Page 6 of Seized By Wrath

“How dare you!” I whirl around in anger at the woman who took me in more than half my lifetime ago. She was well within her right to give it to me straight. I was just too stubborn to listen.

“How dare I? How dare you!” Claire raises her voice, and I arch a brow. This is the first time she has spoken to me like this, from what I can remember, which isn’t very much. This curse has me fucked up. I can’t remember shit, and I’m angry all the damn time.

This curse of Wrath is a soul suck.

She takes a deep breath, obviously calming her nerves, not wanting to deck me in the neck for my disrespect. “We should continue on with your progress. Though you don't believe it, we have been making strides. You haven't been able to or willing to remember any of this in years. You blocked it out, and it's not healthy.”

I close my eyes at her words. I know she's right, but I don't want to hear it. These memories are hard, but this must be done to give me some peace.

“Where is Grace?” I deflect.

“You know she is at school,” Claire sighs.

“Okay, can I get a beer or something before we get back into this? The water isn't cutting it.”

“In the fridge.” She points in the direction of what looks like a small kitchen.

I close the distance to the fridge and welcome the cool air that hits my hot face when I swing open the door. I search the contents therein and see a twelver of lager. I snag one of the long neck bottles and immediately hold it to my face, welcoming the reprieve.

“Will that do it?”

I sigh as I hear Claire's voice behind me and twist the cap off the bottle, nudging the door shut.

I turn to look at her and swig back half the bottle before answering her question.

“It sure doesn't hurt.”

“Can we continue the session?”

“Here in the kitchen, Doc?”

“Wherever you are comfortable.”

I lean against the counter and take another swig. She sits at the small two-seater table.

“Have a seat, Phoenix. Tell me about Tamryn.”

Chapter 4

Phoenix age 18

“Okay, now that we've had rec time and everyone is probably physically worn out, let's head to the back room. It's time for praise and worship, everyone!”

I scoff at the sound of the youth pastor’s voice. I never really liked the guy, but my foster mother insisted I attend the Friday night youth group at her church. Tonight is the annual ‘Lock-in’ where the church's youth are literally locked in the church all night for a sleepover, while we play games, watch Christian movies, sing Kumbaya, or some shit, until morning. All of it sounds like my idea of torture.

While the other teens are headed to the back lesson room for ‘praise time’, I remain fixed in place with the basketball I’d been shooting hoops with still in my hands.

“Hey.” I hear the small voice behind me. I look around to see if there is someone other than me around, but it appears she is talking to me. “Yea, I’m talking to you,” the petite, black girl with micro braids that hang to the middle of her back, says to me.

“Um, hi,” I say awkwardly. I haven't really talked much to anyone here, even though I've attended every Friday rain or shine for at least four years. I’d noticed this girl a time or two since we started the group around the same time. But, I haven’t said boo to her in the four years we’d been going. Now, all of a sudden, here she is with casual chit-chat?

“So, you going back for P and W?”

“P and...oh praise and worship?” I laugh. “Nah, I usually just hang out here until everyone goes back. I don't even want to be here.”

“Then why are you?”

Her direct question takes me aback. “Uh, the foster parental units make me come. They feel like if I sit under Pastor Chip’s teaching, maybe he can straighten my ass out or something.”

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