Bow Down To Your King

Chapter 2

POV JULIA

I've been called a "Jezebel" my whole life. In middle school, it was because I had blowjob eyes. In high school, it was because I had tits. In college, well, maybe by college I had earned the title.

And my parents hated me for it.

I told myself that the rumors were true, this was what I was supposed to be. And maybe that's what the church saw, even before I did.

But sometimes, I didn't want to listen. Sometimes I thought I could've been a self-respecting youth pastor's wife, wearing clunky sandals and big wide-rimmed hats every Sunday morning. I just needed a little guidance, and less skirt measuring.

Unfortunately, that ship sailed a long time ago, and there was no use swimming after it.

That's why I was sent to St. Anne's. My father chose to banish me from the world, just because I experienced too much of it.

It was stupid; one drunken hook-up with the mayor's son, and I was ostracized from society.

Of course, he could've just gotten me out of it, bribe some witnesses but no, he wouldn't do that. He couldn't stand to see me out in the world, soiling his good name.

I know what you're thinking. I could just run away, right? "Nineteen is plenty old enough to fend for yourself".

But not when your father controls everything in your life. I didn't have a driver's license or credit score, hell, he wouldn't even let me have my own social security number.

In my family, nineteen is the new nine.

And that's what it's always been like. And they wonder why I'm such a Jezebel.

Still, I put my best resting bitch face on and marched through the hallway, ready for my first day of class.

My roommate was fine enough; a little squeaky, and pretty pious, but that didn't matter. I had devised a plot, a reformation plan.

If I could convince enough people at St. Anne's that I was a studious, sweet, well-meaning girl, maybe, just maybe, my dad would shorten my sentence.

Two years living on holy grounds? I'd be surprised if I made it through without bursting into flames, and before you judge me, just think about what you would do in my shoes.

What if your parents were embarrassed by your existence? What if they banished you to a glorified nunnery? Yeah, you'd be pretty miserable too.

So I took my seat in American Lit, which was ironic because the school board had banned most true American literature, claiming that it was too graphic for their precious delinquent eighteen-year-old children.

Yeah, we're talking kid gloves.

But it didn't matter. I had smuggled in a copy of To Kill A Mockingbird, given to me by my grandfather, who was seemingly the only person who cared if I turned out a least a little mentally sane.

He couldn't stop my dad from sending me away, but he could arm me with a book on the most-distasteful list.

Because at St. Anne's, racism didn't exist, nor did lesbians, according to the conversation I heard through my thin bedroom walls.

I sighed and zoned out while my professor scolded some of the other students for not convincing their daddies to buy the three-hundred dollar textbook, that we will never use.

It wasn't my first rodeo.

Even at my old, normal school, they paddled textbooks as if they got a commission off the sales. Then again, some of them had authored their own textbooks.

Could you imagine being that pompous? Teaching a course off of what you claim is the truth? There would be no counter-arguments, no different perspectives, and if your students didn't like it, they could get fucked.

Academically, of course.

That was what I had been living with my whole life. My parents' rule was "If you have an opinion, don't."

And, because of my banishment, my brother had to deal with that all by himself. Shame.

So what now? I thought, going to mope through Pilgrim's Progress for the fifteenth time in your life to earn your parents' approval?

Unfortunately, I didn't have much of a choice.

That was until something incredible happened. Something I didn't know was allowed at St. Anne's.

A boy, no, a man, maybe a foot taller than me, sauntered into the room completely disheveled. His tie was loose, flipped over his shoulder, and his uniform was unbuttoned.

If I believed what the handbook said, he shouldn't have been able to make it all the way across campus, past the teachers' lounge, and the Dean, without anybody saying a word.

"Mr. King," Professor Anderson directed her attention to the walking dress code violation.

Here we go, I thought, there is order in this world.

"Please take your seat."

What? That's it?

I would've been suspended, at least reprimanded if I ever dared to show my face without my top on the right way. They'd send me home where my dad was likely to bury me with all the other relatives that have embarrassed him.

I know, I know, that's fucked.

Was it because he was a man? Was it because he was new?

No, she knew his name, so why cut him any slack?

"I'd love to, Ms. Anderson, but," he turned to me, "somebody's in my seat. Maybe I should just skip for the day."

How can he have "a seat" on the first day?

"I'm sure that won't be necessary. Maybe we can ask our new friend to move over." She smiled at me as if that was a reasonable request.

Moving was bad enough when men expected women to jump out of their way on the sidewalk. But I was in the seat well before the bell rang. He was late.

There was no reason for me to give up a perfectly good seat for a total stranger, but that didn't seem to matter.

Mr. King walked over to me. "Hi," he said. I didn't respond. His cologne made me gag. Did he bathe in Polo Red this morning? Did he think that was attractive? I scoffed, although all the other girls in the room seemed to think so.

"I'm Zeke," he smiled, "Zeke King."

He said his name as if it was supposed to mean something to me. Wow, look at the royal tool, proclaiming himself the ruler of a boring, stuffy Christian University.

"So I've gathered," I said, hesitant to play along, but needing to get through my first day of classes without being sent to the Dean's office.

I promised my grandfather that much.