No, if I was impure, Thomas would have said. I would have been punished.
So why that nickname? I had never heard him call anyone else anything but their names. Their first names. Except for Daffodil, Little Mouse, and Wild Rose.
Did that mean he had intentions? That he had intentions of making me his Favorite? Would he make it official soon? Would I be one of the ones he sought revenge for? Was I, for some reason, chosen to be protected by the tsunami itself?
He had noticed the braid.
He had noticed me.
And now that I was under his gaze, I never wanted to leave.
16
Scarlett
January 2nd, 2023
It was Monday, and I had been requested for a private Back Hall meeting.
I put a braid in my hair and put my hair into a ponytail before stepping back and admiring myself in the old, dingy mirror in my house. It was faded around the edges and murky, but good enough to make sure everything was pristine.
I wore my copper-colored top with the gold collar, and my navy pencil skirt with copper tights and black shoes. I didn’t much like copper on me, but my other clothes were hanging in the bathroom to dry. This was all I had left to wear until those were done.
I studied myself, never looking above my neck, not even at myself. Even when I did my neck exercises to keep my neck and posture good, I never opened my eyes. I didn’t want to take the chance of accidentally putting myself into a habit I couldn’t get out of, so no looking. I only knew how my hair looked by how it felt. Soft, thick hair, one braid, always pulled back into a ponytail.
One day, I would love to wear a bow in my hair. I loved bows. Big ones. I would wear them every day, I think, if I had the option.
I smoothed out my skirt, watching my own hands. Years ago, back when Azrael first came to our church, I thought that I wasnumb. I thought that I had reached a state of uncaring. Like a puppet on a string, just doing whatever they told me without any emotion whatsoever.
Now I knew that wasn’t true. There was still feelings within me. I still cared. I cared about my braid. I cared about his eyes on me. I cared about the rules. I cared about the children and their little souls.
What did that mean for me?
The front door opened, and my eyes immediately dropped to the floor.
The clicks sounded and I headed towards them without thought. Thomas was waiting for me at the front door. Once he chose me as his Favorite, his betrothed, he became responsible for me, which meant that he had to be the one to drive me to and from church, although, I thought sometimes he hated it by how cold he acted.
He hired people from the church to get my groceries, only ‘church approved’ food that would keep me pure, and I was required to keep my house spotless just in case there was a surprise visit.
I kept my eyes on the ground as we stepped outside. I took in everything I could every time I got the chance. Sometimes, this was all I was able to taste of the outside world.
This sidewalk had exactly 12 lines in it and 43 cracks. Sometimes a flower bloomed up through those cracks. Dandelions, I had read once. They were beautiful.
I soaked up as much as I could, absorbing the warmth of the sun on my skin, the fresh air, before finally climbing into the van, the tan leather seats cracked revealing the yellow stuffing underneath.
“Mr. Bastrom wants to see you today,” Thomas explained when he got in. “You’re to do what he wants, follow the rules, and make sure he gets off. Is that understood?”
I understood. I always understood, but the problem was that Mr. Bastrom didn’t understand. He had been pushing lately. Pushing to touch me more. They all had, in the last few months, but Mr. Bastrom was the worst.
It’s like they didn’t care for the rules at all anymore, and I actually feared being alone with him, even though it wasn’t really alone. Only Elders were allowed true private meetings. Otherwise, Thomas was in the room when one Leader requested a personal visit, it was his choice to be in the room when it was all the Leaders, but the problem was that he was usually distracted when it was private, so they pushed. Mr. Bastrom was the worst of them.
We drove until we stopped. Thomas opened the van door, and I slid out. 46 lines from the van to the front doors. 127 cracks.
Thomas opened the doors of the church and led me in. I always disliked the church on the days we weren’t in services. It was quiet, eerie. It felt cold. Abandoned. Like the light had left the world during the days we were not here.
But, I suppose, it had never felt that warm to begin with.
I shivered as he led me to the sanctuary, wondering if it had always felt this cold or if everything just felt more empty these days. It seemed that the hope that the sea would return wasn’t enough to warm the air anymore.
