Page 67 of Please Open Me
But there was one fatal flaw in their plan: I didn’t like men. Never had. Sure, I liked having male friends. I always had a good time dicking around with the guys at the gym. But the idea of having sex with any of them made me want to hurl.
When I told my parents that at fifteen, they sent me straight to confession.
At the time, the false god was weirdly understanding. He preached some crap about how God didn’t make mistakes, how I was exactly who the Lord intended.
But Dale disagreed.
I spent the next three years in ‘classes’ meant to scare the devil out of me. In reality, it was just another excuse to break me.
To beat me into submission.
To turn me into another pretty fool—eager to bear the child who would cleanse our souls and grant us salvation.
It didn’t work. One day, I snapped.
My parents were lucky they didn’t live to see their precious daughter grow into a godless degenerate. Though they’d probably be proud of how close I’d gotten to Reverend Cole.
I crossed my arms, muscles straining against the sleeves of my black button-down. Nothing less than my Sunday best for a weekly meeting with Satan himself.
“Matilda,” Dale drawled, leaning forward in his chair.
My jaw tensed.
I resisted the urge to correct him. Sure, that was legally my name, but I hated it.
I’d barely made it through Sebastian’s limp sermon about how a child would save us—or whatever garbage Dale had coached him to say. Reverend Cole was lucky I hadn’t stood up, grabbed his faded chestnut hair, and smashed his face into the desk until the wood splintered.
But I had channels to go through. If I didn’t follow the rules, I’d earn myself another five years of servitude.
“Are you certain you saw Calvin picking up pregnancy tests?” Dale asked.
“Are there any other seven-foot-tall gingers running around Hartwood?” There reallyshouldn’thave been.
“No, thankfully, God spared us that indignity. But that’s a serious accusation against Father Castillo—”
He broke into a harsh, hacking cough. When he sat up, blood slicked his lower lip. He wiped it away with his elbow and drew in a wheezing breath.
I cringed.
If God is real, he’d better let me kill this sadistic fucker before this disgusting disease did.
“Father Castillo claims he’s yet to produce an heir,” Dale rasped. “That level of perjury, from a man in his position, is unbecoming.”
To be honest, I didn’t care if Sebastian lied about getting Mason pregnant, or the tests, or anything else. He was still a dumbass who fell into the cult; that made him guilty enough. But there was something in that farmhouse I cared about more than I should have.
“There are two women and three men in that house. So… it’s possible Sebastian isn’t lying.”
That was the truth.
Dale nodded slowly. “And that’s why you’re so interested in his household?”
I bit my lip and nodded. “That’s it. It’s my job to redeem myself if I ever want salvation.”
Salvation.
That’s what Dale promised. If I followed Sebastian, ensured he was honest and fruitful, I’d be healed of my sins.
But, Dale failed to consider that not all of us feared what made us unholy.
