Daddy Issues

Why I Don't go to Church Anymore

This one is all gonna be in Nico's perspective, sorry there's no cute little pun this time) 

It's Sunday. Dad's at church. Hazel and I, however, aren't. That doesn't mean Sunday mornings aren't special for us, though. Usually, we'd be cuddling on the couch, finally able to watch whatever we wanted on TV. Today, though, she's in her room, on the phone with Frank. She's so in love, and it's so endearing to watch, but... That's all I can do, is watch. Watch her slowly become more and more distant. And I guess it makes sense, there was alway gonna come a time when she needed to grow up and leave the nest. And it's good to know she's not gonna need me forever. But... Where does that leave me? Once she doesn't need me anymore, what purpose will I serve? What will be my reason for staying alive? 

I shook the thoughts out of my head and kept flipping through the channels, unsure of what to watch. I never knew what to watch when she wasn't around, since I always just let her pick, and I was alone this time. I don't know what I like when it comes to TV, to be honest. Nothing really seems to appeal to me. Does that make me weird? Is there something wrong with me? 

Eventually, I stopped, only to find that I'd accidentally started watching a televangelist. "...- And to that, I say: Suck it up!" 

I shut the TV off the minute he said that. Even years later, the sting of those words never quite... Left. 

It was a month after Bianca's death, and I had gone into the confessional. "Forgive me, father, for I have sinned." 

"What was your transgression, my child?" 

"I... I stole something from my dad." 

"I see... What was it that you stole?" 

"... Y'know those, uhh... Thingies that you use to shave? Not the handle, but... The sharp part?" 

"The... Razorblade?" 

"Yeah. One of those." 

"I see... And what did you intend to do with that razorblade?" 

"I..." I sighed. "... I used it to hurt myself." 

"You what!?" His volume made me flinch. "Young man, self-mutilation is a far worse offense to the Lord than petty theft! Why didn't you think to tell me that first!?" 

"I-I didn't know it was that big of a deal. I... I'm sorry." 

"How did you not know that!? Everybody knows that! What the hell is wrong with you!?" 

"Y-you're scaring me. I'm sorry, I won't do it again, I promise." 

"You better not. Even now, you're neck-deep in trouble with the big man upstairs. Self-mutilation is barely a step above suicide. Your body belongs to God, so anytime you inflict harm on that body, whether that's through addiction, recklessness, or intentional self-mutilation, you're damaging God's property. And he takes that kind of thing very seriously. Do I make myself clear?" 

I felt a lump form in my throat, and tried to say yes, but nothing came out except a sob. 

"Oh, for the love of-... Stop it. Stop crying. Y'know who else cries? Babies. Are you a baby?" 

I sniffed. "N-no... I'm almost th-thirteen, that's not a baby..." 

"Then you need to act like it." 

I let out a shuddering breath and tried to compose myself. "O-ok... I'm not crying anymore." 

"Good boy... Now, just keep that up, would you?" 

"Ok, I... I'll try." I sighed. "But... What do I do then? If I can't cry, and I can't hurt myself, then what do I do when I get upset?" 

"... You suck it up, kid. You suck it up and be strong for your daddy. Five Acts of Contrition, tell your father the truth, and all shall be forgiven. But remember, you're on thin ice." 

"I understand, Father Minos." I stood up to leave, not even bothering to thank him as I walked back out to the pews to sit next to my dad. I sat through the rest of the sermon in silence, and followed my dad out to the car, still without saying a word. Once we got home, I considered telling him, like he told me to, but... I just couldn't. Not after how miserable he'd been. I couldn't bring myself to let him know that I was cutting myself. 'That would only make him sadder' I thought. 'It's better if I just keep this a secret.' 

That night, I went to bed in his room, like I used to do when I was especially upset, trying and failing to hold in my tears. I don't think I'd ever felt more ashamed of myself. 

I didn't go to church the next Sunday. Or the one after that, or the one after that. I was too embarrassed. And eventually, it stopped being about shame, and it started being about resentment. There are a lot of shitty things I deserve, but I just can't convince myself that I deserved... That. To be bullied, berated, humiliated, as an almost-13-year-old, in the one place I thought I'd be safe. 

A few months later, I come to find out that's not even the worst thing he's done to boys my age in the confession booth. I still try not to think about how close I'd been to being one more charge added to his case. The worst part is, he was found not guilty, and didn't even lose his job. 

I could look past how callous he'd been when I told him about my habit as just being him. I could even do the same with the fact that when I found out about Bianca, and I tried to comfort myself by saying at least she's in heaven, he told me she wasn't. Not with the way she was found with Zoë in that broken fridge. All of that, that was just him. Just his cruelty, his insensitivity. But to know that they still put him in a tight, confined space, alone with kids, and somehow trusted him not to do anything, disgusted me. That was the straw that broke the camel's back, that finally pushed me to denounce the religion altogether.

Of course, easier said than done. Hell, I still have my old rosary stashed away somewhere. If I wanted to, I could tag along with dad next week and take it all back and be the good little catholic boy I used to be. But... I don't want to. Especially not with knowing he's still there, waiting for me, the one that slipped through his fingers. 

He's never tried to make me either. 

That's the best thing I can say about him, honestly. Drunk or sober, close or distant, he never made me do anything I didn't want to. 

I curled up a little tighter on the couch, staring at the black screen, knowing full-well that I'd have to get up when he got back home. I just felt so... Tired. I was always tired. And I couldn't find the willpower to fight through it this time. 

At least I wasn't crying, right?