6. Celine
Celine
After I finish crying all the tears I can shed, I remember I still have my phone. Wiping the wetness off my cheek, I fish my phone out of my purse, which has been sitting on the dresser ever since Sister Alice left me.
The screen displays a text from the group chat asking if we want to have a movie night. My heart aches because I won’t be able to. I need to tell them what is going on?
Me
Can we do a three-way call?
Not a second passes before Amelia calls me and adds Vince to the line. “What’s up? How did it go?”
“Uhm—” I run a hand through my hair. “Not good. The last time we were here, the head priest had me sign something. I thought it was to join the church, so I signed it to make him and my parents happy—”
My voice trails off, and my eyes begin to burn, but I blink them away when I hear Vince softly ask, “It wasn’t that?”
“No. It was a contract.” I sniffle.
“What kind of contract?” Vince asks, concern lining his voice.
“A contract to join their convent to help me get a closer relationship with God.”
Amelia gasps. “What the fuck?”
I sigh. “It was all my mother’s idea.”
“They can’t do this,” Vince states in disbelief.
“Well, they did, and I can’t leave. I tried to run out of here the second I realized what was going on.”
“Do we need to come up there and break you out?” Vince offers with determination.
“Doubt it would work.” I huff, opening the top dresser to find cotton underwear and bras. I pinch the fabric of the underwear and lift it until it’s eye level. “I’ll figure it out. I only have to stay here until my mother sees a change in me.”
“That will never happen,” Amelia points out.
“Right, which is why I have to be super convincing.”
I drop the underwear and close the drawer, opening the one below. The dresses are all the same shade of white, folded neatly beside one another. The thought of having to wear these every day sends a shiver down my spine.
“That’s if I survive this place.” I mutter.
“You’ll be fine. You are the Great Celine after all.” Amelia chuckles, attempting to make light of the situation.
As I open my mouth to speak, I feel my phone vibrate. Pulling it away from my face, I see that it’s a text from Catherine. I gasp and almost drop my phone as I quickly tap the message to read it.
Catherine
Ortega Publishing would love to interview you!
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
“What?” Vince and Amelia ask in unison.
“That author texted me to say the publishing company wants to interview me.” My heart begins to quicken as my anxiety takes over.
“What shitty timing,” Vince says.
“Tell me about it.” I toss my head back, staring at the ceiling as tears well up in my eyes again. “What do I say to her? I can’t go to the interview because I am stuck in this place, but this is an opportunity I can’t pass up.”
“Maybe tell her that you had paid time off from Stanley that you are using. Say you are at the beach and will do it whenever you are back,” Amelia suggests.
“Amelia, you are a genius!” My focus snaps back to my phone as I begin to type out the message, but my thumbs pause. “I don’t know when I’ll be leaving this place, though.”
“Tell her you’ll keep her updated,” Vince adds.
“Okay,” I say, and begin to type out the rest of the text, reading it aloud for my friends to hear.
Me
That is amazing! I would love to set something up when I get back from my vacation. I finally decided to use the PTO I had built up over the years while working at Stanley. Figured it’d be nice to get away for a bit. Clear my mind a little. However, when I get back, I’d love to meet with them!
The line is quiet on both ends as I wait for a response.
Catherine
Sounds good! Enjoy your vacation! They will be ready for you whenever you return!
“She sounds so nice,” Amelia says after I read the text to them.
“She is probably one of the best authors we have worked with.”
It’s the truth. We have had some crazy ass authors come into our office, being disrespectful, demanding things that they know they won’t get. One even threw their cup of water at me as if it were my fault that Monica said their manuscript wasn’t right for the company.
“It’s going to take some time for me to get out of here, which sucks, but I will act like the perfect daugh—” My words die in my mouth when there is a knock on the bedroom door. “Come in.”
The door opens, and the younger nun who was helping Sister Alice last week peeks her head in. “Hi! I’m Sister Sarah. I have a plate of food for you.”
“Oh—uh, thank you. You can put it on the dresser.”
She steps into the room, sets the plate down, and then looks curiously from my purse to the phone in my hand. “I figured Sister Alice would have told you. We aren’t allowed phones in the convent.”
Of course not. I bring the phone back to my ear and ask my friends, “Did you hear that?”
“Loud and clear,” Vince says.
“I’ll talk to you guys later.”
“Take care of yourself in there, Celine,” Amelia says, concern laced in her tone. “We love you.”
“I love you guys too,” I tell them before hanging up the phone. Gripping the phone tightly in my hand, I ask, “Do I need to hand over my purse to?”
“Are you carrying any medications?”
“Nope. Just my wallet and chapstick.”
“You can keep the latter if you’d like.”
With a tense smile at her generosity, I drop my phone in the bag and pull out my chapstick. At least something of mine will stay with me.
Sister Sarah takes my purse off the dresser. “Sister Alice will be up here around dinner time to bring you down to eat. Please make sure you are dressed appropriately.”
I glance down at the dress I’m wearing. This is appropriate for a Sunday church service, but I know she means that I need to change into a white gown. I nod in understanding and watch as she leaves the room.
The food on the plate looks surprisingly appetizing. There’s a sandwich, a few potato chips, and some fresh fruit. I lift the piece of bread to inspect the contents, seeing turkey, lettuce, and tomato with mayo.
Picking up the sandwich, I take a bite. It tastes like a regular sandwich, but as I chew, I slow my jaw, wondering if they would poison me.
No. There is no way. I’m just overthinking this whole situation.
Sister Sarah had given me a fork as well, so I place the sandwich back on the plate and stab the strawberry with the utensil.
Once it hits my tongue, I hum in satisfaction because this is fresh fruit.
It might be the best fruit I’ve ever tasted, and I hate the convent for making me like something they provided.
When I take another bite, my stomach begins to growl loudly. I forgot to eat breakfast this morning, and I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now. With that in mind, I grab the plate and sit on the bed, devouring the meal.
Once I finish, I lie down, the mattress is about as comfortable as one you’d find in a prison cell. Well, I don’t know if that’s true, but if I had to take a guess, I think I’d be right.
Trying to adjust to the feeling of the mattress beneath me, I stare up at the textured ceiling, and I wonder what it would have been like to grow up in a family that wasn’t dependent on the church. What would it have been like to have parents who actually cared about my interests?
When I was in middle school, I wanted to join the play, but the show they were putting on was, in my mother’s words, demonic. She wouldn’t have her child taking part in it. She even went to the school board about the production and tried to fight to get it shut down.
Word had spread, and students had given her the nickname “Crazy Jesus Lady.” They weren’t wrong, but of course, as we were basically entering our teen years, they were mean to me about it. I was picked on for my whole seventh and eighth grade years because of her.
Luckily, when we all got to high school, they forgot about me and found someone else to taunt.
Not that I wished that on anyone, but it was nice not to be under everyone’s radar.
All through high school, I stayed quiet and alone because I didn’t want to do anything that would make anyone see me as a target.
And it worked.
But thinking back on those days, more tears threaten to spill as I long for the childhood I should have had, and for all the time I’ll never get back.
Now I’m an adult, but I am still under my parents’ control. I can’t let these years be the same as my childhood ones. I refuse to regret my life because of my mother.