Page 17 of Finding Limits

“He’s handsome, and he’s patient. He’s really good at playing the guitar too, you should hear him, sometimes he even sings an?—”

“Oh, girl, you got it bad.” Her head shakes and laughs.

“Got what bad?” I stare at her in confusion.

“The hots for Mitch, and I can’t blame you, he’s good for his age.”

“He’s not that old.” I realize how defensive I’m sounding and decide I need to be much more guarded, this girl doesn’t make it easy though.

Of course, I like Mitch, he’s been so kind to me since I came here, and yes he’s nice to look at, too. I’ve never really considered his age to be an issue. I actually like his gray hair and beard, I couldn’t imagine it being any other color.

“I don’t think age matters at all. If you like someone and they treat you right, no difference between you should matter.” Savannah shrugs and I take in what she says. Just for a second, I imagine that our ages would be the only obstacle stopping us from going beyond what we are.

I know nothing about normal relationships, I barely know anything about the normal world. Up until a few days ago, I was content with that. Now, suddenly it seems like a curse that I want to break free from.

“I don’t think it will ever be that simple with me,” I tell her the sad but honest truth, which surprises me. Something about the way she is makes me feel like I can speak what's on my mind without it being judged or analyzed.

“Nothing around here is ever simple, and nothing great comes without taking a little risk. Don’t rule anything out,” she tells me.

“Mitch has a scar on his chest, where did it come from?” I blurt out curiously, remembering those bumpy letters I felt under my fingertips.

“You mean the brand?” Savannah bites her lip awkwardly. “I’m not really sure how much I'm supposed to tell you. I think it’s best you ask Mitch yourself.”

“Did someone hurt him, too?” I think about my own scars, the permanent reminder of the pain I suffered, and hate to think about him suffering too.

“Hurt him? Honey, he wasn’t forced to have that done to him, he earned it. I know it’s all kinds of strange but you gotta look at the brand as a lifestyle choice,” she explains, and while I try my best to understand, none of it makes sense.

“So he wanted that?”

“Like I said, it’s best you talk to him, and not just to ask about the brand. You should tell him how you feel… I’m sorry, I have to go pee.” She rolls her eyes and quickly gets up to make her way to the bathroom. I sit in the silence and stare at the blanket that's on the couch beside me.

It may not seem like a big deal to most people that I let Mitch hold me last night while I slept a deep, wonderful sleep without fear and torment, but to me, it’s huge progress. I don’t know if Mitch shares the same kind of feelings that I do, but I like the idea of offering him more. I’d like him to hold me like that every night.

I get up and head into my room, picking up my journal and taking the pen that's on the nightstand, hoping I can speed this progress up a little bit more.

The thunder rumbles heavily and rain has been dripping through the gap in the door, trickling down the step for hours. I watch each of those drips form a puddle, until the light from outside fades and I get sent back into the blackness.

The hatch creaks open a few hours after sunset and as Abraham cautiously takes the stairs, holding the lantern in his hand, I will for him to slip and break his neck.

“Hello, Everleigh.” His voice comes out powerful yet calm, just like it does when he gives his sermon on a Sunday. “I hope Solomon has been keeping you well.”

I nod my head but keep my eyes on the floor. I can’t tell him about the way Solomon touches me when he tends to me. I fear them both far too much.

“We have been unable to locate your sister. Do you know where she might be?” Abraham asks, moving closer to me and gripping my chin so I have no choice but to look at him.

“I swear that I don’t know. Please let me go home,” I beg, watching his old, wrinkled face turn blurry through my tears.

“My dear girl, you are home.” He plants a kiss on my forehead. “The Lord needs Addison's repentance. Your sister was bound to me, she carries my seed in her womb and she has endangered herself and my child by leaving,” he informs me, his tone is still calm, but I feel the force of his rage burning through his eyes.

“I had no idea she was going to run. I promise. You have to believe me. Please let me speak to my parents.” If this man hears the voice of God, surely He must be telling him to be merciful.

“Your father is ashamed. He knows that his daughter has failed him and he is prepared to offer you as the sacrifice.”

“The sacrifice? To what?” My legs are shaking, struggling to hold me up.

“I lost a wife.” His hand rests on my shoulder and he peers down at my dirty nightdress with a sick smile on his lips.

“You will serve me as she was expected to, and you will be punished for her sins every day until she returns to be punished for them herself.” He spins my body so I’m facing away from him, slamming me front first into the cold, damp wall, and when his rough hands lift up my nightdress I start to cry.

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