Page 31 of Deliverance

I can hear the teasing tone in Bridgette’s voice that has me smirking, but clearly it goes over my mother’s head because irritation fills her features.

“Of course she was. Got it from her father. He was always so petulant when things didn’t go his way.”

Anger flares inside me at the mention of my father. Here I thought she just forgot all about him. She certainly made it seem that way, at least.

“Have you been…seeing anyone?” my mother asks hesitantly, like she’s afraid to know.

I came out to my parents when I was eleven, despite knowing for so much longer. My father was stoic as he processed, but eventually told me he’d always love me. My mother, on the other hand, was outraged. She was hysterical for days. She begged my father to send me away to a conversion camp, but thank fuck, he put his foot down. Despite being accepting of me, my father did tell me that my ‘lifestyle’ was not accepted in our society and that one day I would have to marry. A man, that is.

I was heartbroken at the thought of never being able to marry for love, but over the years, I began to see the bigger picture. No one in the Brethren marries for love. It’s all about advantages, connections, power. It’s about tying yourself to the person and or family that will benefit you the most, keep you the safest. Ensure you don’t end up on the Elder’s bad side.

Regardless of me being somewhat accepting of my fate, the idea of me with women turns my mother’s stomach. So, naturally, I try to bring as many women over as possible to fuck with her.

“A few here and there. The neighbor Tatiana is just a sweetheart,” I say with a salacious smirk that I can see makes my mother physically ill.

“The Bailey’s are a nice family. I can’t imagine their daughter would…spend time with you,” my mother argues.

“Trust me, we spent a lot of time together. Mostly while she was on her back.”

A sound of irritation comes from Bridgette, and when I look at her, I see that she’s furious. I’ll have some making up to do later, that’s for sure, but right now it’s too much fun to wind up my mother.

She hisses as she stomps over to me, pinching my cheeks together like when I was a child and speaking in a rushed whisper.

“No more talk like that! Do you hear me? If Harry finds out I have an abomination for a daughter, he may very well kick us both out, and you willnotruin this for me. Do you understand?”

My jaw is tense, and my cheeks burn as her fake nails dig into my skin. I do my best to remain poised despite her words stabbing me through the heart. I don’t care how awful your parent is, how evil they may be, to hear your own mother refer to you as an abomination so casually, so carelessly. It fucking hurts.

I give her a terse nod and she releases me in a flash, shooting Bridgette with a pleasant smile.

“Sweetheart, do you think we could keep your stepsister’s…indiscretion to ourselves? No need to involve your father, right?”

Those ice blue eyes dart between me and my mother before she nods slowly. My mother smiles, a genuine smile as she pats Bridgette’s cheek condescendingly.

“Such a good girl. I’m going to lay down for a while, jet lag. Let’s do a spa day, just you and me,” she says, shooting a poisonous look at me before swishing her hips all the way up the stairs.

When the sound of her door opening and closing echoes through the house, Bridgette moves to the seat beside me, picking up a fork as she begins to eat the now cold breakfast. We eat in silence for a few moments before I turn to face her.

“You wanted to know what my mother was like. There you go.” I laugh bitterly.

Bridgette frowns before reaching her hand under the table, lacing her fingers with mine.

“I’m sorry, Maggie.”

I squeeze her hand and give her a tight smile.

“It’s fine, baby B. Reality had to come knocking eventually.”

Her eyes move to the hallway her dad disappeared down.

“Yeah.”

Chapter Eleven

Bridgette

The cold is setting in, despite the warm summer sun kissing my skin. It can’t chase away the chill in my bones. For a moment, winter was gone, and the promise of a new day was here. As fast as it left, though, it’s back again, promising a colder, sharper, bitter end.

My pen drags along the page with ease, each word becoming permanently inked on the page, lifting the anxiety on my chest brick by brick, no matter how temporary the relief may be. I know I should be downstairs, ready and waiting like the perfect daughter at the table. I can’t bring myself up to get off my bed, though. This summer…well, it’s still technically in full swing, but this time, everything has changed now. Despite the freedom and relief I was beginning to become accustomed to, I feel more trapped than ever. More hopeless than ever, because for once, it feels like I’m on the verge of something…more, and I don’t know how the fuck to process any of that. So, I write.