Losing Me, Finding You(11)

I try partial honesty.

“Not so good,” I tell him as we step into his office and the door swings shut behind me. The blinds are down, too, which isn't good. The window in here faces the backyard and is nearly always open unless he has someone from the church over. Or he's getting ready to punish me. “There was a bit of a misunderstanding at the bridal shop,” I say, wondering why I'm even here, standing here, doing this. Nobody's making me do this anymore. It's been three years since the law said I had to stay with my parents. I could walk away at any time. What's stopping me? Fear? Not exactly. I just haven't found something to chase after, not yet.

“Tell me about it,” he says, dropping his fake smile, letting the twitch that's in his hands travel up to his eyes. He doesn't look all that imposing in his khaki slacks and white button up, but I know better. My father is the first to judge and the last to forgive. He thinks his holiness gives him power over the rest of the world. I should be used to it by now, but I'm not.

“Nothing happened with that man. I just met him today, and I wasn't looking to buy a motorcycle.”

My father shakes his head.

“Amy.” Just that one word. I start to plead which is stupid. I should just turn around and walk out of this room and up the stairs, grab a bag and pack it. I should just go. Instead, I stand still and try to explain myself with my hands.

“Dad, listen to me. I don't know what Mama told you, but I didn't do anything wrong.”

“Amy, your mother said she could tell by the way you two looked at one another that you had been sinful. She said she could see the devil in that man's eyes and the hold he'd put on you. When did you first start seeing him? When he came into town last year?”

“I've never been to the festival!” I scream, letting frustration bubble up alongside my thoughts of Austin, thoughts that are leading to emotions I've never had before. I feel like I've been seared with heat, left open and sore to the world, like I'm suddenly awake and can't figure out why. I barely spoke three sentences to the man and yet, I can't get him out of my head, even now. “I couldn't possibly have had sex with him.” I say it out loud because that's what they're thinking. They're thinking of me as some dirty, little slut who sneaks out and f*cks men I don't know. But I'm not. I'm nothing because they've never let me be anything. I wish suddenly that I had slept with Austin, that we'd been having illicit trysts for years. At least then there'd be something worth talking about.

“Amy, the bible says, For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.”

“Dad!” I say, stepping forward. “I'm twenty-one years old. I'm a woman and this is not the dark age.” I look him in the eye when I say this and can't help but realize that this is the first time in my entire life that I have ever stood up to the man.

My dad's hand comes up too fast for me to see and cracks me across the face with a sharp sting that makes my eyes water and sends me stumbling backwards into the door of the office.

“Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.” My dad watches me as I slide to the floor, cupping the side of my face and trying to still the blood that's leaking from my nose. Papa certainly knows how to hit, just enough to hurt, not enough to cause any real damage. I rub my jaw and close my eyes, pushing past the pain in my teeth and skull. It feels like my bones have been shattered and put back together. “Stand up, Amy,” he tells me as I open my eyes and watch him walk across the room with slow, careful steps.

I follow his instructions, but when the next hit comes, I swear on the very depths of my soul that it will be the last.


Chapter 7


When I finish with Diamond, I head straight to the bar for a drink, wondering as I walk if little Amy Cross is going to be sitting there in her white sweater and sandals with something pink and fruity in her hand. God, I sure as f*ck hope so. I could use a good distraction. My time with Mel and the Pres didn't go as smoothly as I'd thought. I'd expected this town was going to a breeze – in and out.

I couldn't have been any more wrong about that.

I sigh and open the door to the Tempered Iron, pausing to scan the room for a head full of long, silky hair that's just begging for me to run my fingers through it. I don't see Amy, but my gaze ends up catching on a girl with pale hair who's sitting at the bar flirting with Beck. She looks like the type that's from around here.

Beck's twirling this girl's blonde waves around his finger and flashing her the same, tired, old grin that he gives to every woman. Beck is an equal opportunity motherf*cker. He doesn't discriminate based on age, race, or creed; Beck will f*ck pretty much anything.

I move across the room towards them as I check my watch. Goddamn you, Diamond. It's six f*cking thirty. That girl coulda come and left already. I pause behind the blonde who's giggling ferociously and wait until Beck bothers to look up at me. He's so f*cking fixated on the girl's tits that it takes him awhile.

“Oh, hey Austin,” he says when he finally notices me, running a hand through his red hair and shrugging off his leather vest. “How long you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know that you're a f*cking *,” I tell him as the girl turns and flashes me a face that's too pretty for a small town like this. I smile back at her and wink. “Austin Sparks,” I say before she can ask. Unlike Beck, I've still got some hard-earned Southern manners left in me. Her blue eyes go wide and her moist lips part in surprise.