Page 40 of Acts of Contrition
“You’re awake.” He drops the cross and it bounces against his chest. “Here.” He reaches for something on the nightstand and in the dim light, I see it’s a Powerade bottle. He twists the cap and asks, “Can you sit up?”
I do so with effort, soft pillows making it easier. He hands me the bottle and I take a few sips, my hands shaky as I hold it like a baby drinking from a bottle.
“Do you remember what happened today?” he asks, his voice a low rumble as he takes the bottle from me, putting it back on the nightstand.
I nod, fresh tears swimming in my eyes.
“Little dove…” Green eyes plead with me. I’ve never seen him look so earnest. His hand twitches. Perhaps he wants to touch me? “I need to know exactly what happened. We cannot move forward…Youcannot move forward unless you unburden your soul.”
“Did you really think what you do to me is the worst I have been through?”
I don’t realize I am going to say that until it slips out, and I wish I could take the words back. His punishments are rudimentary compared with my life, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to handle them now.
“I did,” he replies. “And that was my mistake. But I cannot help you if you do not speak to me. What happened to you, and what does it have to do with the man who always corners my sister?”
“You already judge me based on what you know,” I argue. “You only know a fraction of it; what will you do to me when you know it all?”
“Help you heal.”
“Torture won’t heal me.”
He leans back, pensive. “Perhaps not. But I need to hear it from you. I require full disclosure, or else everything I am doing has been for naught.”
I still don’t speak. I don’t know if I can.
With a sigh, he stands up. “I let you outonceand something happened, and now you won’t obey me. How far back are we going to have to go and do this dance again, Diana?”
I shake my head, not wanting to go back to the first few weeks here. I don’t think I could handle it again, knowing the cycle will have to repeat.
Just tell him. Tell someone,my conscience whispers. It’s self-preservation more than anything.
“If…” I swallow hard and he hands me the sports drink again, eyes still hard. I drink and hand it back to him. “If I tell you, would you punish me for being weak? For not escaping Hell on Earth?”
“I cannot tell you what I will and will not do when I have no idea what you’re going to say to me,” he says.
I take a breath. “My father died when I was twelve. I found his body.”
Thomas nods. Likely, he knew this.
“My mom took a second job to make ends meet, because Dad was up to his eyeballs in debt we had no idea existed. What I didn’t know right away was that Mom was being pimped out and testing new street drugs.”
Thomas’ face is still impassive.
“The man she was working for is Mike Sullivan, he’s a businessman on paper but his real money comes from women and drugs … and kids.”
“Excuse me?” Thomas’ eyes harden again.
“Basically low-key human trafficking. He’ll keep a woman and a kid or two to personally rent out, and he sells others. I didn’t actually see him do any of that; he just mentioned offhandthat he sold some of us off, and the rare few he kept should be grateful.” I tighten my hands in the soft, thick duvet. “Mom got progressively more drugged up, lost her first job, and hooking for him was all she had. He pressured her to move in with us, to take care of us. She believed him.” I scoff.
How had she been so naive?
“When was this?” Thomas asks.
“When I was thirteen, a year after Dad died.”
He nods. “Continue.”
“One night I heard him yelling at Mom. She didn’t seem to be yelling back; it sounded like she was drugged out of her mind to me. He told her … he said she had one purpose for him and if she was too … can I curse?”
