Page 9 of Take Me to Church
Most people can’t grasp the extent of what went on in my childhood and teenage years. What would have happened in my adult life. Even when I try explaining it to someone, I can see in their face that they don’t really believe what I’m saying is true. They can’t imagine that I didn’t watch television until I was twenty years old. That I’d never had fast food or worn jeans. That I didn’t fully grasp the concept of the internet or how complicated cell phones could be.
The goal of the IGL was to keep me, and every other woman and girl in the church, as innocent and naïve as possible. It made us easy to manipulate and control.
And when that didn’t work, they used fear. They took away any luxuries we did have one by one.
If that wasn’t enough, they threatened. Yelled and screamed about hellfire and damnation. Eternal suffering and unbearable pain.
Then they resorted to violence, and that was where I drew the line.
That’s also why my first instinct is to run. To hide.
Christian’s nostrils barely flare as he moves closer. “Who put their hands on you, Lydia?” The voice that was so smooth and melodic seconds ago is now deep. Lethal. Hinting at a level of danger that makes my heart flutter just like it did when I was six years old and Christian came to my rescue. “I want names.”
“You don’t need names.” I swallow hard, trying not to wilt under his scrutiny. “You know exactly how things work with them.”
It was my father and brother’s responsibility to keep my sister and me in line. They were the ones that stepped in when I started to walk too far outside the margins of where I was supposed to be, taking my punishment for bad behavior into their own hands. Literally.
Christian’s whole body is strung tight, like he’s struggling to keep it together, and that only makes my heart beat faster. Makes those old, silly feelings I’m still harboring for him flare to life even though I know they’re not real. They’re just one more byproduct of the sheltered life I was forced to live.
“Everything okay?”
I nearly jump out of my skin at the unfamiliar voice.
Christian steps in front of me, blocking my view of the man now standing in the doorway. “Everything’s fine.”
I expect the man to leave, but he lingers. “Didn’t seem like everything was fine when you fuckin’ ran off.” His words come in a slow drawl. “Who was that girl?”
He must not know I’m in here too. It almost makes me feel like I’m hearing a conversation that’s not meant for me, but that’s Christian’s problem. He’s the one who chased me in here.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Christian’s words are clipped and short. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
The guy I can’t see doesn’t immediately move, but eventually I can hear him shift around. “Don’t take too long. We’ve got to finish the sound check before they open the doors.”
Christian offers a jerky nod and the man slowly retreats, his steps unhurried as they drift away.
“Who was that?” I whisper, feeling like I need to stay quiet so the other guy doesn’t know Christian basically lied to him. I now know it’s not my job to protect men from themselves, but old habits die hard, and this is yet another one I’m still attempting to murder.
“The bass player.” Christian moves away from me and for a second I think he’s going to leave—going to give me room to breathe again before I have to go out and pretend like everything is fine.
But then he grabs the door and swings it shut, closing us into the little room, before turning that intense stare my way. “We need to talk.”
4
CHRISTIAN
I KNEW OUR paths would cross again. I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.
I was hoping to give Lydia a little more time to cool off before I tracked her down and explained exactly why I couldn’t help her just yet. But fate has forced me to show my hand early. Hopefully she’s not as upset with me as it seems because I need her to listen objectively.
“If we go get Myra before she’s ready, the chances of her going back are high.” The space is cramped enough that my body barely brushes hers and the soft scent of her skin reaches my nose. Teasing me to distraction. I clear my throat, forcing myself to stay on topic even though all I want to do is inch closer. Breathe a little more of the sweet smell surrounding her. “And if she goes back her life will be ten times worse than it is now.” Normally that’s the extent of my concerns, and even that’s plenty. But this time my fears go far beyond just Myra’s safety and Lydia needs to know that. She needs to understand it’s not just Myra that might suffer if this goes wrong. “And they will blame you. At the very least they will cut her off from you completely. You will never see her again.”
“She won’t go back.” Lydia’s sweet voice carries a level of certainty I need to feel too. “She’s worried he’s going to kill her. Women don’t go back to someone they think is going to kill them.”
I wish I still carried her same level of innocence. I wish I still believed that escape was possible for everyone. That each abused woman had the level of support it takes to break away.
But they don’t. And when abuse is all you know, the task of leaving is daunting. Abusers make sure of that. They break you down. Snap off pieces until you’re nothing. Until you’re positive you can’t exist on your own. Until you believe you don’t deserve more. It’s heartbreaking. It’s frustrating.
But it’s reality, and pretending it’s not only gets people hurt.
