Black Iris

Her friend.

Rose

The river was glinting in the afternoon sun as I sat in the grass by the river at camp, flipping through a thick Manila folder. It was the Monday after the night at Gwen's, after I found out about the date of the trial, and I was trying to do some preparation before my next meeting with my lawyer. But though I tried to focus, I couldn't stop myself from getting distracted.

The Saturday before, when I'd arrived home from Gwen's, my parents had been furious. But of course, they hadn't shown their anger while the cops were there. They had been all caring and 'we were so concerned' then politely thanked the police officers for coming, and apologised for the trouble. The officers told them that given the circumstances, it was understandable they were worried. I recognised one from my regular trips downtown. He had given me a tight smile when he caught my eye.

It was only when they left, that my mother turned on me, clenching her fists.

"Where were you?" She had practically hissed at me. "And I swear to God if you lie to me, that bloody billionaire is going to be the least of your worries."

"Jesus," I muttered, trying to move past her to go to my bedroom. "I was at Jordan's place."

Anger has flashed across my mother's face and she reached out to grip my arm. "Do you think I'm stupid, Ophelia? You told me that you... stopped seeing that girl months ago."

She said the words 'stopped seeing' as though they were poisoned. She hated ever admitting that I had been dating a girl. She would probably have a heart attack if she knew what I got up to at camp.

"And what, you thought I would give you updates every time my personal life changes?" I asked sarcastically. "Like you fucking care."

"Ophelia," my father growled, "I will not tolerate that kind of language. You will speak to your mother respectfully, and you will be honest when we ask what you've been doing."

"Oh but father," I said, mock sweetly, "I don't think you want me to tell you what I've been doing."

"What is that supposed to mean?" My mother hissed.

I gave them a forced smirk. "Because I have been at Jordan's place having passionately sinful and homosexual hate sex."

My mothers face turned dark.

"Did that man hit you in the head a few too many times or are you just dumb?" She had hissed.

I flinched. "Jesus, say what you're really thinking."

"What I have been thinking for the past three hours is that he took you again and finished the job," she hissed. "Christ, Ophelia, do you ever think about anyone but yourself?

"Lorraine, enough," my father had snapped, stepping forward to give her a warning look. "I will not tolerate either of you using the lords name in vain in my household."

My mother looked ready to argue, but when my father glared at her, she piped down. I remembered then that she was not exempt from his corrections.

I remembered the words leaving his lips in sermons before, the fated verse, Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord.

I didn't think that gave anyone the permission to hurt someone else, but what would I know? I was only ever the pastors delinquent gay daughter.

After that, my father had scowled and sent me to my room. It wasn't until hours later that my mother came, her lips pressed into a thin line, as she told me that the courts had scheduled my trial, and that it was less than three weeks away.