Sins and Reborns

Chapter sixteen

GRACE

In my dreams, I used to lie by the sea, feel the brush of the water trickle at my feet and hear the sounds of seagulls chirping. In those dreams, I was alone in the world and there were no bad parents or complicated relationships or God. There was no anxiety of what the future may hold and no fear of the life outside of my home.

If a house is unhappy then can it be called a home? Unhappy people cannot make a home.

The dreams were my escape from the bad and the hope for the better. When I sometimes closed my eyes, I could see myself lie there with barely any inches of skin covered and feel the fresh air prick at my skin and hear what I needed to hear.

Although, sometimes I would not be there alone. Wesley would lie with me and ask to play. He would tell me that he wished we could escape to this place and stay there forever. I would hold him to me and whisper that one day we would get there. It was always a 'we' with me and Wesley. He was my little brother and I had to protect him. He was the reason why I stayed, why I had not dared to do anything that could infuriate my parents. In a way, he was my lifeline.

Before Wesley was born, I never thought I could love anyone the way I loved him. I was young when he was brought into this world. Back then, my parents said God had gifted him to quieten the monster inside of me, to bring a sense of calm before the storm. I was so young to know what it meant, but they didn't stop reminding me that. I grew up in a house where there was talk about monsters and Gods and demons and light and heaven and hell. I belonged to two categories of that list but none of that mattered. None of that mattered when he arrived. He became my lifeline the minute he was born and when I looked into his sweet eyes, I knew he was going to be important to me.

At home, where Connor was not, my little brother was the one who kept me alive. To keep him safe, I had to stay alive and well.

Not that he was feeling well lately. Wesley was having stomach pains and I worried about him. Nevertheless, my family refused to believe in the help of medicine and doctors. I remember that when I was around five years old, I had gotten very sick, a bad cold and I stayed in bed for two weeks with a high temperature, worse than normal, but they refused to take me anywhere.

On day fifteen, they finally called a doctor, and he was frustrated with them. He went off about carelessness and how I needed medical help immediately. I was rushed to the hospital and slept there for a week. The nurses gave me good soup and raspberry jelly and one nurse played games with me. The doctor always talked with my parents outside of the room so I wouldn't hear, but he did say something about breathing and lung problems. I figured it had to do with the bad coughs and the high fever, but he did say I could have died. I was released from the hospital on day twenty-five and I was back on my feet and energetic in less than a month.

But my parents never learned. Whenever me or my brother got sick, they would call a doctor into our home and have them inspect us, say if we needed serious help or not. It was a matter of life or death, always. Yet, those incidents were rare occasions and usually, there was no doctor. Just a cup of tea or a night of rest but it was followed by: 'find your strength and push through the sickness. God will heal you'.

Now, as I lay on the beach, I thought back to those incidents and smiled softly. I was safe from the world out there. No stitch of clothing on and no worries except for the strong currents and the whispery wind. I was floating on the sand, on the little island with the sea around me, far away from the land where the strangers walked. And when I opened my eyes, clouds of pillows floated high in the air, but they were also so close.

My hand reached out to touch them, fingertips skimmed the wonders of the sky, the fluffiness. It made me feel at peace.

"Grace," a small voice spoke up from beside me, "when can we go home?"