A Beautiful Sin

by Terri E. Laine

  As I pushed the door of the sanctuary open, a small form was huddled in one of the pews near the back. That was odd, considering how late it was. The church was dark with only the vigil lights and a few dim overhead lanterns casting their glow inside. I would have to ask the lone figure to leave, since it was time to lock the doors, but as my feet carried me closer, the color of her hair set off a warning bell in my head. Why would she be here at such a late hour?

  “Haven, what are you doing here?” My voice carried throughout the cavernous space.

  “I…I had nowhere else to go.”

  Something wasn’t right. Her voice was off. Tremulous. And she stared off into the distance.

  Folding myself in the pew next to her, I asked, “What’s happened?”

  “He won. Like he always has. I was wrong. I’m not strong. I’ll never be that person.”

  Her words seemed like an echo of my own thoughts this night, which clearly wasn’t the Haven I knew. “I’m confused. Explain.”

  She didn’t say a word but rotated in her seat. Even though the light was dim, it was still bright enough to see her face, and her left cheek was swollen and bruised. Her lip was also swollen and cut.

  My hands balled into fists a second before I realized it. I relaxed them, trying to hold on to my composure.

  “Who did this to you? Kent?” The set of her mouth and the droop of her eyes gave me my answer.

  I gritted my teeth and took a few breaths to calm the angry words in my head that wanted out. I was mad at Kent, but I was madder at myself. I’d sent her back to that madman with a few careless words when she was only a child. The fact that she’d kissed me no longer mattered. I owed her for the childhood’s worth of pain she endured. Another soul had paid the price for my sins. I pushed that thought aside. Her wounds needed treating, and I couldn’t do it here.

  When she raised her head, the light caught the glint of where her tears had left their mark. But it wasn’t what she said that worried me. It was everything she didn’t say in that moment.

  “Come with me.” I stood and held out my hand.

  His question sent me tumbling back in my mind to how it happened.

  Seeing my aunt in the hospital reminded me of losing my mother and the fragility of life. When I got the call from Aunt Kathy that she was being released, relief freed my mind. My work had suffered. Her illness had been that thorn in my paw that I hadn’t been able to tug out for the last week. Call it guilt, worry, or whatever, but I was happy she was feeling better. Then when she called to tell me she wanted to talk about leaving Kent, my spirits soared.

  “Can you come tonight?” When I hesitated, she rushed to add, “Your uncle is playing poker with the boys and will be gone until late.”

  “Sure. Consider me there. What time?”

  “He’ll leave around seven so come after that.”

  “I’ll be there by seven thirty. Do you want me to bring you dinner?”

  “No, just bring you.”

  I ended the call and glanced up to see Macie. “What are you up to tonight? A date with that hot priest?” she asked.

  “You are seriously demented. You do know that priests don’t date.”

  “Uh huh. But something’s going on with you and him.”

  “Is not,” I said without much force, and I saw the glint in my friend’s eye. “That was my aunt on the phone. She’s out of the hospital.”

  Macie’s face lit up. “Oh, that’s awesome.” Quickly, her eyes narrowed. “But you aren’t getting out of this easy. You’ve been hiding from me all week. I know you’re hiding something.”

  I slouched onto a bar stool and rested my head in my hand. “I’ve been worried about Aunt Kathy. And now she’s at home, but she says she wants to talk to me about leaving the dickface.”

  The ear-splitting screech she emitted had me bolting out of my seat. “What the hell is wrong with you? You about gave me a heart attack!”

  “That is so awesome!”

  My hand was pressed to my chest, hoping my ticker wasn’t going to pop out and hit the floor running. “Jeez, Mace, don’t do that again. You scared the crap out of me.”

  “But this is what you’ve been dreaming of for years, right?”

  “Yeah, but now I’m worried he’s going to beat the crap out of her.”

  She tapped her finger to her temple. “I know. Let me work on finding her a place. In the meantime, go and see her. Make sure she’s still on board with this. Maybe you can get your priest to help.”

  “Canaan? And he’s not my priest.”

  “Yeah. But he’s so hot. He wouldn’t be bad to have to hang around. And I think your Aunt Kathy might like having him around too.”

  “You’re evil, you know that?”

  She sat up and put her hands on her hips. “You know I’m teasing, right? He’s so off-limits no matter how hot he is. But he would be good for Aunt Kathy.”

  That part was true. What I hadn’t told her was I kissed him and I couldn’t get the feel of him off my mind. As she went into the kitchen to get ice cream for both of us, I pondered whether to tell her about it. I had agonized over that for the past week. Kisses had never been my thing. Most of the men I’d been with weren’t allowed to kiss me. I always believed it was too intimate, too sensual. For me, sex was just a means to get off—to get from point A to point B. Kissing made it something different altogether. It became exploratory, affectionate, tender—things I avoided at all costs. But Canaan’s kiss catapulted me into a realm I’d never been. It made me want those things. Spending more time with him was not a good idea.

  By the time I made it to my aunt’s house, I was a bundle of nerves. Canaan was so close; a blush covered me as I kept thinking about the fullness of his lips against mine. It hadn’t been such a bright idea to kiss him. In fact, it had been a huge mistake.

  My aunt opened the door looking better than she had in days. We hugged, and I felt the strength in her as her arms squeezed me in return. It was a good sign and something I hadn’t felt during her stay in the hospital.

  “Wow! You look great, Aunt Kathy.”

  “I feel better than I have in weeks. I guess I didn’t realize how much I’d declined.”

  I took her hand as we walked toward the couch. “I guess when it happens over a period of time, you tend not to notice. So tell me, you’re really ready?”

  The smile on her face told me more than her words. “I never thought this day would come. I don’t even care that I’m sick. But if you want to know the truth, that’s what pushed me to decide. Life’s too short. What little of it I have left, I want to be happy. Even if it means being alone.”

  Putting my arm around her and drawing her close to me, I told her, “Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be around a long time. And you won’t be alone. If you move, I’ll come see you. A lot. I haven’t visited you because he was always here.” And I told her about the time I came and his car was in the driveway so I didn’t stop. “Macie said she’d start looking for a place and she’ll even help with finding an attorney. She’s bound to know someone. You know Macie. She seems to have her fingers into everything.”

  Aunt Kathy laughed, agreeing. It was so great to hear how happy she was, I found myself laughing right along with her. You might have said we were giddy with excitement, so we never heard Kent walk in the house. There was no telling how long he’d eavesdropped, but when he made his presence known, it wasn’t pretty.

  “So, how long have you two been scheming this little arrangement of yours?” Kent stood in the entrance of the room in a combative stance, legs spread wide. He rolled his shoulders and then moved his neck from side to side. I heard it crack and knew then we’d made a costly error. As we sat planning Kathy’s future, he’d listened and seethed.

  I stood, intending to defend Kathy and myself. I was worried he would strike her, and she was in no condition to suffer any of his blows. But that was never his intention. His anger wasn’t directed at her. Stabbing a finger in my direc
tion, he said, “You. You waltz in here like you own the world. Well, let me tell you something. You don’t. You own nothing. And you have no business poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  “I…”

  He moved deliberately toward me. The muscles in his neck bulged as they strained when he cut me off. “Shut up! You don’t say a goddamn word. You think you’re all high and mighty, some fancy rich artist now. You’re nothing to me. Except someone who owes me. Yeah, you owe me for all the damn money I spent sending you to that fancy school over there.” His arm shot out in the direction of Holy Cross.

  But when he brought up owing him money, I got pissed, because how could I possibly owe him?

  I loaded my spine with iron and rose up to my fullest height. Over the years I had learned not to fear him any longer. There was power inside of me, and I understood how to project it. Pulling it forth, I shouted, “What the fuck do I owe you for? All the years you abused me? Beat the shit out of me? Did that make you feel like a bigger man?”

  His nostrils flared for one tiny second before his arm shot out and backhanded me across the face. But he didn’t stop. He was so fast he repeated his action, only this time he closed his other fist and whacked me, landing the jab on my cheekbone, adding the whipped cream to his dessert.

  In one instant, all that strength, all the substance I had foolishly believed I had developed over the years was ripped away. Then he launched into a diatribe of some sort, but I heard none of it. Frozen into a pile of unrecognizable mush, I was unable to formulate a coherent sentence.

  The need to get out of there, a basic survival instinct, overrode everything else, and I stumbled out of the house. I was that kid again, the abused child, blindly running from my abuser. Without any deliberation or introspection, my feet carried me to the doors of Holy Cross Catholic Church. Winded, tearful, bruised, and bleeding, I yanked on the door until it creaked open. When I went into the vestibule, it was dark and empty. The entryway to the church stood open and welcoming. For the first time I ever recalled, I yearned to be inside the church. For some inexplicable reason, it had become a place of safety for me. I didn’t question why, and it didn’t matter that God and the church weren’t exactly high on my list of important things, I only knew Kent couldn’t hurt me within this sanctuary. Finding a pew toward the back, I fell into the seat and stared at the cross.

  The day my mom died was my turning point. If I tried hard enough, I still heard her laughter and saw her radiant smile. In my darkest moments and only on the rarest of times did I allow it to creep into my heart—my heart that lost it’s ability to love—and let it warm me. I was careful of those times, because when I did, it gave me a false sense of hope, the sense that somewhere out there, someone might care about me. But I knew that wasn’t the case. There was no one. I never knew my father. Mom told grand tales about him, but I was sure they were all lies. In all likelihood, I was the result of some kind of fling. In any case, it didn’t matter. The only family I had was my aunt and uncle, and I wished they didn’t exist. The cruelty that existed under this roof was worse than being alone. Now I understood why my mom didn’t like to be around Uncle Kent. And Aunt Kathy, well, she was too afraid of him to do anything because he beat her all the time.

  Aunt Kathy was right. I should’ve paid more attention to what she’d said, but I’d grown careless throughout the year. Besides, it was only art. How mad could he really get over one or two sketches?

  As I sat on my bed, like I did most days when I wasn’t at school, I sketched a picture of Mom. She sat on her favorite chair smiling, looking like a burst of sunshine to me. Just one more to add to my growing collection of her. It was from memory, because I had no real pictures. They had all vanished or been thrown away with the rest of her things.

  Suddenly, my door flew open and Uncle Kent stood there. I had been so engrossed in sketching, I hadn’t paid attention to the sound of his footsteps like I normally did.

  “What do you have there?”

  “It’s nothing.” I shoved the pad under the covers.

  “It’s something, or you wouldn’t have tried to hide it. Hand it over.” His huge paw extended, waiting for me to give him my sketchpad.

  Since I had no choice, I pulled it from beneath my blanket where I’d hastily hidden it and handed it to him.

  He looked at it and asked, “Where’d you get these?”

  “They’re mine. I drew them.”

  “No, you didn’t. Don’t lie. You stole these.”

  “No! I would never do that.”

  “Don’t you back talk me, girl.”

  “I didn’t. I’m telling you the truth. Those are my drawings. See? It’s Mom.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s your take. This is mine.”

  “No! Don’t do that! Please!” I begged him to stop over and over.

  Only he didn’t. And I stood there and watched as he tore each sketch up into tiny fragments, leaving them scattered all over the floor. The tiny pieces were like shattered memories of Mom I could never get back.

  “Look at this mess. I told you to keep this room clean. I’m gonna have to punish you. Get up.”

  Slowly, I stood as my arms and legs trembled. His lips were pressed together forming a thin line, but it was his eyes that were the scariest. They were dark and angry. I knew whatever he had planned couldn’t be good.

  “Turn around and pull your pants down.”

  “No!” I said, horrified. “I won’t!” I tried to run from the room, but his thick arm wrapped around me in no time flat. That cop training of his must have given him fast reflexes or something.

  “You can’t get away from me, Haven. Now drop your pants for your punishment. You know I hate when you hide things from me.”

  The sound of his belt coming off brought bile burning up to my throat. I tried to escape from the room. But he was so huge, tall, and stout, there wasn’t a chance in a million I could get away. My dead heart hammered in terror as he grabbed my hair and yanked. I screamed as I fell backward into his arms. And then he worked so fast I could barely track. My pajama bottoms came down as I was tossed on my bed when I heard the hiss of the belt. He didn’t beat me with the leather end. He used the end with the buckle. My scream jammed in my trachea because another blow landed immediately after the first, and the second, and the third. I soon lost count because the belt hit me all over my back, shoulders, butt, and thighs, and I was sure I even took a few on the back of the head.

  Uncle Kent made sure I paid for my mess that morning. I wasn’t sure how many times he hit me because I lost count after seven. Afterward, I lay curled in my bed, whimpering.

  Eventually, I heard his car leave the driveway. I closed my eyes in relief, knowing he must’ve gone to work. Even though it was Sunday that meant he’d be gone all day because he was a cop.

  My aunt didn’t come to check on me. Then again, she could have been nursing her own wounds. I dragged my beaten body out of bed and down the hall into the tiny shower. I held hope it would help me feel better. Only it didn’t. Fighting him had only made it worse. And seeing thin rivulets of blood flow down the drain confirmed my fears. But it was the first of many times to come.

  Hours later, a hand touched my shoulder, and I glanced up to see his beautiful eyes. I muttered a few answers to his questions before I just admitted the truth. Then he guided me to the rectory, back to his home.

  “I don’t remember much about walking here, to be honest.” My voice was barely above a whisper.

  Canaan dabbed at my cheek and lip with a damp cloth. He didn’t say a word or interrupt as I spoke about what had happened. I supposed he was as shocked as I was. He didn’t have to tell me how angry he was. His steely posture explained it all to me.

  “When Kent hit me, it was like all those years between then and now disintegrated. And I was that scared kid again. Powerless.” My shoulders curled inward, like they used to, as I folded my arms around myself.

  “You’re not powerless, Haven. You’re an
adult and you have options here. Do you want me to call the police?” His teeth clenched and it wasn’t hard to see he was trying to control his anger.

  I let out a laugh that bordered on hysteria. “Kent is the police. Aunt Kathy was right all those years ago. He’d use his connections to make this go away. And it would be my word against his and who would they believe?”

  “A priest.”

  “Canaan, you weren’t there. What help would you be?”

  “I could use his display of bad temper at the hospital as an example.”

  He handed me a baggie filled with ice, and I pressed it to my cheek. “It would never work. Trust me.”

  He reached out his finger and touched my lip. “He hurt you, Haven. That’s wrong.” The tiny muscles on both sides of his jaws twitched.

  “I’ve been around one severely angry man tonight. Please don’t be angry, too.”

  The thousand different hues of green in his irises became flinty.

  “It’s difficult to see you in this condition and not be angry.”

  Without thinking, because looking into his eyes made it difficult to think, I placed my palm on his cheek. “You can’t worry about me.”

  “How can I not?” Then he placed his hand over mine and removed it from his face. The expression he wore could have best been described as tragic.

  “What?”

  “I’m responsible for this.”

  My brows furrowed. “Why…?”

  His skin puckered around his eyes as he pounded his chest using the tips of his fingers. “I sent you back there. It’s all my fault.”

  This was so fucked up. I almost didn’t know where to begin. “So, I know I blamed you for so much. But realistically, even if I had spoken with Father O’Brien, who’s to say he would’ve believed me? It’s anybody’s guess. You can’t shoulder the blame, and as for tonight, Aunt Kathy and I were careless. We shouldn’t have been talking so freely.”

  “He shouldn’t have hit you. That’s domestic violence, and it’s a crime,” he said through gritted teeth.