Page 79 of Out of the Dark

The pastor steps onto the altar and a hush falls over the congregation. I don’t miss the way his gaze catches on me as he surveys the filled pews.

My stomach churns with discomfort.

My sister notices too, and she reaches over to subtly squeeze my hand, reminding me she’s here for me. That’s what I really need to focus on right now—her. She’s been used as a bargaining chip for my return, my mom knowing that I wouldn’t sacrifice my little sister’s entire future for my own.

Thankfully, Grace saw right through their ruse, and we stayed up all night talking into the early hours of the morning. She updated me on what’s been happening since I left, and Ianswered every question she had about the "outside" world. She was wide-eyed as I told her about how I came to stay with Mark, how scared I was at first until I realized how kind and generous he really was. I told her about Dani and Shane, about our vacation to Hawaii, about starting college and therapy. I did, however, leave out the parts about sex and Club Caliber.

And then, I took a risk. I had asked her if she wanted to leave with me next time—because therewillbe a next time. There’s no way I’m staying here longer than I have to. If she had been opposed to it, she might have told my parents and ruined my plans—not that I really have a plan yet, but I will.

But she wasn’t opposed. In fact, she was fully on board and seems to want out of here as badly as I do. Apparently, she’s been having the same sort of thoughts I’d had around her age: wondering why asking questions was so looked down upon, feeling like she has to suppress parts of herself to make everyone else happy, questioning if there can be more to life than quietly serving men who think so highly of themselves.

Maybe it’s selfish of me, but it warms my heart that I’m not alone. My older siblings all followed my parents’ plans for them, so knowing that I’m not some aberration is a relief. Plus, that means I won’t lose my family entirely; I’ll still have Grace.

We’ll have to be sneaky about leaving, though. We’ll need to sneak her documents out of Dad’s office the same way I had taken mine, and we’ll need to find a way to leave that doesn’t involve taking the family car. The nearest town is more than twenty miles away, so walking is doable but difficult. Apparently that creepy, old fucker Mr. Davidson still thinks he’s still going to marry me, so I need to get out of here before wedding plans are hastily (re)arranged.

I’ve saved up enough money now—thanks to Mark—thatI should have no problem getting an apartment for Grace and I. I’ll just have to make it back to the city somehow.

Pastor Elijah speaks, his voice echoing over the congregation of rapt onlookers.

"All of us have felt God’s call in one way or another," he begins, "but the Lord’s path is not always the easiest one to take. It challenges us, pushes us outside of our comfort zones. Maybe you think you could make it on your own, that you know better than the path the Lord has lain before you. But what happens when we run from God?"

Damn it. I suspected it might happen, but sure enough, this sermon isdefinitelygoing to be a thinly veiled lesson directed toward me.

Pastor Elijah takes a dramatic pause. "There was a man who thought he could run. A man who thought he could escape the will of the Lord. His name was Jonah."

That confusing sensation of guilt and anger wells up inside me. Anger because nobody should feel obligated to live a life of blind obedience, and guilt because it’s the one emotion that’s most familiar to me here within these church walls. I wonder, if God is real, would he condemn these people who twist his word into something that fits their own narrative?

I was never running from God; I was running from the community that used His name for their own power and manipulation.

It’s then that the thought cements inside me; I don’t need to classify my religion or my beliefs. If I live my life being kind, loving, generous, and unapologetically myself, that’s good enough for me. If their God is as loving as they say he is, then the way I live my life and treat others will be more important than whether or not I identify as a member of thechurch. The members of this congregation loudly proclaim their dedication to God, but so many of them live selfishly, hatefully, even cruelly. If judgment day comes, I’d be willing to bet I’d have a better chance of getting through those pearly gates than most of these performative hypocrites.

It takes everything inside me to not stand up and walk out of the church right now. I only stay for Grace’s sake, because if my parents find out I plan to leave again, they’re sure to do everything in their power to force me to stay.

Pastor Elijah’s sermon is rhythmic in the way all pastors’ seem to be. His sentences rise and fall, his volume varying as he emphasizes certain words and pauses at the end of particularly important sentences. He’s a good speaker, I’ll give him that much. Though, from what I read online after my particularly eye-opening conversation with Dr. Lawrence, cult leaders are usually charismatic and persuasive, so that tracks.

He continues to tell the story of Jonah and how he ran from God’s command only to suffer the consequences, and he looks at me more frequently than usual, but I don’t care.

Today’s service feels like the longest one of my life even though it lasts the same amount of time it always does. And I’ll have to do it all over again on Wednesday evening, because of course one day of church isn’t enough here. But the worst part isn’t even the service; it’s the mingling afterward, where everyone comes to say hello under the guise of welcoming me back, even though their prying questions about where I’ve been and why I was gone so long make it clear that they just want more gossip to spread.

I smile and nod and politely avoid their questions, but that nagging sense of dread only grows the longer we stay here.

"I’m going outside to get some air," I say to my mother, and I walk away before she can attempt to argue with me.

I decide to go out the side door, knowing that large groups of people will still be gathered out front. Leaning against the warm brick wall, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. It’s going to work out, I tell myself. I’ll get back somehow, even if I have to walk to the nearest town.

My thoughts drift to Mark. What is he doing right now? How is he feeling? He probably thinks I left without saying goodbye, that I couldn’t handle the way he reacted to my accidental confession. Still, I can’t bring myself to regret telling him I love him. Because Idolove him, so much it hurts. Maybe it was silly of me to imagine a life with him when he specifically told me we wouldn’t be together long-term, but I couldn’t help it.

When I was with him, I felt safe, loved, and seen for the first time in my life. I was able to be myself without holding back. He might not love me in the way that I love him, but he gave me the space to grow and learn, and for that, I’ll always be grateful.

The door beside me swishes, and I open my eyes to see Grace lean against the wall next to me. "Hey."

"Hey," I respond.

"Are you okay?"

I sigh. "Yeah. It’s just hard being back here after everything that’s happened."

"I bet. But we’ll be out of here soon, right?"

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