The Religious & The Damaged (UNDER EDITING)

34

Joseph

  My heart drops at the sound of my door opening, and the immediate realization of who it is overwhelms me.

  I look over, and so does Elias.

  My father stands in the doorway, and his expression is gut wrenchingly terrifying—what I feared would happen; happened, and I was selfish to think it wouldn't.

  I exhale shakily.

  He doesn't speak, but I know exactly what he wants.

  I look over at Elias, and he looks worried.

  It hurts me knowing that.

  "You should go..." I say.

  He frowns. "But-"

  "I'm fine, I promise." I speak in a whisper, and he stares at me—it's clear he doesn't want to leave because he knows exactly what's going to happen, and I hate it. "I'll walk you out." I add.

  He reluctantly nods and stands.

  I stand and follow him out of the room; my father's presence behind me sends a shiver down my spine as we walk downstairs.

  I look back, and he stops in the kitchen—his arms behind his back as he watches us intently.

  I gulp hard and revert my gaze.

  Elias stands upright from putting on his shoes and I open the door.

  "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" He asks, worry heavy in his voice.

  I gulp again. "Yeah..." I don't look at him as I say this—I can't look at him and lie to his face.

  "Can.. Can I hug you?"

  I look back at my father, then down at the ground. "We shouldn't.." My words trail off.

  "I understand."

  There's a long, overwhelming pause.

  "So, I'll see you at school then?" He asks.

  I just nod. He nods, and he leaves.

  I stare down for a long moment.

  I'm scared to turn around; to face my father.

  The fear I feel is so overwhelming that I think I might actually faint.

  It feels I might die, and the reminder that I lied to Elias lingers in my brain and it feels like a huge weight on my back—I just want to be back in my room.

  "Get over here." My father's voice makes my body tense and tremble.

  I turn, nonetheless.

  I step closer and meet his gaze. He groans, his face scrunching into a state of anger and simultaneously disgust.

  "You look just like your mother." He sounds just as he looks. "You know you're the reason she's dead." He adds.

  I blink away tears, but they still fall—and my heart feels like it's been ripped apart.

  "I should send you to the most brutal conversion camp, but I won't."

  I look away and more tears fall.

  I don't need to be changed.

  What I am is okay.

  I attempt to reassure myself, but it only makes the weight on my back intensify.