Damnable Grace
Page 27
“Beautiful,” he said again and ran his fingers through the strands. “Tell me, Phebe,” Brother John asked. “How old are you?”
“I am ten years old, sir.”
“Perfect,” he replied. “And have you yet received your first touch?”
I glanced to my father, who nodded for me to answer. “Yes, sir.”
“She has not been fully broken in, but she has been explored by a brother I am close to, since she was very young. She has the necessary experience.” My heart beat fast as I remembered Brother Abel. The first time I had lain on my bed as he came into my room and removed my clothes. And then he had touched me. He whispered scripture in my ear as his fingers explored my flesh. And then he told me to touch him too. He came back often and did the same things, sometimes more. My father had told me it was God’s will.
“Phebe,” Brother John said, and I blinked. “The prophet has requested you for a special position in our commune.”
Happiness raced through my body, and I smiled with excitement. “Me? The prophet knows who I am?”
“Yes.” Brother John stroked his finger down my face. “And you are to become a very special girl to him and all of the brothers in our faith.”
“I am?”
“Yes. You are to become a Sacred Sister. Do you know what that is?”
“No, sir.”
“It is one of the most important positions in all of Prophet David’s kingdoms.”
I swallowed hard as Brother John slipped his hand into mine. “Come, child. You will stay with me across the commune in a very special place.” I glanced across at my father, and he smiled so big at me. I felt nothing but pride as Brother John led me from my home. Brothers and sisters that I passed waved at me in congratulation. All the time, I thought of our prophet and how lucky I was to have been chosen for a special position.
I would not let him down . . .
My eyes rolled open as a slice of pain cut through my stomach. The light in the room stabbed my eyes, and I called out as its brightness caused my head to ache.
I lifted my hands to my head and tried to stop the throbbing that was beating in my brain. Sweat coated my palms, and I felt my stomach rolling and rolling until . . . I leaned over the edge of the bed to the bucket beside me and purged. I heaved over and over, the awful memory of my youth still playing on repeat in my mind. When there was nothing left to bring up, when the retches became dry coughs, I tried to clear my head from the fog. I was tired, so tired. Then two hands were around my arms, lifting me back to the wet mattress. I shifted my body and felt my legs stick to the linen beneath.
“Fuck,” someone growled. My heart ceased to beat. I was sure I would look up and find Meister. I did not want Meister. I never had. I shut my eyes as I was deposited somewhere and heard someone rushing about the room. I tried to move, but when I did I cried out in agony. My muscles, every single one of my muscles felt on fire, only they were burning me from the inside. My hand moved down my arm, only to stop at the middle. My skin scraped the flesh as I silently searched for the answer to what I needed.
The potion . . . I needed the potion.
“None here, Red. Just gonna have to ride through this shit with me.” A deep voice was near my ear, then I was in someone’s arms. Only these arms did not feel like Meister’s, this male did not smell like him. He smelled of smoke, leather and gunpowder.
I was lowered back down to the bed, and then someone sat beside me. I cracked my eyes open, but my vision was blurred. I blinked until it was clear. A gentle hand cupped the back of my head and a glass was brought to my lips. Cool water entered my mouth; it felt like razor blades as I swallowed. I drained the glass, then a second. When I wanted a third, the deep voice said, “No.”
I reached out, trying to bring the water back, but he stood and walked away. I tried to focus on his retreating back, and all I saw was the devil, laughing at me. Fear seized me, and screams poured from my mouth. When he came back, my voice stopped in my throat. I watched his dark eyes as they met mine. He had a small beard and his hair was long, like the brothers in the commune, but he was not one. I knew he was not one.
He kneeled beside me and pushed my hair from my forehead. “I need . . .” I gasped as pain slammed though me, bending my back. My fingernails scraped along the already broken skin on my arms. “Potion,” I begged. “I need the potion.”
He shook his head. “No potion, Red. Not anymore.”
Tears tracked down my cheeks. Things began to move around the room. People entered, shadows at first, then . . .
“Rebekah,” I cried. She was rocking in the corner, bleeding, burned from the fire on Perdition Hill. “No!” I tried to move, but someone was holding me down.
“You did this,” she said in her beautiful voice. Blood replaced her tears and marked her perfect skin.
“I did not know,” I cried. “I believed them when they told me you were devil-created.” I sobbed; I sobbed so hard that my throat felt clawed and raw. Then there was movement to the right.
I screamed out in agony when I saw her move beside Rebekah. Sapphira’s brown eyes stared at me, and she held out her hand. Her bottom lip wobbled, and tears fell down her cheeks. I reached back for her, but I could not touch her. I was too far away. I could never get to her. People were always holding me back.
“You never told me,” she said sadly. My stomach clenched again.
“I could not.” I watched as blood began to pour from her nose and mouth. “They would never let me.” My throat was raw from crying. “If I did well, they would let me see you, but they would never let me talk to of such things. They would never let me tell you.”
“You let them hurt me.” She pointed to the bruises on her arms, on her legs. She lifted her dress up her thighs and exposed the handprints, the marks . . . the tattoo.
“You are safe now. He sent you from the commune. You are safe.”
“Think.” She stepped closer to the bed. When she came into the light, my heart tore in two. “Remember,” she begged. Her long blond hair fell limply to her waist, and her brown eyes were sunken and sad.
“Remember what?”
Sapphira shook her head and stood beside Rebekah. They held hands. I wanted nothing more than to run to them, to join them, whether that be in heaven or hell. But a male held me down.
“Do you see them?” I cried, my salty tears stinging my eyes. “They are hurt, they need me to save them! Sapphira . . . she is only fourteen. She is hurt!”
“I am ten years old, sir.”
“Perfect,” he replied. “And have you yet received your first touch?”
I glanced to my father, who nodded for me to answer. “Yes, sir.”
“She has not been fully broken in, but she has been explored by a brother I am close to, since she was very young. She has the necessary experience.” My heart beat fast as I remembered Brother Abel. The first time I had lain on my bed as he came into my room and removed my clothes. And then he had touched me. He whispered scripture in my ear as his fingers explored my flesh. And then he told me to touch him too. He came back often and did the same things, sometimes more. My father had told me it was God’s will.
“Phebe,” Brother John said, and I blinked. “The prophet has requested you for a special position in our commune.”
Happiness raced through my body, and I smiled with excitement. “Me? The prophet knows who I am?”
“Yes.” Brother John stroked his finger down my face. “And you are to become a very special girl to him and all of the brothers in our faith.”
“I am?”
“Yes. You are to become a Sacred Sister. Do you know what that is?”
“No, sir.”
“It is one of the most important positions in all of Prophet David’s kingdoms.”
I swallowed hard as Brother John slipped his hand into mine. “Come, child. You will stay with me across the commune in a very special place.” I glanced across at my father, and he smiled so big at me. I felt nothing but pride as Brother John led me from my home. Brothers and sisters that I passed waved at me in congratulation. All the time, I thought of our prophet and how lucky I was to have been chosen for a special position.
I would not let him down . . .
My eyes rolled open as a slice of pain cut through my stomach. The light in the room stabbed my eyes, and I called out as its brightness caused my head to ache.
I lifted my hands to my head and tried to stop the throbbing that was beating in my brain. Sweat coated my palms, and I felt my stomach rolling and rolling until . . . I leaned over the edge of the bed to the bucket beside me and purged. I heaved over and over, the awful memory of my youth still playing on repeat in my mind. When there was nothing left to bring up, when the retches became dry coughs, I tried to clear my head from the fog. I was tired, so tired. Then two hands were around my arms, lifting me back to the wet mattress. I shifted my body and felt my legs stick to the linen beneath.
“Fuck,” someone growled. My heart ceased to beat. I was sure I would look up and find Meister. I did not want Meister. I never had. I shut my eyes as I was deposited somewhere and heard someone rushing about the room. I tried to move, but when I did I cried out in agony. My muscles, every single one of my muscles felt on fire, only they were burning me from the inside. My hand moved down my arm, only to stop at the middle. My skin scraped the flesh as I silently searched for the answer to what I needed.
The potion . . . I needed the potion.
“None here, Red. Just gonna have to ride through this shit with me.” A deep voice was near my ear, then I was in someone’s arms. Only these arms did not feel like Meister’s, this male did not smell like him. He smelled of smoke, leather and gunpowder.
I was lowered back down to the bed, and then someone sat beside me. I cracked my eyes open, but my vision was blurred. I blinked until it was clear. A gentle hand cupped the back of my head and a glass was brought to my lips. Cool water entered my mouth; it felt like razor blades as I swallowed. I drained the glass, then a second. When I wanted a third, the deep voice said, “No.”
I reached out, trying to bring the water back, but he stood and walked away. I tried to focus on his retreating back, and all I saw was the devil, laughing at me. Fear seized me, and screams poured from my mouth. When he came back, my voice stopped in my throat. I watched his dark eyes as they met mine. He had a small beard and his hair was long, like the brothers in the commune, but he was not one. I knew he was not one.
He kneeled beside me and pushed my hair from my forehead. “I need . . .” I gasped as pain slammed though me, bending my back. My fingernails scraped along the already broken skin on my arms. “Potion,” I begged. “I need the potion.”
He shook his head. “No potion, Red. Not anymore.”
Tears tracked down my cheeks. Things began to move around the room. People entered, shadows at first, then . . .
“Rebekah,” I cried. She was rocking in the corner, bleeding, burned from the fire on Perdition Hill. “No!” I tried to move, but someone was holding me down.
“You did this,” she said in her beautiful voice. Blood replaced her tears and marked her perfect skin.
“I did not know,” I cried. “I believed them when they told me you were devil-created.” I sobbed; I sobbed so hard that my throat felt clawed and raw. Then there was movement to the right.
I screamed out in agony when I saw her move beside Rebekah. Sapphira’s brown eyes stared at me, and she held out her hand. Her bottom lip wobbled, and tears fell down her cheeks. I reached back for her, but I could not touch her. I was too far away. I could never get to her. People were always holding me back.
“You never told me,” she said sadly. My stomach clenched again.
“I could not.” I watched as blood began to pour from her nose and mouth. “They would never let me.” My throat was raw from crying. “If I did well, they would let me see you, but they would never let me talk to of such things. They would never let me tell you.”
“You let them hurt me.” She pointed to the bruises on her arms, on her legs. She lifted her dress up her thighs and exposed the handprints, the marks . . . the tattoo.
“You are safe now. He sent you from the commune. You are safe.”
“Think.” She stepped closer to the bed. When she came into the light, my heart tore in two. “Remember,” she begged. Her long blond hair fell limply to her waist, and her brown eyes were sunken and sad.
“Remember what?”
Sapphira shook her head and stood beside Rebekah. They held hands. I wanted nothing more than to run to them, to join them, whether that be in heaven or hell. But a male held me down.
“Do you see them?” I cried, my salty tears stinging my eyes. “They are hurt, they need me to save them! Sapphira . . . she is only fourteen. She is hurt!”
