Bad Habits: A Dark Anthology - Yolanda Olson Page 0,9

I listened. I heard the sounds of pleasure, of filth and violence, yet even then, in my young mind, I knew it was wrong. Thankfully, my stepfather never came into my room to seek pleasure with me. I was safe. I was guarded. But the other girls, they were torn apart like dolls, broken and shattered.

Closing my eyes, I lie back, setting the bottle on the floor before I focus on the spinning ceiling. Even though I drank my body weight in alcohol before joining the convent, I’m still a lightweight.

I’m nothing more than an imposter trying to be a nun. I always wonder why Alexia is so crass, so vile in some of the things she says, then I realize I’m judging her. I’m just as bad. I may not voice certain things outwardly, but deep in my gut, I’m needy for all-consuming passion. For darkness. For a man to engulf me with his lust and craving. Because I’m broken.

Behind my lids, I see images playing as if they’re on a screen. I recall the moments of surprise when my body reacted to touch, to smell, or to physical contact from boys at school. My stepfather made sure I was a virgin after every play date, after each trip to the movies with my friends… he’d make mother check for my purity.

He believed this was the only thing that made a woman worthy of entering Heaven. I wanted to tell him that if that meant being anything like my mother, I’d rather rot in Hell, but at the time, I wasn’t strong enough. I was far too young to utter those words.

And even now, living in the house of the Lord, I know I’m not worthy. Not because I’ve done bad things or because of my actions, but because I know I don’t belong here.

Closing my eyes, I focus on the pain that still lives in my heart. It's been two long years since I walked into the convent and asked for sanctuary, thinking it would save me. I now know nothing can save me.

How can I save all the souls my parents stole? I can't. There's nothing I can do, and for that, I live in my own personal hell. Shoving off my bed, I make my way to the small closet that sits against the wall. The heavy wood is dark, reminding me of the closet my mother used in our spare bedroom. I never opened it. I was too scared to see what was inside.

I tug open the door to mine, and I’m transported back to the past. Back to one of the many nights that my father was so angry, he shut me in my little closet to punish me.

“Little girls should be good, and you are so far from being good right now, Maeve,” Daddy utters in a voice that tells me not to argue. He shoves the door closed, and I’m locked in the dark for I’m not sure how long. Sometimes, it’s only an hour, other days, when he’s in a very bad mood, it’s longer.

“Baby girl,” Mommy coos from the other side of the door. “You need to pray, ask the Lord to make you behave. He’s good to us, remember that.” She tells me this all the time. I don’t believe her anymore.

It’s been a year since I’ve seen things in their bedroom. Since I’ve spied them enjoying things that I know in my mind are wrong. I’ve read about the Devil and the things he makes people do. Even though Daddy works for God, I think it’s the Devil who has hold of him.

I pray for them. Every night, but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps. So, I sit in silence. I don’t answer my Mommy when she tells me things as if I’m stupid. I’m not. They don’t know how intelligent I am.

Silence fills the closet. They’ve left me in here. Since it’s the weekend, I don’t think they’ll let me out for a while yet. Two days. Can I really spend two days here? Curling my thighs up to my chest, I wrap my arms around my legs and rest my chin on my knees.

I close my eyes, wishing for something to do, but Daddy made sure the closet is empty. I’m not allowed anything, even though I can’t see in the dark, having even just Torrance with me would help.

Sounds echo through the wall, and I have to close my eyes and count. One. Two. Three. Voices