1. Maya
Maya
Ilaughed at my father’s death.
That must mean my mother was right—I do have the devil inside of me.
It didn’t stop the unadulterated joy from slipping out, though.
Of course, my joy was mixed with a sigh of disappointment because only the world could be so cruel.
After all the years of torture I’d endured at his command, he’d gotten a peaceful death in his sleep.
So I laughed. I never saw the body, but she’d told me in a rather dismissive tone while stating we were leaving. It was funny, in sort of a sick, sad way. The beating I’d received from my mother had been terrible, but that would’ve happened whether or not Pastor Malcolm had passed.
Then again, my mother didn’t really need a reason or special occasion to hurt me. No, she did it all the time, handcrafting the oddball shape of abuse and ingenuousness that could be labeled ‘Maya.’
Despite my very short time in real society, I had found a truth that seemed to hold true. Some people didn’t fit in. We were just different. The difference in how we viewed the world through our smudged, broken lenses made us stand out, and not in a good way.
These individuals didn’t belong in high school. Yet here I was, for the first time ever in my life. Five days before my eighteenth birthday. I’d survived seventeen years and eleven months of my life. On September 2nd, my new life would start.
My new life away from her.
It seemed I’d be doing it here in Washington, across the country from my father’s religious cult. My mother had chosen to move us here so we could live with Jed.
I hated Jed. I really had no idea what I would do in five days, but I would rather be homeless than stay with my mother and Jed.
After around a week of driving across the country, I had already grown tired of his antics and uncomfortable remarks.
Plus, my mother grew angrier each and every time he focused on me.
When I’d left our trailer this morning to walk to school, she’d beat me with a belt, leaving my back terribly bruised.
Luckily, she hadn’t broken skin. My new school uniform wouldn’t have covered the blood.
I really didn’t belong here.
Yet my feet still crossed the perfectly paved parking lot. You would’ve thought that my mother would be hesitant to let me wander the world by myself, but as she mentioned, it hadn’t been her idea to keep me in the basement.
She hadn’t wanted me at all. No, the ‘basement’—which was actually a ground-level garage below the main level of the church that also served as our home—was all my father’s idea. Why she kept me around now, I had no clue.
I shook the thoughts from my head.
The school was extravagant, to say the least. Its dark stone exterior and arched doorways gave it a gothic feel, and every inch of the student parking lot crawled with expensive cars and beautifully pressed uniforms.
Then again, I had always been homeschooled, so maybe this wasn’t extravagant. Maybe this was normal. I nearly deflated at that—what did I know about normal? My previous schooling had consisted of Pastor Malcolm reading to me from scripture and occasionally throwing some textbooks down on the floor.
As it was, I had no idea how my mother and Jed were sending me here. I lived in a trailer. My uniform didn’t fit quite right, and it sure as heck wasn’t pressed. Although I was honestly thankful for that—the soft wrinkled material felt better on my bruised body than stiff, starched fabric would.
I suddenly felt smaller and more insignificant than I ever had in my life.
I stood around five and a half feet tall and was underfed.
Malnourished. I wish I could’ve attributed it to some trendy diet similar to the ones I’d read about the past few days.
Ha! I supposed if you counted ‘fasting to rid the devil from your body’ as a diet, I’d been on one. No, the truth was far more depressing.
I looked over the dark gray plaid skirt that hung off my hipbones and the worn black hoodie that I hoped to get away with.
Underneath, I had the school’s standard white polo—the nicest piece of clothing I had ever owned—but it showed off far too many bruises for my liking.
I curled my toes up inside my worn shoe.
It was cold here; far colder than Louisiana had been.
I whimpered as my backpack hit against a bruise on my back. This morning had been relatively easy in comparison to most, but it still hurt. Unfortunately, since my mother hadn’t broken skin, my helpful healing ability hadn’t kicked in. Bruises didn’t count, apparently.
The devil rights your body because of the sin inside you.
I hadn’t placed much thought into my healing ability, ever, nor had I asked anyone about it.
I had only ever interacted with Pastor Malcolm, my mother, and now Jed, and they wouldn’t tell me what they knew.
Besides, I was far too busy surviving to bother with such useless questions.
All I knew was that if my blood was shed, my body would heal itself overnight.
It was why my mother now tried to not spill blood. Instead, she bruised my body until it was unrecognizable in the mirror. I had never felt ashamed about my appearance, far too focused on avoiding the pain, but yesterday at the gas station…I’d been embarrassed.
Plus, if that social interaction was anything to base expectations for the future on, I was nervous. I had never interacted with anyone close to my age, so it had been a moment of revelation to me. And what a moment it had been. Like, holy cow.
His name was Marco, I think—his card was in my backpack. I didn’t plan on calling him, didn’t have a way to, but it made me feel safe to have him near me, even in paper form.
It was clear he was a man of power. Tall and dressed in expensive clothes, he held himself with an air of authority. I could still feel the way his warm hands had curled against my bruised arms, the action bathing me in heat and security. I had lost all ability to articulate around him.
Did all men smell like vanilla and fresh pine?
I knew those scents well. When Pastor Malcolm had left the basement window open, I could often smell the seasons change and scents from the church’s kitchen above.
I let my mind drift to the sharp, clean cut of his tanned jaw and the way his dark hair lay in a styled mess.
It was his pale green eyes, though, like mint leaves, that brought me to be so distracted that I hit a solid chest.
Crap. Second time. Second freakin’ time. This time I wasn’t as thrilled with who I'd run into, though. This guy reminded me of Jed as he looked down at me with a big grin that showed off teeth that were far too large for his mouth.
“What do we have here?”
I heard his friends laugh, but my focus was on the predator in front of me. I curled my fingers into the sleeves of my hoodie, a wave of nausea rolling through me as panic set in. What was I doing here?
This was why I didn’t belong around normal people. I didn’t know the first thing outside of the basement I’d grown up in. If it hadn’t been for Pastor Malcolm’s lessons and my mother’s swearing, I would’ve been a freak. I mean, I was a freak now, just slightly less of one.
“Sorry,” I whispered, my voice raspy. I sounded horrible. My voice wasn’t used to being used. On top of that, after years of being forced to swallow acidic kitchen supplies, it may have been permanently damaged. That was the only part of me that didn’t fully heal, no matter how much I bled.
“Don’t worry babe, you can make it up to me,” he leered.
“Or you can fuck off, Lorn,” an unfamiliar voice snarled from behind me. My heart pitter-pattered at the dangerous sound, and a familiar sense of safety coated me as the newcomer pressed his hand into my lower back for support, surrounding me in a warm bonfire scent.
I looked up into a pair of deep indigo eyes that burned like embers against a backdrop of ivory skin.
The ends of his messy black curls were dipped in bright orange, accenting his gorgeous face and full, gentle lips that looked nearly out of place on his masculine features. Overall, the effect was stunning.
“This your girl or something?” Lorn snickered.
“Yep,” he answered smoothly.
I wasn’t positive what ‘your girl’ meant, but if it meant being friends, I was totally in.
I wouldn’t mind a friend this tall or big…
or this ridiculously good-looking. Something in the center of my chest begged me to vie for his attention, but it didn’t seem like I needed to.
He was already looking right at me—completely and intensely focused on me.
How had I managed to grab the attention of yet another good-looking man? That made two in two days, which was a record.
Then again, my social experiences before yesterday consisted of three people.
“Alright Ledger,” Lorn scoffed before leaving. I wasn’t paying attention anymore, though, as another beautiful man joined my new friend.
Twins. My heart began to work overtime, the feeling of safety expanded and allowed for something more. It made my face flush as I resisted the urge to bounce on my toes with excitement. I felt hyper and manic.
What the heck was going on with me? The back of my neck felt cool, my body hot with chills. Something inside of me fluttered dangerously back and forth, back and forth.
“He’s such an asshole,” the second one growled. I jolted at his harsh tone, just enough that his eyes snapped down to me and softened. The effect was beautiful.