Resentment and scorn hung like a weighted blanket over Theresa’s mind.
She was used to the feeling, though. She felt it ever since she was thigh-high, staring up at the scowling faces of her community, hearing their thoughts: ‘freak’, ‘sinner’, ‘pervert.’
Theresa treasured those moments where that blanket was lightened up, and she could feel at ease, like she could move without walking on eggshells.
Sitting in one of the little private rooms in the sanctum, with its big, heavy door and the lead in the walls, she could distance herself from the thoughts of everyone else, and relax in the presence of salvation.
There were no thoughts other than her own here. There was nobody staring at her, thinking about her, judging her.
‘The St. Claire.’, ‘killer’, ‘bitch.’
No harsh words, no judgment, no emotions that weighed heavy in her head and left her feeling small and lethargic.
“Lord Jesus,” she whispered, hands held in front of her chest, her crucifix propped up on a chair she knelt in front of, “you chose to be called the friend of sinners. By your saving death and resurrection, free me from my sins.” She sucked in a shaky breath to soothe the rotten feeling in her chest. “May your peace take root in my heart, and bring forth a harvest of love, holiness, and truth.”
She turned on the speaker attached to her old touchscreen phone, and knelt in prayer as she listened to the Bible verses a calm and pleasing male voice repeated. She listened to salvation, purity of soul, and humble grace before an all-loving being, and she allowed herself a smile.
Cursed as she was, He loved her. That’s what her teacher once told her; she was still forgiven, despite harboring her father’s sins, and still in His favor. It was hard to stand tall and straight when weighed down by everyone else’s hatred filling her head, but on the day she traveled to His domain, she would be free and she would be loved.
She would know mercy, and wholeness, and she played in a childhood fantasy of dancing with angels, far and away from the angry humans that walked the Earth. They would smile at her like a parent would smile at their child… or, at least a child that wasn’t their punishment.
The prayers and psalms eased the ache in her chest. This is what she was meant to be doing, not sitting in some homosexual’s room, sharing food and showing her her most treasured possession.
What had she been thinking? Her pastors always told her that the Devil came in many shapes and sizes, they could even be small little girls and mermaids, with warm little smiles and calm, pleasing voices, who knew church songs and treated her…
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… treated her like a person.
Theresa’s eyes opened with a shiver.
It happened again. She let her guard down and felt that moment of peace and warmth from somebody who was not the Lord above. Taz would lead her astray, that she knew for certain; that open and friendly front was hiding something underneath, waiting for Theresa to leave herself vulnerable so true sin could take root.
A curse-carrier like her could only find love from God; she was meant to take mankind’s scorn, but she dared not compare herself to Jesus. He had been put on Earth to forgive, not to humble a man’s pride.
Taz was a psychic, a non-believer, and a lesbian; she was a Godless creature who basked in her sinful nature and lured others in with that gentle mask she wore.
What would have happened to Theresa if she’d let herself be taken in? What sort of sins would they inflict on such a humble daughter of Christ? She and that sinfully shaped woman…
They’d dared to feed her, give her delicious food – tacos, that was right. They’d sat down with her, talked to her, tried again and again to learn about her, no doubt to pick her beliefs apart until she was left in shambles, liable to be filled in with coercive thoughts of self-pleasure and false happiness.
They’d dared treat her like an equal, like a human-being, they’d dared show her their interest, and seek her out with gifts. They’d dared to learn about her hobbies…
Theresa gave a sudden, wretched sob, and her eyes opened up. For a moment, she couldn’t hear the words from her bible verses, they were muddled and distant as she imagined herself laying on the floor again, gluing petals to God’s beard, a curious little blonde watching her, asking her questions, the bigger black girl speaking in that oh-so-soothing tone, that strange psychic creature cooing over food…
She buried her hands into her hair and sucked in a pained gasp. What in God’s name were they doing to her?! They were filling her head even when she was praying?!
… and why did she so desperately want to go back?
Why did this loneliness sting so much more sharply? She was used to private prayer, it helped her avoid the anger outside, but… those damned girls were making her crave company. They were leading her astray, all by being nice to her.
Her hands knotted up into tight little fists, her teeth grinding together as she tried to focus amidst the waves of emotions crashing into her.
She tried with all her might to find hate in her heart for those devilish servants trying to lead her off the path of righteousness, but every time she tried to tell herself what Taz was, all she could picture was that patient smile, and she couldn’t imagine it twisted up in cruelty.
“F-forgive me, Lord, for these sinful thoughts…” She whispered as the pastor continued to preach through the speaker. “Forgive m-me for l-looking the wrong way, f-for accepting the Devil’s ad-advances…” She whimpered, her knuckles turning white as she squeezed her hands together. “I-I am f-f-forever y-your l-loyal and faithful d-daughter… y-yours alone, I’ll not—” She sniffed, and let out a heated breath. “I’ll not look askew, I-I’ll not accept the affections of harpies—”
She remembered sitting with the three girls, eating their food, for a moment, feeling at peace, feeling happy to be in the presence of others as they talked and shared.
“... Please don’t hate me too…” She cried. Bending over wretchedly, pulling her fists to her chest as she all but felt the gates of Heaven slamming shut before her eyes. “Please…”