Misery Business // z.m.

Chapter 6: Mary

I don't know what made me go, but something pulled me to the church at seven the next morning. I hadn't slept, not even for a second. I was too traumatized. Every time I closed my eyes I could feel his hands enveloping my thighs. I could feel his body against mine. The thought of his hands on me again made my stomach churn.

I didn't usually go to church willingly but I couldn't ignore the morals my mother had drilled into my head any longer.

I had witnessed something I shouldn't have. I had done nothing about it. The events of the past four and a half months had burdened my heart and soul. I had nothing else to turn to besides religion. I believed in God, without a doubt, I just questioned him sometimes.

The ferocious wind nipped at my nose as I trudged up the stone steps warily. No one seemed to be around at the early hour, yet the door was unlocked. I stepped inside as I rubbed the bags under my eyes. I hoped they weren't noticeable.

I took a seat in the last pew of the empty church. I guess I could have sat anywhere but being close to the door made me feel like I had some kind of escape route.

Every morning for the next few weeks I went to the church. My parents didn't really notice my absence and if they did, they didn't care enough to ask me about it. It seemed like my mother was too concerned with my bratty little sister’s arrival home from her fancy boarding school in France, or was it Germany? It was one of those countries. I just didn't care enough to know.

My brother would be home soon as well. I envied my brothers freedom. He was no longer stuck with our ludicrous parents. I was jealous of that in a way.

If I didn't have my parents I would be in California, living out my dreams. I would be doing what I wanted to. There was a part of me that was a little bit scared to have my freedom. I was so used to being controlled that I think I'd do something crazy if I was suddenly free. Even though I had that bit of doubt in my mind, I was sure that getting away from everyone was exactly what I wanted to do. I don't think I could handle playing the part I was forced to any longer.

I was a puppet. My strings were pulled by my parents and I had no control.

I couldn't be myself, I couldn't be happy, because of the way I was being forced to live. Whether it was what I was going to eat for lunch, or where I was going to live, the decisions in my life have not been up to me. Even the minuscule sections of my life have been invaded. My personality, my thoughts, and my ideas have been shoved inside me and forced to hide.

I wasn't allowed to be myself with my parents and that was the end of it. It wasn't even that I couldn't be myself, they didn't want me to be happy. All I wanted to do was enjoy life but instead I had to suffer through it.

I didn't pray that much at church, I kind of just mulled over the fact that my life was going to be stolen from me once again. When I was seeking help from God, I found no such thing. I felt like I was talking to a wall. I was asking for help, for guidance, but I was given nothing. I was waiting for something, a sign that everything would be fine. A sign that my sister and my brother would make it home ok, my parents would be more accepting, and that I would have the courage to take control of my life. I was also desperately looking for a way to escape the monster that was Zayn. He was coming for me, he'd made that clear enough, but I didn't know what to do.

I know that my family was overbearing but I did care for their safety, sort of. I cared is the way I'll put it. My relationship with them was too complex to ever really fully explain.

Two days after Zayn had paid me a visit I found a crumpled piece of paper on the floor by the window while I was cleaning.

I smoothed the paper only to find myself mildly horrified with its contents. There was a picture of me in the black skirt and white shirt I had worn the day I met him. I was opening the gate that enclosed the minuscule yard and you could see the terror in my eyes. It was just after I had witnessed the murder.