Page 5 of Bad for You

I bite my lip in defiance.

For my disobedience, he slaps me on the bottom with his belt.

“Our Father…” he begins, hoping to coax me.

But I remain silent.

Whack!

This strike is harder than the first, but I still don’t budge.

“Who art in heaven…”

Smack!

I grip the edge of the desk, my tiny fingers holding on tightly as he continues hitting me while reciting a prayer that is supposed to denote love and devotion.

The entire time, I don’t speak. I don’t cry. I simply detach myself from my body and look down at the small, skinny girl who is being abused by someone who is supposed to protect her.

I hate my mother. She’s the reason I’m here, and she’s the reason the sisters and Father Merry despise me. They once were her family, a family she turned her back on when she had me.

I don’t know where she is, but I need to find her. There has to be a reason she abandoned me when I was only hours old. What sins could I have committed so young for her to hate me that much?

What did I do to deserve this?

“Amen,” Father Merry pants as he drops the belt to the floor.

But I know this isn’t over. This is just the beginning.

He rubs over my raw bottom, tracing over the bloody welts with his finger. “For this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for forgiveness of sins.”

I hold back my tears.

His zipper is lowered, the rubbing of skin makes me gag, and then—then I hear him hum a nursery rhyme which indicates what’s ahead.

Ring around the rosie…

This is the moment I squeeze my eyes shut harder than before and force myself to disassociate with what is about to happen.Because the moment I feel the familiar burn between my legs, I know Father Merry is leaving a piece of himself inside me and robbing me of my soul.

I lay on my tattered blankets, peering out the barred window in my room in the attic. The mice that share my stale bread are my only friends. They keep me warm at night.

I don’t share a bedroom with the other children. But I don’t mind. I prefer to be alone.

My body aches all over. I’m caked in dry blood from what happened today in Father Merry’s office.

“You are a vessel for God’s spirit,” he groaned before I felt something warm and sticky trickle down my thighs. “And I’m doing His work.”

When he was done, he told me to leave. He wouldn’t punish me further for my sins, sins I never committed because Hugo was lying, as long as I kept what we did private.

Tears I’ve kept away creep to the surface, and I begin to cry. I only allow myself this comfort when alone because crying is a sign of weakness. I learned that from my only friend in this place—Margot Henson. She was the only person who showed me any kindness.

She was four years older than me, and she too was Father Merry’s favorite. One evening, we were dragged from our beds and brought to the basement where four men waited for us. Father Merry was one of them. They smelled of cigars and wine.

We took turns being their favorites all night, but when Margot began to cry, it seemed that she was then the favored one. I tried to help her when two men took turns making her cry the loudest.When she did, they silenced her cries with their fingers or…other things.

When Father Merry finished with me, I jumped up and kicked one of the men in the shin. It was hopeless, however, because I was knocked out cold for my rebellion. When I came to, I was back in my bed, but Margot was not.

For weeks, I didn’t see her, but when I finally did and saw the swelling in her belly, I realized no matter how many tears are shed, cruelty will always prevail.

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