Sinful Serenade

Chapter 5

TW: SELF HARM, ABUSE

(Also, If you’re really religious (which there is absolutely nothing wrong with that, but I just don’t want to offend anyone), at this point, this may not be the book for you)

Danielle

A loud knock on my door startles me awake. Groggily, I pry my eyes open and grab my phone from the nightstand, squinting at the harsh light illuminating from the screen. It's 8am.

Shit. How did I sleep so long?

"Danielle, open up this damn door. You know how I feel about locked doors in this house!" Mom shouts from the other side of the door.

I shoot out of the bed, tripping over my bloody bedding as I hurry to the door. I fling it open to find Mom standing in the doorway, her face flushed and smoke practically coming from her ears.

"Sorry, must've fallen asleep," I mumble.

"What were you doing in-" Her voice trails off as her gaze locks on the bandages wrapped around my arms, which are only exposed because I was too tired to put my clothes back on last night. I glance down, noticing that blood has seeped through the cloth.

Thinking maybe this time she might actually be concerned, I open my mouth to speak. But before I can get a word out, she scoffs, her tone dripping in disgust.

"Cover that up and get ready for church. Make sure you sit near the alter today. You need all of the Jesus you can get, you reek of the devil."

What the f**k does that even mean?

Her words hang in the air, a lead weight on my chest as I swallow the retort.

I know there's no point in defending myself; she always wins.

With a defeated nod, I mutter, "Yes Ma'am," as she turns on her heels and storms down the hallway, leaving me to wrestle with the turmoil of emotions swirling inside me.

With an hour until Sunday school, I hastily throw on a black long-sleeved dress that I ensure goes past my knees so I don't get bitched at, and brush my hair into a simple ponytail.

Staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I can't help but feel a pang of self hatred. I look the complete opposite of how I did at the concert.

Because this isn't me. This is the person my mom wants me to be.

Mom insists on us riding to church together, I guess in case I try to leave early or something. On the way there, she goes on and on about how how happy she is that I'm going to back to church with her, conveniently leaving out the fact that she didn't give me a choice in the matter.

But it doesn't matter. She'll tell everyone at church that I was eager and willing to join her.

Following what feels like the most boring Sunday school lesson in existence, we filter into the sanctuary for the main church service.

"Hey Danielle, sit next to me," Kaylani, a childhood acquaintance I have little to nothing in common with, offers, patting the seat beside her. I begin to move towards the vacant spot, but Mom's fingers sink into my forearm, finding the tender spots where my self-inflicted wounds lie hidden. A sharp hiss escapes my lips, but she only tightens her grip, her silent warning ringing loud and clear.

Pain feels great when you're doing it to yourself, but inflicted by others? Not so much.

"You're sitting with me, Danielle," she whispers harshly in my ear.

Fucking fantastic.

I shoot Kaylani an apologetic glance before reluctantly following Mom to the front of the church. I assume this is where the devout Christians sit, you know, the ones who act holier than thou, dutifully pay their tithes, and flop on the floor like a fish during the very long music breaks.

Yeah, I definitely don't belong up here.

I try not to dissociate during the service but between screaming disguised as singing, the musician's intended on rupturing my damn eardrum, and Pastor Philip's monotonous sermon, I can't help it.

As Pastor Philip finally concludes his two-hour sermon, he steps onto the alter with a microphone in hand, inviting anyone to share their testimony. Dread washes over me in a suffocating wave as Mom eagerly shoots her hand up.

No. No. No. She wouldn't, right?

He rushes the microphone over to her with an enthusiastic, "That's right, share your testimony, Sista Simmons!" The congregation erupts into a chorus of affirmations: "Amen!", "Tell it, Sista!", and "Praise God!"

With all eyes on her, Mom faces the assembly with an air of self-righteousness. "My daughter has been in the hands of the devil since she started at Virginia Beach college," she begins, her voice heavy with a mix of disappointment and faux concern. "Between the devil's music, drugs, alcohol, sex..." She shakes her head in exasperation. "I don't know where she would be today without the Lord watching over her until she was ready to come back to us."

As the congregation nods in solemn agreement, a judgmental veil casts a shadow over me, and the sanctuary fills with a collection of hushed murmurs.

Mom grabs my hand, gazing down at me with feigned tears glistening in her eyes. "Ya'll please continue to pray over my baby," she continues, her voice trembling with emotion. "She may not be exactly where she needs to be right now, but I will make sure she keeps coming to church and with our guidance, we will save her soul from damnation."

My face is on fire by the time her speech is over. I consider standing up and bolting from the room, but before I can make a move, two of the church's mothers grab my hands and practically drag me from my seat.

"Pastor Philips is going to pray for you, baby," one of them says in a reassuring voice that does nothing to calm the anxiety and embarrassment consuming me.

They lead me to the front of the room and turn me towards the congregation. Reluctantly, I close my eyes as they grasp my arms, urging me to raise my hands in the air.

I'm suddenly smacked on my forehead, the force of it nearly knocking me off balance.

What the hell?

As the Mothers help to steady me, I feel the slick residue of the holy oil on my head, Pastor Philip's whispered prayer for my deliverance from evil ringing in my ears.

I can't help but wonder if that includes my mom.

Why would she do this? This is the most humiliating thing that has ever happened to me, and all I can do is endure this nightmare until it's over.

The next thing I know, I hear Mom shouting and crying loudly. Peeking past my lashes, I see her jumping up and down, two women struggling to cover her lower half with a white sheet.

Oh God, please make this stop!

My chest tightens, and my body begins to tremble uncontrollably. It feels like I can't breathe as tears stream down my face.

"Yes!" someone screams closely to my ear. "Let it all out, baby!"

"Yes, Lord! She's crying out to you!"

No. I'm having a f*****g panic attack.

With a desperate gasp for air, I grab my chest, feeling like my heart is about to burst from my ribcage. Mumbling a quick "excuse me," I stumble out of the sanctuary, urgently needing to escape to the bathroom. Clutching the sides of the sink, I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I struggle to catch my breath.

I close my eyes, Kenneth's voice echoing inside my head. With the lyrics of "Fall" replaying in my mind, I begin to calm down and take deep breaths.

Suddenly, Mom storms in the bathroom, the door smacking against the wall as she rushes towards me. "How dare you embarrass me like that!" she screams, her face contorted with rage. Without warning, her hand flies through the air, and I feel the burning sting of her palm against my cheek.

My eyes widen in shock, but I refuse to break in front of her.

When my lack of reaction doesn't satisfy her, she digs her fingers into my forearm, eliciting a cry of pain from me. "Now, you will clean your face off, and get back in there before they start asking more questions. Do. You. Understand?" she snarls, her voice laced in venom.

I nod rapidly, still trying to hold back my tears. Her grip tightens, and I whimper, "Yes, Ma'am."

Once she leaves, a strangled cry leaves my lips, and I dissolve into uncontrollable sobs until I'm certain the entire church can probably hear me crying. Yet, no one comes into the bathroom, nor do they seem to care about my distress.

After some time, I manage to collect myself, wiping away the tears and forcing a fake smile on my face. With a heavy heart, I return to the sanctuary, ready to resume playing the role of Teresa Simmons's f****d up daughter who is in need of fixing.

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Once the long church service is finally over, Mom spends another hour conversating with practically every member, leaving me with no choice but to sit and wait. I smile and engage with everyone who approaches me.

By the time we leave, I'm so overstimulated by all of the hugs and kisses on my face, I would probably scream if I wasn't trapped in the car with Mom.

"Sister Matthews wants to set you up on a date with her son," Mom says, breaking the tense silence in the car.

"Thomas?" I ask, cringing inwardly.

I'm not interested, and there's no way I'll ever be.

"He's a nice Christian boy, it'll be good for you," she insists.

"I'm not interested in dating, Mom," I reply, hesitating to answer since I know it's futile.

Her jaw tenses as she keeps her eyes fixed on the road ahead. "It wasn't a suggestion," she says firmly, "I told her that she can set it up for whenever, and you'll be showing up."

"Yes, Ma'am," I nearly whisper.

I end my night with another self-hate session, actually going through my ritual this time of rebandaging my arms and washing my sheets. As I do so, I find myself listening to Devil's Knights, specifically their album, "Screams of Redemption". In these songs, Kenneth's voice takes on a more raw and aggressive tone, almost as if he's snarling the words.

I find my libido rising. I wonder what he's like during s*x. Is he just as dark and mysterious, or is that just his stage persona?

I bet there's plenty of lucky girls out there that get to find out.

The thought shouldn't fill me with jealousy, but for some reason, it does.

Pushing aside the strange feeling about the random celebrity singer I've only met once and will never see in person again in life, I distract myself by scrolling on f*******: while my laundry washes. Suddenly, I receive a post notification from Maeve. I see that her and her brothers are throwing a huge summer party at her house next Friday.

The fact that she didn't invite me stings a little, but she's aware of my situation. Friday night was an exception that will never happen again as long as I'm under my mom's roof.

Unless...

My heart pounds as I hover over the "Going" button for the event. With a surge of adrenaline, I click it, committing to attend the party. Additionally, I say 'f**k it' and accept Blake Anderson's friend request. After all, he's as likely to be a psychopath as my mom is to be the devil in human form, which is pretty damn likely. But perhaps being shackled in his basement would be better than the life I'm living now.