Page 63 of The Power Play

Charlie’s arms wrap around me as I close my eyes and I sink into the warmth of his body.

Yeah, just a few more minutes, it’s not a big deal.

I endedup falling asleep in Charlie’s arms last night and then this morning he had to leave for a five-day road trip. Which is honestly for the best. I want the distance and also, I need to get some work done. I’ve been too distracted with everything going on. It’s hard to work while he’s here because I would just want him to join me.

It’s a bit of a problem.

Which is why I’m thankful for these next few days to get my head on straight.

I’m spending the first half of the day running errands I need before prepping for my show later this evening. And trying not to think about if Charlie will watch. They don’t have a game tonight, but they do tomorrow so I know he can’t watch then. But tonight…nopenot thinking about it.

I grab my mail which is almost all junk, including yet another letter from dear old Granny. She’s becoming extra relentless. There was a time when I first left, she was sending them every other day or so. They stopped for a while and I thought she gave up, but then she started up again randomly. Sometimes there will be months with nothing, and then there’s times like now where she’s sending them weekly.

I toss the pile into the passenger side of my car and start to drive back to Charlie’s condo. I pass by a place I usually don’t look at twice, but today for some reason I find myself pulling into the parking lot.

The white building stands tall with sharp points toward the sky. The stained-glass windows are accentuated by the sun that’s currently out today. The place doesn’t look like the ones in my nightmares.

Of course, I’ve never been inside this church and the one that haunts me is the one I was forced to attend throughout my childhood. I don’t think too much about what I’m doing, snatching the unopened envelope from my passenger seat and walking toward the front door.

The newest letter is burning my hand as I walk into the chapel. As soon as I enter, I’m assaulted with the memories from growing up that I choose to suppress. They come at me in flashes.

Being dragged by my ear.

Shoved into clothes I didn’t want to wear.

Scolded for my behavior in public, then moreforcefullydisciplined when we got home.

People walk into a church expecting to see God and feel closer to heaven. But all I see is Hell.

There’s a man sitting in one of the pews about three rows back from the front. I don’t see anyone else in here, and my feet are planted on the carpet just inside. The front door shuts loudly behind me, and I flinch. The man looks up and then back at me. That’s when I notice he must be the pastor here.

“Hello,” he greets once he’s standing and facing me.

“Um. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come in here,” I shake my head and turn toward the door.

“Something made you come in, why don’t you tell me what that might be,” he says it so calmly and I’m instantly on edge.

“I just…I’m lost,” I try.

He nods and gestures to the pew in front of him. I didn’t mean it as a spiritual “lost” that I think he’s interpreting it as, but whatever. I might as well get the validation that I’m going to Hell by someone who doesn’t even know me.

I don’t sit, though. I’m not staying long.

“How are you lost?” he asks gently, keeping a safe distance from me and folding his hands in front of him. He’s probably in his mid-forties, styled dark hair with gray streaks throughout it and frankly, he’s not bad looking.

“I just, I meant…never mind.” I shake my head, giving up on the lie that I need directions.

“What do you have in your hand?”

I grip the letter tighter, crinkling the paper. The noise seems to echo all around us. “I’m a sex worker,” I blurt.

To this guy’s credit, he doesn’t flinch. “Is that why you’re here?”

I shake my head, “No. I just know God doesn’t accept people like me.”

He tilts his head to the side slightly with his eyebrows furrowed. “God accepts all his children, no matter their profession.”

“What?” I jolt. “I’ve had premarital sex. Lots of it. Even with other girls. I curse. I drink. I don’t read the bible. I don’t go to church.”

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