Page 21 of Church Girl
The nearly instinctive urge to give in, to surrender, rises within me so strong, if I wasn’t sitting, I might sway on my feet. But I look around this little girl’s room, and it’s pink-and-purple color scheme symbolizes the new beginning I’m trying to carve out for myself. That gives me an iota of strength, just enough to hold out and not buckle under the weight of expectations that have sat on my shoulders and chest for...well, forever.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you where I am.”
“You mean youwon’ttell me.”
I shrug although she can’t see it. “That, too.” Before she can speak again, I say, “I don’t mean to hurt or embarrass you and Daddy, but this is a decision I made, and I’m sticking to it. I’m sorry for the way I handled it—”
“Handled it like a thief sneaking out in the middle of the night.”
I blow out a breath. She’s right. That’s exactly what I did. And though I did what I had to, I am a little ashamed of how I went about it. I was in survival mode. But Mom wouldn’t understand that if I tried to explain my reasons. She’s perfectly content as first lady of my father’s church. As his wife. With her voice being an exact reflection of his. And I’m not looking down on her for her choices. But they’re not mine. Not any longer. Maybe not ever.
“I did, and I apologized for that. If you need for me to do it again, then I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your apology, Aaliyah Renee. I want you to use the money I just sent you to buy a plane ticket and come home. Everything else we can talk about when you get here—with your family. Gregory has been at his wit’s end, but he’s willing to forgive and reschedule the wedding. Although because of the wasted time and money, it will be decidedly smaller—”
I commit the cardinal sin of interrupting her and say, “That’s not going to happen, Mom. After leaving Gregory at the altar, there’s no way he’s forgiving me, and he most definitely isn’t forgetting.” I have zero doubts he’d go through with the wedding anyway. But it would be less about being madly in love with me and more about being related to the great Bishop Montgomery. But I’ll keep that to myself. “And I don’t want to marry him. Which is why I left in the first place.”
Part of the reason, but a major one.
“You don’t know what you want.” She sucks her teeth, and in my head, I can easily picture Mom rubbing her forehead. “You never said anything—”
“I did, Mom. In so many ways. You just weren’t listening. But I definitely said it when I left the church.”
And yet here she was, on my phone, ordering me to return home and consign myself to a stifling life that would suffocate me, silence me. No, she still wasn’t listening. I’d literallyrun away, and she still didn’t see.
“You are not four, young lady, you’re twenty-four. Much too old to be throwing temper tantrums and acting rashly. Our God is not one of confusion, Aaliyah. He keeps His word, and doesn’t go back on it. We are supposed to model our own lives and actions after Him, and this is not godly. It’s not righteous. We’ve raised you better than this.” She tsks. “Your actions don’t just affect you, Aaliyah. Your father, the church, Gregory, his family... Do you have any idea how it makes them—us—look? You’ve humiliated us by this behavior—especially your father in the eyes of the church. How do you expect people to believe he can lead his flock when his own daughter doesn’t follow him? No, ma’am, now isn’t the time for childish excuses. You have to be an adult and make it right. So buy that ticket and use it. I don’t want to hear anything else unless you’re telling it to my face. I will see you in two days when we pick you up at the airport.”
She hangs up on me, and for a long moment, I hold the cell to my ear, listening to the silence that echoes with her cutting words. Her disappointment in me is a physical thing, and I lift my other hand to my throat, rubbing it. As if the gesture can open my lungs and expel the grime that’s impossible to wash away. It’s embedded in my skin, my heart...my soul.
“Aaliyah!” Gia’s voice penetrates the cloud wrapped around me in the wake of that phone call. “I’m finished!”
Slowly exhaling, I stand and move toward the bathroom. The heaviness doesn’t evaporate from my chest, but I can’t dwell on that or the two-day ultimatum Mom issued. I have a job to do.
“I’m coming, Gia.” Knocking on the door, I wait a couple of seconds before entering.
Forty-five minutes and three bedtime stories later, I close the door on Gia’s room, her nightlight spilling a soft glow that pushes back the dark. Smiling, I head down the hall, detouring to the kitchen. I’ve had the stove fan blowing since my, uh, attempt at cooking Gia dinner. I flip the switch, shutting off the noise. I sniff the air several times. Nope. I think the lingering odor of burned ground beef has finally dissipated. Note to self: if I’m going to be here late and have to make dinner again, DoorDash it. It’s not only more edible but also not a fire hazard.
Sighing, I make my way to the living room and sink down to the couch, grabbing my bag. Removing my sketch pad and pencils, I settle down, losing myself in the drawing of Gia I’d started while she went wild with slime. Not a long time later, the front door opens and Von walks into the foyer.
Or stalks.
This man doesn’t do anything as simple as “walk.” With power and sexuality that wraps around him, he charges ahead like the perfect male animal he is, expecting everyone to get out of his way.
Perfect on the outside anyway.
That inside could use a little work, though.
Just thinking back on how he talked to me at the tattoo shop earlier makes my whole head itch. I can honestly say I’ve never met anyone like Von before in my life. Someone who doesn’t seem to care what flies out of his mouth or if it’ll offend. Who commands a room just by walking into it and expects everyone to bend to his will.
He reminds me of Dad in that, but while Dad uses Scripture and a paternal affect, Von uses the handiest four-letter word and that intimidating growl.
And then there’s the way he has of making everything sound so...erotic. Dirty.
I shiver as I recall his threat from earlier.
You might want to kill that shit, ma. That and the little attitude you call yourself having gon’ get you in trouble you don’t want.
I might be inexperienced, but I’m not naïve. I know the “trouble” he referred to. I’ve seen365 Daysand have read my fair share of urban fiction. All on the down-low since I didn’t feel like being shamed by my parents, but still...
