Page 110 of Revere
36
MY MISTAKE
PATIENCE
“You insulted him.”Mom shoves me to my knees in the basement, and I feel the skin immediately rip.
Blood pools in my tights, slowly leaking through to the pavement.
“He grabbed my leg.”
“Because the deacon cares, Patience.” She crosses the room. “About our family. About you. Is that so terrible?”
“It’s just—” I shake my head, my palms flat on the cool concrete.
“It’s just what?” Mom narrows her eyes. “Is it too much to ask you to be a good daughter?”
I swallow, trying to level my tone. “His fingers were too close. He was going to touch me?—”
“You think so highly of yourself.” Mom grabs the cross hanging around her neck, cutting me off. “That’s my fault, I suppose. I give you too much freedom. We were not put on this earth to chase our selfish whims, Patience. We do not get to pick and choose who we will be with. Those choices are not in our hands.”
“Because of God or Sigma Sin?” I shouldn’t have asked that, but it’s a fair question.
While Mom lives with this illusion that she’s serving something greater, she refuses to admit who that actually is.
Rage brews in her eyes as she walks over to me and slaps me so hard across the face that my cheek stings.
She grabs my chin, digging her nails into my skin. “Do not speak ill of those who provide for you. Such a selfish little whore. Tempting the deacon with your skirts and then blaming him for not having control. Men are not as strong as we are, even if we let them think they are. You have to make your spine iron, Patience, or you won’t survive them.”
Mom frowns, storming across the room to grab the stool.
“No, please.” I scoot back, and my knees drag on the concrete.
“You will repent. You will be strong.” Mom is chanting more to herself than to me. “You will learn what is worthy of your reverence. And you will be better than I was.”
Mom drags the stool over.
“Give me your wrists, Patience.” She holds out her hands, and I want to fight her, but it will only make this worse.
The first tear slips down my cheek, further proving my weakness as she tightens the shackles at my wrists, binding me to the stool and forcing my chest to bend over it. My elbows dig into the splintery surface.
“You’re lucky you have me, you know. My father was worse. He didn’t care like I do. But I care, Patience. And even if it hurts us both, I’m going to save your soul.”
When I’m bound, Mom circles me. She uses a knife to slice the back of my shirt open. Tears fall freely now, even though it’s yet to hurt. And I let them drain because then maybe Mom’s punishment won’t hurt so badly. Maybe then, I’ll feel nothing.
“Men are weak, Patience. And if you aren’t careful, that weakness will seep into you.” Mom steps back, and I brace myself. “But I promise you one thing. I will make you strong.”
I spin the poppy between my fingers, tossing it into the trash before answering the door. It’s been three days since I had sex with Jacob on the side of the road, and each morning, I’ve woken up to another one on my nightstand.
When I found the first one in LA, I thought it must have been a mistake, getting stuck between the pages of a book and carried into my room by accident. But then the first poppy showed up in Bristal, and like so many other puzzle pieces clicking into place lately, another one found its spot.
Jacob has been watching me long before we ever shared our first kiss or slept together. Going so far as to watch me while I sleep. Once, he asked me how I’d feel about him waking me up with pleasure. It wasn’t just to gauge my limits. He was testing me to see how I feel about what I can only guess is one of his kinks.
But instead of confronting him about the poppies, I continue with my day. Tossing each one in the trash and knowing another red flower will be on my nightstand by morning. Little gifts that can’t fix what we’ve become, even if there is a small part of me that wishes they could.
Another knock echoes in the doorway, and I grumble. God forbid she has to wait one more minute for me to answer.
I swing open the door, and Mom presses her shoulders back, frowning at me.
