My feet come to a stop, and I slowly turn around to see him still sitting on the floor, leaning up against the fallen podium.
“It was her idea, actually.” He pulls a cigarette out of the inside of his leather jacket and lights it up. Putting it to his lips, he takes in a big drag and then lets it out. “Do you know why you were born, Cross?” He calls me by the nickname I was given when I was younger due to the kids who saw the scars on my back that he gave me. “You were born for a purpose, son.”
I snort at that. “No one was born to burn.”
“You were born because your mother wanted a baby who would pay for our sins.”
I look away from him, not wanting to believe what he says, but deep down, I know it’s true. She has never tried to stop him from hurting me. She’s never been nothing more than a doting wife and a pathetic fucking mother.
“You don’t live in this world without paying debts, son.” He gets to his feet once again. “Get used to it. The debts will get too big to pay with your own flesh.” With that, he drags himself back to his office.
I’ve fought him a lot over the years. Most ended in me getting my ass kicked. But he’s gotten older, slower, weaker. Where I’ve grown bigger, stronger, angrier.
I go to leave but stop staring up at the front of the church. I’ve been a prisoner to this place ever since I was born. The crosses, the burns and the humiliation.
“Men don’t kneel for forgiveness. They kneel for humiliation.” He once said to me.
My hands fist and I know that if I don’t stop it now, it’ll never end. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not until he’s dead. I’ve been praying for years he’d die. God never listens. If my father can stand in front of a congregation and pretend to be God, so can I.
I make my way to the office and storm in. He’s sitting at his desk, looking at his computer. “Go home, son,” He dismisses me without looking up. “You can repent tomorrow.”
“That won’t be happening.” I state, pulling my Zippo out of my pocket that my mother gave me all those years ago. “It’s time you pay for your sins father.”
“What are you doing?” He jumps to his feet.
Picking up a book off his bookshelf, I rip the pages out, then toss it to the floor. It’s all ancient biblical shit that he doesn’t even believe in.
“Everything must look perfect,” my mother always tells me. They’re just props.
“Cross! Stop!” he snaps.
I do it to another one.
He rushes me, slamming me into the bookshelf, but I lift my right arm, elbowing him in the face. He cries out, holding his nose and falling onto the couch.
“You must learn to endure pain, Father,” I say the same thing he once said to me while I kneeled in this church. “It’s time you pay your debt.” I light some papers on fire and toss them to the floor next to the ripped books. They catch fire immediately. Then I light a few more on the shelf for safe measure. I don’t want him putting it out. Then I’d have to start all over.
“Cross.” He reaches out to me from the couch. He coughs, as smoke is already filling the room, the fire growing bigger with each second. “Son, stop this.”
I walk over to him and rip the chain that holds the cross from his neck. Pocketing it, I turn to the door not even looking back. “Learn to like the fire, Father. I hear it’s hot in hell.” Slamming the door shut, I lock him inside.
I sit straight up, breathing heavily and looking around aimlessly. Blinking, I remember it’s just a dream. Well, it was very real back then. Now it’s technically a memory. I can still smell the smoke and feel the heat. I hope the motherfucker is still burning.
Getting out of my bed, I make my way to the bathroom and turn on the sink. I splash some water on my face. Then cup my hands, taking a drink of it. I’ve maybe been asleep for an hour. After the night we had, I had to get some rest. I needed to lie with Alexa in my bed, knowing she was with me and safe.
“You okay?”
I spin around to see her standing in the doorway. Still naked from when we passed out earlier after we were done with each other.
“Fine.” I lie.
She walks up behind me and wraps her arms around me. “Thought things were different?” She questions. “If that’s true, then why are you lying?”
I turn to face her. Spinning us both around, I pin her back to the counter and pick her up, setting her ass on it. “It wasn’t a lie.”
“It wasn’t the truth,” she counters. “I want to see you.”
“You’re looking right at me.”
