CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SYDNEY

M y fingers dig into my sides as I hug my body tight while watching Roman walk out the front door. The door shuts with a loud click, but I remain frozen. Stuck in a continuous time loop with my mind screaming at me to move but my body unable to process the messages as Roman’s words echo around me.

He called me a whore.

Am I?

Accused me of liking Blake kissing me in that alley.

You did.

He was turned on. He wanted me.

So were you. You wanted him.

I argue back and forth with my conscience, my phone ringing in the background. Then I drop to the ground and pray.

I pray for forgiveness. I pray for my soul. I pray for strength. Strength to overcome this test God has seen fit to give me. Strength to resist temptation, to banish impure thoughts and desires.

Through all of this, I can’t deny the part of me that wants to give in, that hungers to be touched, to let this desire take over me.

I’m dirty. I’m sullied. I’ve already succumbed to temptation once before. It’s wrong and I shouldn’t want this.

So I pray. Kneeling on the floor, I pray until my legs are numb, my throat sore and my voice hoarse. When I feel I’ve repented enough, I haul myself to my feet. On shaky legs, I stumble my way to the front door and check it’s closed properly before flicking the lock in place. As I grab my phone from the living room, it starts to ring again. Caller ID says it’s Cress. All the missed calls were from her, but I send it to voicemail. I just can’t right now.

Roman thought it was Pa, and I wonder why he would say that. But the thought is forgotten when I spot my bible on the coffee table and pick it up, dropping the phone down in its place. I flip through the pages as I carry it back to the sofa and sit down. I seek the verses Pa would tell me to read, to ground myself in God’s love, to remember Eve’s fall and what happens when you eat forbidden fruit.

And I have a feeling Roman and Blake are more than forbidden fruit.

After claiming to be sick all week to avoid work and Cress and Suzi—another lie, another sin—and spending the latter part of the week studying the bible for hours at a time and praying every night hoping to cleanse my soul, Saturday rolls around bringing with it a dilemma.

I’m meant to be at the church this morning to help Pa. If I drag my lie out anymore, yes, I lied to him too, I’m not going to be able to keep him away, especially as tomorrow is our weekly family dinner. But I’m not ready to face Roman or Blake.

Despite everything I’ve done this week, my unconscious mind is determined to undo it all while I sleep. Filling my mind every night with erotic dreams of two faceless men doing unholy things to my body, bathing me in pleasure and sin that has me startling awake mid-orgasm. The men might be faceless in my dreams, but I know who they are.

Showered and dressed and cradling a cup of coffee in my hands, I sit on the sofa weighing up the chances I might run in to either of them if I risk going to help Pa. But knowing I need to do everything in my power to earn God’s good graces again and with the need to please God and Pa greater than the chance of Roman being there, my resolve is somewhat fortified. With no other valid option, I put on my coat, grab my bag and leave.

My heart races and anxiety spikes as the church comes into view, but somehow, I keep going. On the walk here, I shored up my defences just in case. Planning to stay around others in the main vestibule in the hopes I can avoid any awkward moments or being alone with Roman or Blake if either of them are here, I enter through the front doors.

It’s quiet, disconcertingly so. Sunday is always busier, of course, but I don’t remember a Saturday when it’s been this empty, not since Covid. As the door clangs closed ominously behind me, every pair of eyes turn on me. As disconcerting as the quiet might be, it’s nothing compared to the half a dozen pairs of eyes now trained on me as I walk up the centre aisle toward Pa where he stands at the altar, head bent and reading.

They see you. They know your sins. God is watching.

My chest feels heavy as the thought flows through me, but I hold my head high and continue to walk, smiling as I pass those watching me.

Stepping onto the dais, Pa finally lifts his head. “Sydney, I wasn’t expecting you today. I take it you’re feeling better?” Pa asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nod, not sure I can keep the unsettled emotions from my voice yet, and uncomfortably aware of being watched. Looking over my shoulder, Pa reads my thoughts.

“Come, let’s talk in my office.”

Once safely sequestered inside his office, I find my voice. “It’s so quiet today. Have I missed something?” I ask, a strange sense of foreboding snapping at me.

Pa sighs. “Idle gossip. Nothing to worry about.” Before I can press him further, he continues. “Now, tell me what’s been going on with you?”

The question sends my mind into a tailspin. And I’m certain he knows. Is that what he meant about idle gossip? Did someone see me with Blake or Roman? Did Roman tell Pa what I did? Question after question and all pointing to me and my indiscretions.

“Sydney?” Pa calls my name, snapping me from my thoughts.

“Sorry. I’m fine. It was just a bad cold or maybe the flu, but I’m feeling much better now.”

More lies. Lie upon lie.

“That’s good to hear. I have something I need to discuss with you. I had planned to wait until tomorrow, but… Well—” A knock at the door interrupts him. “Come in,” he calls.

The door opens, creaking loudly, and my heart thumps inside my chest as my mouth dries. I clutch the back of the chair in front of me, squeezing so tight my knuckles whiten and pain shoots through my wrist.

“Ah, Roman. Come in, take a seat.” Roman moves into view, stepping around me to take a seat in the other chair. “You remember my daughter Sydney,” Pa says, gesturing to me and smiling.

Swallowing thickly, I look to Roman and force a watery smile. “Hello,” I croak out before quickly looking away again. “I’ll leave you two to it.” The words are almost a plea as my need to escape reaches a peak. My vision blurs and my legs tremble.

“You’re looking a bit pale, Sydney. Are you okay?” someone asks, Roman, I think, but it’s muffled. Chairs scrape against the stone floor, clothing rustles and voices chatter somewhere as blackness claims me.

Consciousness seeps back in one molecule at a time. As I become more aware of my surroundings, I hear faint voices in another room. Peeling my eyes open, I roll my head to the side to take in the room, wincing when a dull thud takes up residence inside my skull. Recognition registers as I see my bedside table and the bible I keep there. My eyes scan the room, as much as possible without moving my head, and I see my dressing gown hanging on the back of door, which is ajar.

Taking a deep breath, I prepare for pain as I shuffle into a seated position, resting my head against my headboard. The pain lessens with each breath until I can finally move without feeling like it’s about to crack open.

Spilling all your sins.

I bat the thought away and ease my legs over the side of the bed, pausing as nausea roils in my stomach. Once it’s passed, I push to my feet and amble toward the slightly open door and the voices I hear when I first woke. The voices become clearer the closer I get, and the nausea returns. Panic assaults me but it’s soon overridden by an emotion I’m not used to and have no real clue how to deal with it. It’s this emotion that drives me forward and propels me into my living room where I explode.