Sinner's Place {h.s}

nineteen.

Morning came as soon as the night fell. Quick with no mercy on me, and the lack of sleep was getting to me. I got the text from Angela late last night on the details about the trip and nearly had puked from how anxious I was about it. I hadn't been on a trip anywhere since school and it had nothing to do with religion. We had went to the zoo and one of my classmates ended up crying when a monkey through dirt at them.

It was a hectic field trip.

I hated that I had agreed to go, when I could have easily said no and told them I had plans. Another point to being a people pleaser, sadly enough.

I still hadn't found anything out about what happened between Harry and Angela that day. I had overheard them fighting about a book and something about changing things, but I had nothing to assume. I was left in the dark about it. I had been going to that church since I was born, I trusted all of those people, but recently things have made an uncomfortable shift that I've just recently noticed.

I tried to pry when Harry took us home, but he refused to speak anything of the matter. He explained that because it was his job and he wasn't allowed to discuss any changes of what's happening, but he had a uneasy look on his face while he talked about it.

I knew there was something happening that he wasn't telling me about.

I had mentioned the trip and he had told me that he would be going as well. They rented out two separate cabins. One for the men, one for the women. He said it was his job to go and he had no say in it, plus he had to be giving the sermons every day we were there.

It was Friday when we were leaving and I was stood by my bedside, folding my clothes into neat small squares as I packed up my suitcase. We would be back Sunday night before I had to go to work on that Monday, but it really wasn't what I was planning on doing on my days off.

Knowing my mom was going to be there as well scared me. I had hoped that she would be on her best behavior since there were people going to be there and most likely we wouldn't have time alone with each other. I still was seeking a therapist after all the shit she had done to me, but it was in secret.

My mom didn't believe in a therapist or mental health. She believed that if there was something wrong with you mentally that it was the devil trying to rip into you and tear your life apart--so, as you could guess, her medicine was God.

We never talked about our feelings, things that made us feel human or anything of those sorts. We hardly ever talked about anything that didn't have to do with the church and I don't hate people that make it their personality, but it's when you infringe on someone else's mind/rights is when it angers me.

I grew up catholic. This is all I knew my entire life and until a couple years ago, I had never even held hands with a man. My mom used to tell me that if I were to hold hands with a man that we were going to hell. It was like telling your kid that if you kiss a boy, you'll get pregnant and die.