He wanted me to be his wife. In every single way.
My teeth clattered together, I couldn’t stop myself. I pulled on my hand, taking a step back.
I undressed. Pastor Carter laid me down on the blanket.
“We only do what pleases the Lord, Sara. My hands are his hands. Let me fill you with divinity.” Pastor Carter pulled my hair from my neck and kissed my shoulder.
I trembled.
This was holy. Pastor Carter would save my soul.
Then why did it feel so wrong? Why did I want to cry? Why did I have to swallow my screams?
“Do you feel God’s love?” Pastor whispered in my ear. His hands were smooth.
“Yes.” I imagined my body filled with light. And I prayed. Even if deep down I knew this was wrong…
Pastor Carter wasn’t a holy man. He wasn’t even a good man.
I hate him.
The thought came quickly. Brutally. I shook with the force of it.
Then the shame took over. There were two sides at war within me. I wasn’t sure which would win.
But I did know they were tearing me apart.
“Sara, what’s wrong?” Bastian’s gripped my shoulders anxiously.
“I—can’t—breathe,” I gasped, trying to inhale and exhale.
“You’re having a panic attack. Sit down.” Bastian gently led me to an overturned log, rubbing my back the whole time. “Focus on your breathing. One breath in. One breath out. Slowly.” He repeated his instructions over and over until I was finally able to calm down.
I felt lightheaded. Fuzzy. Like after you’ve been sick.
I was supposed to be at prayer.
Pastor Carter said I was to marry him. He read my defiance immediately. What would happen now?
I had never felt the instinct to flee like this before. The Retreat had always made me feel safe. Now it was cold. And empty.
Except for the man in front of me.
Pastor Carter had every intention of getting rid of Bastian. Of making him leave. The thought of not seeing him again, on top of everything else, was my total undoing.
I reached for Bastian before I realized what I was doing. My fingers grasped at his shirt, holding on as if my life depended on it.
Maybe it did.
“I just can’t—” I started to say. Then I was crying. Sobbing in a way I hadn’t done since I was eight years old.
“I just can’t do it,” I finally got out as tears soaked my cheeks.
“Sara, it’s okay. I promise you, it will all be okay,” Bastian murmured, cupping my face in his hand, wiping away my tears with his thumb.
I couldn’t respond. Years of pent up emotion flooded out of me. I couldn’t stop it.
I didn’t want to.
