Page 13 of Beneath the Dirt

“Not me,” I correct her. “You. Table. Now.” I sound like a damn caveman.

“Ooh, this is new.” Tori squeals as she walks over to the table. “How do you want me?”

Silent. Every time Tori speaks, her voice pulls me from the fantasy I’ve thrust upon her, using her as a stand-in for Araceli.

“Just lay back,” I instruct her, seating myself in the chair in front of where she is sitting on the table. “Lay back,” I demand, repeating myself. She listens, this time spreading her legs for me.

My fingers skim her lace thong from beneath her skirt, gliding it to the side. Her pussy glistens for me.

“Wait!” Tori shouts, leaning over and reaching for her bible. She opens it to a random page while propped up on her elbows and thankfully it blocks my view of her.

Well Dad, looks like that fine Christian girl you wanted me with is about to be my tongue’s punching bag. When I have her pussy engulfing my mouth—pretending it’s my sister’s after what her defiant outburst did to me—I’ll be the demon he’ll have to worry about, not her.

Four

“Stop staring at my son.”

Too late.

I can’t stop looking at his beautiful and tormented son. Especially not when he’s running his fingers through his hair, squeezing the loose blonde strands in pure frustration; his veins practically summoned to rise to the surface from the taut squeeze. I wonder what has him more pissed off—the fact that I got in the way of him releasing years of anger at his dad or that I didn’t allow him to swoop in to save me from him.

I don’t need saving. Not from God, Harlan, or anyone.

The door to the basement opens and slams within seconds, and the vaulted ceilings in the sanctuary exacerbate its echo as it closes, something flashes in front of my eyes. It happens so quickly I can barely make out what it is exactly, but I can feel the remnants of whatever it was latch onto me. A cool breeze entangles itself on my skin, beckoning me to close my eyes as if that will help me see it. It can’t be the drugs. The high I get, even from lacing my weed, doesn’t last this long. Whatever I think I saw, whatever I know I feel, is begging me to listen… so I do.

As my lids fall shut, the bitter cold moves past the surface of my skin trickling into my veins and spreading to the top of myhead. I wince from the sting it’s leaving on every inch of my body. I’m tempted to open my eyes, but just as the soul-consuming chill escalates to an unbearable level, it stops and a shadow appears; dark as the cloak my lids created over my eyes, but it’s there. I can sense it moving, blending in with the darkness while still making its presence known to me. Desperate to know what it wants, I stand still, ignoring the onslaught of threats leaking into my ear from my stepdad's mouth and fighting the physical pull his hand has wrapped around my arm.

The shadow moves back and forth before settling in what feels like the center of my entire body, paralyzing me.

“Araceli,”a voice calls from deep inside of me, its tone unrecognizable, menacing.“Help him sail,”it cryptically instructs,“help him sail.”It repeats the same phrase over and over. Each time the volume lowers until it dissipates, my lids spring open, and I’m met with a now empty sanctuary space except for me, and Harlan’s dad.

“Look at me,” he barks, finger snapping at me like I’m a fucking dog.

“You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“No.” I keep my head turned opposing him, secretly hoping that whatever that presence was would come back to tell me what I need to know or to kill him—either or.

“Araceli Rainey,” he roars, and the sound of his last name paired with my first causes bile to rise in my throat. “I said—”

I swallow, fighting it from rising to the surface. It’s telling that interactions with my stepdad are capable of causing this kind of response within me. Yet, just moments before, I’m pretty sure I encountered an apparition of some sort, and all I’m left feeling is the desire for more instead of the fear I should feel. Since this is a holy place and all, apparitions are the Devil’s doing, according to Daddy fuck-face over here.

“I can hear you just fine,” I interrupt, and I can tell by the grumble he’s making deep in his throat that’s not the answer he was looking for. “Or do you demand I look at you because it’syour way of establishing dominance over me since you have no control over your pathetic life? All because of Him.” My brow lifts in condescension as I point to the ceiling, finally turning to face him. Our eyes clash just like our temperaments. His anger mirrors my own, though we’re on two different frames of mind. Still the hatred and resentment linger. A vexed hand wraps around my arm pulling at me. His pulse throbs above my skin as he squeezes me tighter and for once in his dreadful life, he’s speechless. I revel in the silence but it’s short lived. As more people filter out of the sanctuary, he allows his mask to slip, gracing me with the presence of the monster I’m forced to call stepdad.

Not letting go of me, his free hand travels to my chest. His slimy fingers taking their sweet ass time making their way to my necklace that he’s using as his excuse to stare at my cleavage for.

“Like what you see?” I don’t bother holding back my disgust.

His gaze finally settles on my necklace. “What did I tell you about wearing this demonic shit?”

Unbelievable. Here he is worried about a piece of metal contorted into a pentagram around my neck, and not the fact that he’s alternating glances and so blatantly staring at his stepdaughter’s tits—in a church, no less.

You insufferable hypocrite. Apparently, the Devil does walk among us.

I guess I’m lucky that he at least has the decency to keep his hands solely on my necklace while we’re in the church. That courtesy only recently commenced at home after Harlan returned from college.

He yanks my chain so hard that it digs into my skin as it becomes a prisoner to his taut fist.

“Let. Go.”

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