face away from the room, staring at the whiteboard behind his desk as I lowered my chest until I was bent at the waist. My breath tickled the paper beneath my cheek, making the pages flutter.
My whole body tensed with anticipation as I waited for the bite of his belt to hit me. Someone coughed and I squeezed my eyes shut tightly. I hated that they had to watch, that they got to see me humiliated. The anticipation made my skin pebble with goosebumps.
I flinched, my pubic bone painfully digging into the edge of the desk as the sting flared against the back of my thighs. It hurt worse than if he hadn’t missed my backside.
“What does John tell us about apologizing?”
I breathed through the burning of my flesh, my brain scrambling for the scripture he was seeking.
“If-If we claim to be without sin…we deceive ourselves and-and the truth is not in us.”
There was a moment of silence, and I shifted my feet, ready for this to be over.
“Go on,” he urged.
I swallowed the whimper of panic building in my chest. I couldn’t remember the next verse.
“I-I-I don’t know it, Elder Sam.”
The sting of the belt had me jolting against the desk once again.
“If we confess our sins…”
“If we confess our sins—” I parroted.
“He is faithful and just…”
“He is faithful and just—”
“And will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”
“And will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness,” I finished.
He took a step back.
My hands were sweaty and shaky as I pushed myself to stand, facing Elder Sam.
“Please forgive me for using profanity, Elder Sam. It was disobedient to use a wicked word,” I said, trying hard not to look away from his expectant gaze. “I accept your just punishment as reparation, and I repent for my wrongdoings.”
“You are forgiven, child.” A smile creased the corners of his eyes as he gestured for me to return to my seat. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes, deference. Miss Rachel, maybe you can answer. Why is it important for women to submit?”
A pat on my arm had me flinching as I ripped my eyes open. I blinked several times, the white ceiling losing focus as a face smiled down at me.
“All done. Sit up,” Hannah said.
I nodded, slowly moving from my position over the tub. Lottie grabbed my hands, pulling me to stand and Hannah moved the stool closer to the bathroom counter.
“You looked like you were falling asleep,” Lottie said with an amused smile. “I always do whenever I get my hair washed at the salon.”
I hummed, nodding my head in absent agreement.
I rolled my shoulders back, releasing a sigh as I brushed off the memory. I wished that was the last time I had slipped up and used the word sorry. It wasn’t until Father had his turn to belt me that I finally broke the habit.