Thou Shall Not: A Dark Ten Commandments Anthology

by Michelle Brown

  By the third layer, she’s unconscious and blood seeps from the growing cut in her stomach. It’s messy, lacking any artistic precision like I had planned. It was supposed to be a clean cut, but it’s a jagged, ugly mess of uneven cuts and chunks of hanging tissue.

  I keep moving my scalpel up and down, working my way through layer after layer of fatty tissue and muscle until I reach the uterus. The beautiful organ housing the baby stares back at me as I glance up at the clock.

  One minute.

  The countdown begins.

  “What are you waiting for?” My father's voice booms from behind me as I lay the blanket out on the floor beside me.

  “Don’t listen to him,” my mother whispers in my ear. “Your timing is perfect.”

  Forty-five seconds.

  “Get the baby out!” my father demands as I continue to watch the hands on the clock.

  Thirty seconds.

  Looking back at the exposed bloody organ, I position the blade on it correctly and carefully as Erin lightly stirs.

  Fifteen seconds.

  “Now, Rebecca!” my father screams.

  “It’s time,” my mother whispers.

  With a swift nod, I dig the scalpel in and make a long cut, slicing open her uterus and the amniotic sac with one fluid motion. Blood mixed with clear liquid rushes out from the gaping wound as I quickly force my arms inside her abdomen feeling around for a way to grab ahold of the baby. Wrapping my hands around her, I tear her from Erin’s stomach.

  Pulling her small blood-covered body to me, I hold her against my chest, pounding on her back. It only takes a few smacks for her to cry out, take a deep breath, drawing the fresh air into her lungs. We both begin to cry together, tears of joy, tears of fright.

  She’s finally here.

  The Chosen One.

  God hand picked this one to carry out His work, as she’s destined for greatness and it is my job to protect her and guide her for the rest of my days on Earth.

  I gently lie her down on the blanket and rip the washcloth out of Erin’s mouth. I use the moisture on the cloth to clear the mess from the baby and secure the clamp on her umbilical cord. Using the scalpel, I cut the cord on the floor, throwing the excess back onto Erin’s empty abdomen.

  Wrapping the blanket tightly around her, I lift her into my arms and cradle her against my chest, lightly rocking her to sleep.

  Erin stirs beside us and I glance over, meeting her eyes. “Can I see her?” she croaks.

  Leaning over, I pull the baby away from my body, letting Erin have a peek at her. Erin lets out a ragged breath and begins to cough harshly. Holding the baby back against me, I shield her from the blood that spurts out of Erin’s stomach as she coughs and chokes.

  The baby twitches in her sleep and I look down at her smiling.

  “What are you going to do with her?” Erin whispers.

  Looking at her, I smile deeply. “I will be ensuring her safety and protecting her while she carries out His plan.”

  “Whose plan?” she questions as her face slowly grows more relaxed.

  “God’s,” I explain. “She’s the Chosen One.”

  Erin’s eyes fall shut as tears begin to roll down the sides of her face.

  “She’s safe now,” I tell her. “She’ll always be safe now.”

  Erin barely shakes her head in response, silently crying as she continues to lose more and more blood.

  “My baby,” she chokes out, her voice barely audible.

  “Shh,” I soothe her. “I’ll take care of her while you get some rest.”

  A small sob escapes her lips as her breathing finally stops. Pressing two fingers against her neck, I feel for a pulse but am unable to find one. I watch her chest for any movement, but her body remains still.

  I glance up at the clock and rise to my feet. “Time of death, 00:10.”

  Chapter Twelve

  HOLDING ONTO THE BABY, I fetch my bag and belongings from the kitchen table. What a tragedy for a mother to go through giving birth only to die from complications. Unfortunately, it happens every day and there’s always a risk for complications and sometimes they result in death.

  Looking down at the baby in my arms, I can’t help but smile amidst the bloody mess surrounding me. With death, a new life has arrived.

  A new life that would create a new world.

  “It’s time to go,” my mother whispers in my ear as I walk through the house. “You must take Genesis somewhere safe.”

  “Genesis?” I say with curiosity, staring down at her tiny angelic face.

  “Origin, creation, beginning; as told by the Bible, the word represents everything she has been chosen for,” my father concurs, slowly opening the front door for us. Looking up, I smile and nod in understanding before walking past him, stepping outside into the world with God’s purest child.

  Genesis.

  She is the beginning of the new world.

  And this is the beginning of our journey.

  The Seventh Commandment

  Thou shall not commit adultery

  Coveted

  C.M. Matthews

  To Michelle,

  We couldn’t have met at a better time.

  Thank you for being you.

  WE ALWAYS FALL IN LOVE

  with people we can’t have.

  - Anonymous

  Chapter One

  Tempi

  We sit together, our bodies pressed tightly—irrevocably close—sinisterly decadent. The crisp cedar and freshly dried laundry scent that always adorns him infiltrates my nose, stealing every breath from me, giving me that safe feeling only he’s ever offered. His mouth brushes mine, my hands wander across his chest fervently. It’s perfect until it’s not. He pulls away first, my skin feverish in anticipation of what it craves but will never get.

  Connection.

  “I want you to meet my parents,” Cal voices after brushing a thumb across my bottom lip, sending shivers down my body while effectively forcing my mouth shut from his words. We were just getting hot and heavy, his lips only leaving mine to say these words.

  Callum, my boyfriend—without benefits—that’s super Catholic. Callum, my best friend that won’t sleep with me because of his religion. Callum Shaw... a Deacon’s son. Fuck.

  It’s not that I don’t love him... I do. Very much in fact. I love his smiles, the way he kisses me until I’m breathless, and the way he lights up whenever we’re in the room together. He’s the sweetest boy. One you’d bring home to your family. One you’d brag about until you couldn’t stop talking about him. But that’s what he is, a boy.

  He thinks I’m a virgin.

  Correcting him isn’t in my near future.

  Before he met me though, I rode dicks like it was the Olympics. It paid for school and clothes and food. It gave me a home, a place for freedom, an outlet for my desperation. Sex was easy, it kept me alive. That is until I met him.

  Even now, it’s something I love to do. Fuck, be fucked, have a man tongue-fuck me until I scream. And being spanked and choked? I love that too. There’s nothing I love more than being held down and drilled into.

  Those are words and desires that are kept hidden from Cal. He’ll never know my dirty desires, the heat my body craves, or the pain that’s necessary for me to get off.

  He’d run away.

  And I wouldn’t blame him.

  I’m a freak.

  Since meeting him, I’ve wanted to change my life. Be a good little girl—a kept woman. He makes me want to be a better person, to give instead of take, to be sweet instead of devious like I want to be, to be his and only his and satisfied.

  “W-what?” I stammer, unsure of how we went from sultry petting to talking about meeting the parents.

  “My parents, Mich. I want you to meet them.” His response has my heart hammering. He always talks about marriage and making a proper woman out of me. But I thought it was a joke. We haven’t been dating all that long. And parents? That’s terrifying. I’ve never met
one of my previous boyfriends’ parents. Though, most of my boyfriends were fuck buddies, not the actual relationship kind.

  “I... uh,” I stumble over a response, clearing my throat that’s become suddenly dry.

  “C’mon, babe. They’ll love you like I do.” His eyes twinkle with affection as he pecks my cheeks softly. There’s so much adoration and charm in his expression that it has tears pricking my eyes. Cal’s such an amazing guy. He’s considerate, sweet, and does everything in his power to make me happy. He’ll save me, he told me that much when we first met.

  If he’d just bang my brains out, I’d be better.

  He isn’t like the cliché altar boys that fuck and lie to their parents. The ones that secretly do unspeakable things on a pew while pretending to pray. He follows his rules and goes to his Priests and Deacons to proclaims his sins. But his sins don’t match mine. His are lighthearted and simple. Mine are dark and depraved.

  Mine would scar the likes of Callum Shaw.

  If I stepped into his dad’s church or go to mass, I’d probably catch fire. I’m a sinner through and through. I’m corrupt and dirty. I’m as damaged as damaged goods get.

  I’m Michelle Temperance, a godless whore.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” I try for an excuse. His eyes soften, like he understands my battle, even if I don’t even fully comprehend it myself.

  “Let’s just try this once, if you don’t like them or are uncomfortable, we’ll leave.”

  With his reassuring words and a soft kiss on my lips, I’m at a loss for an argument. How can I deny him when he’s so kind? Maybe it’s time to face Jesus or something.

  I close my eyes, allowing his mouth to distract me, and forget why I can’t go to church.

  THE TABLETOP BENEATH my fingers and all its abraded cracks and dents brings me comfort. My eyes scan the classroom full of students as I fidget, twining and un-twining my hands like a Chinese string game. Each new pattern harder than the former just like this decision. Each turn with Cal gets harder. He unnerves me with his sainthood as much as he pieces me back together with it. I’m a devil’s child wrapped in a pretty bow and he has no clue.

  He let me delay his family dinner for two weeks, but this morning, as he walked me to English Lit, he said no more excuses right before kissing me goodbye. So, for a lack of better words, tonight’s the night. Cal is taking me to his house for dinner, introducing me to his parents. I’m fucked. And not the kind I’m near begging for.

  “What’s up, Michelle?” Gavin questions, placing a palm over my shaking one. Michelle. My full name. Not Chelle like the skanks call me. Not Mich like Cal calls me. But Michelle, since he knows I hate it. You see, I don’t have friends. Not really. When you’re a new kid in a big ol’ school and look like me, you’re hated.

  They’d die if they knew where I’m from. I’d be shunned in five-seconds flat.

  I move his hand abruptly, knowing his game. Gavin Eckles, the school’s biggest man-whore, and before Cal, my favorite guy to ride. He smirks at me, knowing that all he has to do is sweet talk me and sneak us into the closet in the back of class, and I’ll bend over willingly.

  Whore.

  Slut.

  Deviant.

  That’s me. Can you say daddy issues? I can. Those three repeated words are probably an accurate depiction of me, but not this time. I love Cal. I won’t hurt him.

  Gav reaches for me, but I retract, placing my hands on my lap. If he pushes, I’ll lose it. It’s been nearly four months, and though I’m pretty handy with a vibrator and my fingers, it’s not enough. I crave to be defiled with cum, to be painted from head to toe with it as it drips down me like sin. The dirty imagination that flows through me makes me want to drag Gav to the closet myself. He’d debase me, forcing me on my knees, shoving himself down my throat. Then when he’s about to release, he’d pull out and stain my lips with our sins.

  I want that.

  No. You’re not that person anymore.

  Cal saved you.

  Squeezing my legs shut, I pray for strength in a God I don’t believe in. Instead of help from Him, I get the pleats of my skirt grazing my wet, swollen flesh. I’m forcing my eyes closed in response with unadulterated desire swimming through my veins.

  “Nothing,” I play it off, not wanting to divulge that I’m a raging hormone monster and am meeting my boyfriend’s parents tonight. Where there won’t be sex. There’s never sex. Not even oral.

  God. I need a release something fierce.

  “I miss you, girl. We used to have so much fun.” His hand snakes across the table, and when it leads beneath the table to my bare knee, I whimper. “I think you miss me too,” he coos, his hand gliding up my skirt, tickling my thigh along the way.

  “Gav,” I plead, not having the willpower to shove his hand away. Especially if it’d cause a scene. Mary St. Clair is three seats over; she’s obsessed with Cal, and would definitely tell him. She hates me. As if her ears burned from my thoughts, she turns to us, glaring daggers at me. Her anger pierces my lust-filled bubble. I clench my thighs together, stopping Gav’s hand from continuing. He could force his hand higher, it’s happened before, but he’s been less pushy since Cal and I got together.

  “Next time,” he whispers too close to my ear, sending shivers over my body. Mary watches me as I stare back at her, and with a wink, I go back to my assignment.

  Gav scoots away, probably realizing he’s not getting any other action than a quick thigh grab. As I’m writing out reasons why Hamlet should be taught with the modern manuscript over the traditional one, Mary decides it’s the perfect time to invade my space.

  “Such a slut,” she hisses, kicking my shoe. The growl slowly rising up my throat has me standing to my feet.

  “What was that Mary, Mary, quite contrary?” I tease, knowing she hates it. She’s had it out for me since Cal paid any attention to me. I’m sure it was in her five-year plan to marry him. She’s obsessed. If this were a different lifetime and I didn’t like getting my rocks off with sex, we could be friends, and I’d help her get the guy. But this isn’t that life and she’s slut-shamed me since the first day Cal and I started dating.

  “You can’t keep your legs closed, can you?” she mocks, placing a hand on her cardigan-covered hip, her nail fiddling with the embroidered SC, for St. Catherine’s. I smile dubiously at her, wanting to shove her face into the table over and over again until she bleeds.

  “What would the fun be in that?” I taunt, raising an eyebrow. “If I kept them sealed, Cal wouldn’t be able to get off so much.” With that, her mouth drops open, and tears rush out. Good. Stupid cunt.

  I wave at her as she turns and runs out the door.

  “That was fucked up,” Gav points out, interrupting my moment of success.

  “She literally asked for it,” I bark back, frustrated, and it’s more to do with the ache between my legs than what Mrs. Goodie-two-shoes said.

  “Wow.”

  It’s one word, but when I glance at his expression, his disappointment has a burning embarrassment rising in my stomach, making me sick. He can fuck the slut, but once she defends herself, she’s being too much?

  This is why I don’t people.

  He has no room to talk. This school is filled with hypocrites. There’s as many sinners as there are saints. The difference is, sinners didn’t start out as sinners. Which means saints can be corrupted all the same.

  Chapter Two

  Evan

  I’m a devout Catholic.

  A pious one.

  I’m a Deacon at Sacred Heart.

  A dedicated and true one.

  I’m happily married to the mother of my children.

  A faithful one.

  I’ve loved my wife since before becoming a man of God. We grew in our faith, reborn in His eyes together. We have a son that’s becoming a strong and resourceful man and a daughter that’s already a woman, living on her own three states away.

  There aren’t many things I over
indulge in. Not wine, not lies, not sex, and not love. Except for the love for my Lord and heavenly Father. I try with everything in me, finding strength in my God, so there’s no greed in me, no dishonesty, or lack of faith.

  Inside, he provides peace and acceptance and my duty to serve Him.

  If I falter in these promises, I pray. If my heart, soul, or mind go elsewhere, I renew my vows to my Father. If I fail, which I rarely do, I redefine failure, and dedicate more time and passion to my faith.

  Nothing has ever threatened this home I’ve built.

  Nothing has deterred me from my mission.

  Nothing has shocked and crippled me before.

  Until tonight, when the most beautiful, golden-haired woman walked through my front door.

  “Dad!” my son, Cal, calls out, not seeing me as I strangle a glass of water in my palm. He scans the living room, his eyes filled with pride and excitement. But I barely notice him. Not with her standing there.

  She’s something else.

  Her with her long—nearly too long—bright honey hair that caresses her shoulders in waves and rivulets. The slender stomach that bows with the wideness of her hips—hips that shouldn’t be so full and supple at her age. Ones that shouldn’t be making a fierce ache grow in me.

  The form fitting black dress that hugs every curve and dip of her lithe body has me squeezing my glass harder, needing something to grip while I reign in this foreign urgency flitting through my system.

  When she turns, her hair billowing around her at the movement, my breath catches. She has stolen it, like a fallen angel from the depths of purgatory, here to take my soul and taint it in every way. Screw the apple, she brought an entire plantation of penance. Her eyes, a sparkling blue, almost doll-like—a vast difference from the hellish temptation that oozes off her with each step she takes—stare at me as if I’m the answer to all her prayers.