Page 1 of Holy Sinner

Chapter One

KIT

ADECADE EARLIER…

I know that I shouldn’t be excited about tonight. That if I am, it’ll piss my mother off. But I can’t help it. Tonight is the night that all of my dreams come true. It’s going to be perfect. Because tonight?

Tonight I’m going to prom with the cutest boy in school.

I sigh and stare at myself in the mirror, I have my dress held up against me and I can’t help but spin. It’s a halter with a sweetheart neckline that the sales lady said made me look sophisticated, so I instantly bought it. It’s a pretty pink that makes me think of summer and fun. I’ve never had a fun summer, but maybe this summer I will. The summer before my senior year. I know that all the juniors are going to prom tonight, that for a lot of them it isn’t their first time, but for me it is.

I smooth my hands over the dress. It took me months to save up the money to buy it. It was cash that I was going to use for my college fund, but when Mark asked me, I couldn’t say no. I would be crazy to say no to Mark Dixon. There isn’t a girl at school that hasn’t told me how lucky I am, how they’d trade spots with me in a heartbeat.

After Mark and Lisa broke up no one knew who he’d ask, but somehow it was me. I’ve never felt this special. Of course I used every dollar I could on my dress. If I look special enough tonight then I bet I can convince Mark to date me. He has to like me. Why else would he ask me to prom?

I hear the door slam shut and I freeze. My mother is home early. She isn’t supposed to be home yet. It’s only after four. I rushed to get here as soon as I could after the last period. Why is she here? I thought I’d be at prom by the time she came home from work and poured her evening glass of wine. I rush towards my closet when I hear her footsteps on the stairs. I have to hide the dress.

She’ll try and ruin it. Fuck. Why is she home?

I hadn’t really thought of a back up plan. I was so sure that I was going to get away from the house before she came home. I was willing to deal with whatever hell she brought down on me for not being here when she came home from work. That would be fine, because at least I’d get one magical night with Mark.

But now?

Now my one magical night is about to be ripped right out of my hands. It’s balanced on the edge of a cliff and getting closer to falling with each click of her heels across the living room floor.

“Shit,” I whisper. I yank out the wrap I wanted to use tonight. It’s a soft yellow, buttery soft silk and it flutters around me when I walk. I feel like a character out of one of the period dramas I love to sneak in the evenings when my mom is on a bender and raging downstairs. She’s angry on those nights, screaming about her lost youth and her worthless kid while she slams dishes and cupboard doors for hours on end. I don’t know what she’s looking for in the kitchen, I never do, but I listen for each scream and slam to keep track of where she is. On those nights, I make sure to stay locked away in my room, subsisting off the bottled water and snacks that I’ve stashed away. I learned quickly to keep food and water around in case my mother decided I needed to drop weight.

“You’re getting fat.”

“My side of the family doesn’t have hips like that. It’s your worthless fucking father’s blood.”

“No one is going to want a fat girlfriend. That’s embarrassing.”

My mother really likes pointing out just how different we are. She is petite and I am…well, I am the result of my worthless father. I’ve never met him. Don’t even know what he looks like, so I have to take her word for it. My grandmother really doesn't like talking about things that make my mother upset so she avoids it when I ask. In any case, even if she is lying, I know my mother can and will repeat a lie enough that she holds it as gospel truth. In her world, I am committing the unthinkable sin of actually taking up space in the world. My mother makes it her mission to make me shrink as much as possible. Bit by bit, cutting and slicing away at me, until I am whittled down to her liking.

I used to cry when she locked the fridge and pantry but I’ve learned to steal and put things away, so even if she tries to starve me, I won't go to bed hungry. I have the SATs to study for and a job to get to. I’m not going to be able to get the work I need done feeling faint because my mother is convinced my ass is too big.

I wrap the shawl tighter around my shoulders. “She doesn’t know anything. You’re beautiful.”

The words come easy, because they’re not mine.

They’re Mark Dixon’s.

He said them to me when he asked me to prom a month ago behind the art building. I was trying not to drop the paper mache sculpture I said I’d help the sophomores move into storage for safekeeping. Mrs. Kepler the art teacher used it every year to teach the human form for figure drawing. I don’t know why she did it. The balloons were old and long deflated, the curves the mache made over them had dips and dents and looked more like what a body would look like if it were broken. Something you might see after it was tossed off a building than anything students should be using for a figure drawing study.

But what did I know? I was just a junior trying to get out of town, so it’s not like I really paid all that much attention in art class. I did like to be helpful though, so I offered an extra pair of hands when I saw the sophomores struggling against the wind. Mrs. Kepler would throw a fit if they broke the paper mache any more than it already was, so I did what I always did.

I helped.

And that’s where Mark Dixon found me, with a misshapen paper mache figure balanced while the sophomores argued about what the combination to the lock to the storage shed was while we all stood outside in the wind. I didn’t care though, not even if it had taken them an hour to get that damn lock open, because Mark Dixon smiled at me. He smiled at me and called me beautiful.

“You’re beautiful, Kit. It’s easy to see why I’d want a special girl like you to go to prom with me.”

Special. Mark thought I was special.

“You’re special,” I whisper. It’s easier to say it when it’s not my words. Like trying on fancy borrowed clothing, so I say it again. “You’re beautiful. You’re special.” Mark’s words make me feel strong enough to ignore the footsteps I hear at the base of the stairs. I’m so attuned to my mother that I know where she is in our house without even trying. It’s a big house, two stories plus an attic with a massive kitchen and dining room that could seat ten. We have five bedrooms and three bathrooms. There’s a den and a living room, but we never use either.

I don’t know why my mother wanted such a big house when it’s only us. There’s a creak and a step and I wince. She’s coming upstairs. I’d rather she just stay in the kitchen, slamming her cabinets and screaming.

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