No!
Deep breaths. One. Two. Three.
Deep breaths. Four. Five. Six.
I breathed in the scent of the room, looking for the calm I so desperately needed. The sun had started to set and there was only darkness. The flickering from the candles in the windows threw shadows across the floor.
I shivered, feeling so, so cold.
I closed my eyes and I made myself remember.
This space had always been associated with my most intense memories. Of feelings that had transformed my life.
Bastian’s face flashed in my mind. His eyes. His mouth. His hands as they held mine. He never sought to control me. He only wanted me to be happy.
But so did Pastor Carter. He only wanted what was best for me. He only wanted to save my soul.
The door opened and light flooded in. I could barely keep my head up. I hadn’t eaten in days. No water for at least that long. I smelled bad. I had gone to the bathroom in the corner. I felt ashamed. And disgusting.
At some point, in my despair, I had found a stick on the floor. I barely remembered breaking it in half. Of taking it to my wrist and pushing deep until I felt the warmth. But not deep enough to end it all.
Only enough for the pain.
Like a savior, he appeared and I thought he was a hallucination.
Arms lifted me up. “Don’t touch me,” I pleaded.
“Shh, my child. Let me take care of you.” He tucked me into his chest and carried me.
I fell asleep and when I woke up, I was in a room of windows. The sun bright in every corner. Pastor Carter put a cup of water to my lips and I drank greedily. He cleaned and bandaged my mutilated wrist.
“You’ve seen the dark, Sara. Now let me show you the light.”
Pastor Carter had taken me out of that horrible place. Not my mother. Not anyone else. Only him.
He fed me. He gave me water.
He washed my face and sang to me.
He covered my wounds and cared for me.
There was no anger. Only relief to be out of The Refuge. Desperation for the affection Pastor Carter offered.
I’d follow him anywhere.
Pastor Carter.
My protector.
“Sara, hello.” Pastor’s voice filled the room. His warm tone tinged with something else. Something harder.
“Hello, Pastor.”
He was on the floor, a notebook open in his lap. A lamp was turned on beside him. His long, greying blond hair tied back in a low ponytail. He watched me with hooded blue eyes. So stern. So unhappy.
“It’s very late, child. Where have you been?”
“I—”
