Sinner's Prayer

The Reckoning

Jack can't shake the taste of iron in his mouth, can't get past the smell of it either. He'd been slapped and knocked upside the head so many times he'd lost count.

Blood runs freely from his nose, courtesy of an earlier hit landing just right to the delicate cartilage. It passes hot over his busted lips, falling from his chin to stain his shirt in deep scarlet drops that seep into the fabric.

His head hurt from clenching his jaw and holding back the endless wave of tears that threatened, eyes skimming over holy text and his father steaming behind him.

"Again," the Twist patriarch demands, searing his gaze into the back of Jack's skull.

Jack's lip quivers, stinging where the bottom was cut against his teeth from earlier. He needs not to look at the page to know what words were sealed there in permanent ink, words that he could never even utter to himself.

He shakes his head, however, voice caught in throat.

"Dad, please-" he starts. John sends another open palm to the back of his skull, relentless in the force he puts behind it.

Jack squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to be anywhere else but stuck to the dining chair whose back faces the door.

He speaks the words his father demands, biting back the pain that pulses in his head.

"Y-You shall not lie with man a-as with a woman.." and quieter. "It's an abomination.."

"It's a what?" John asks in a condescending manner. Jack swallows, wringing his hands.

"A-an abomination-"

"Quit yer fuckin' blubberin', boy. What is it?"

Jack takes a breath, steadying himself.

"An abomination."

He can feel his father lean in, weight resting on the table as he looms over his son.

"You lettin' that sink in?" He sneers. Jack swallows, heart beating against his chest like rapid fire and his breaths stuttering.

"C-Can I please be excused?" He tries, cursing himself for stammering again and hearing a scoff as John steps away.

"No. Read it again," he snaps, crossing his arms sternly. Jack sighs, keeping his eyes shut.

At this point, he's simply trying to keep the tears at bay, knowing the sight of them will enrage his father further.

"You shall not-"

Jack's thrown forward with a powerful hand in his hair, catching himself before he hits the table on his palms.

"With yer fuckin' eyes, boy," John bellows. Jack watches a drop of blood hit his mama's Bible and ruins the page as it spreads.

Guilt consumes him at the sight, tearing him to pieces like the fragile paper that's stained beneath him.

He promised her.

Jack sniffs, wanting nothing more than the comfort of his mother in that moment.

He remembers days when he was little, the rocking chair she'd hold him in. Just them and the smell of her perfume and the feel of her arms around him, so safe.

He used to think on account of conversation they'd shared deep in his youth that they'd leave this place. Jack had been so little, his mother in tears at the sight of him. The memory is vague, Jack doesn't remember exactly what had happened, but she'd scooped him into her arms and ran out the door before his father could stop them.