Page 312 of Sin With Me

Words I didn’t realize I’d ignored in the moment come tumbling back in, his voice deep and booming in the quiet recesses of my mind.

Filthy.

Ruined.

Sanctified.

My heart races as panic and disgust fill me, washing away some of the numbness and I claw at myself to get it back.

No, no, no!

Grabbing the loofa, I lather as much soap as I can on it and begin scrubbing at my arms. They turn pink and start to feel raw, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

Dirty.

I’m dirty, and I need to be clean.

You were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord, Jesus Christ, and by the Spirit of our God.

Pouring on more soap, I go back to scrubbing my body. It’s so raw, it hurts, but I can’t stop. Not yet.

Tears stream down my face as I frantically wash myself, watching the sudsy bubbles mix with the pretty pink glitter.

Too pretty.

Too dirty.

Too much.

A sob breaks from my throat, and I see my skin turn dangerously red, some areas forming scraped up wounds.

“You were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord, Jesus Christ, and by the Spirit of our God,” I choke out, the words, his voice, running on repeat through my staticky mind.

Recite!

Not clean enough.

Recite!

A soft sound catches my attention, and I barely stop moving the sponge along my skin, the words spilling from my cracked lips on repeat. But then I hear it again and I can just make out what it is as the next few notes are played out on a guitar.

My throat almost closes.

Pausing, the loofa still on my arm, I lift my gaze and stare at the door, listening as the song trickles in from under the crack.

Then I hear his voice.

“Little darlin’, it’s been a long, cold, lonely winter.”

Roman’s voice, his perfect voice I haven’t heard sing in so long, hits me, the force of it sending me back. I rest against the edge of the tub and sink into the water, the loofa still clutched tightly in my fist.

“Here comes the sun,” he sings, his raspy, melodic voice soft, but loud enough for me to hear. “Here comes the sun…”

The song ends, and panic rises, another voice cutting through the bubble of peace I’d finally found.

Recite!

I expect him to leave, to go away, to leave me alone and I quickly sit up, a wounded sound leaving me. But then he starts to replay the song, the acoustic chords filling the space between us and soothing my frayed edges.

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