saving grace.

zero.

[Emanuel Perez]

Mother always read me bed time stories when I was afraid.

I would curl up next to her, stare at her with my big doe eyes, fascinated with the stories. She would tell me about the princess that lost her shoe and the girl who slept for years until her true love woke her up-- until I fell asleep, curled up next to her.

This time, my mother wasn't there to soothe me with her calming words.

I limped out the church, my shirt clutched in my hand as he watched me from the window, his piercing gaze reminding me of his harsh words.

"Don't tell anyone," He spat at me once he was done, chucking my clothes at me. "They won't believe you anyway."

His rough hands rubbing against my skin brought me nightmares repeatedly at night. My mother would run into my room, hugging me close to her body wondering why this happened. I would smile at her, reassuring her I was fine only to go back to the night that haunted me.

The pastor was respected-- idolized even.

My mother would come home, speaking about his preaching whilst I sat on the couch, silently crying at his rough touch.

He was clever.

I was never touched when people were around us to realize, always when we were in his office-- away from everyone.

"God, you're better than my wife." He would groan, pushing me further into the couch with every thrust. He would clamp his hand over my mouth, muffling my cries the whole way through, laughing at me when we were done.

He would stare at me after, a smirk on his face. "You should go to confession-- get rid of your nasty sins." He would say, buckling his pants back up.

After ever time, I would limp home, my head down to avoid people's stares. I would get to the house and always find a new wound.

My cheek, arm and legs would be bruised all over-- making my mother wondering where I went after church.

I would simply smile, tell her that it was nothing. She would nod her head, kiss my cheek and go downstairs to resume her phone call with him.

When I reached the age of 18, I was going away to college with a smile on my face. My mother had insisted that we went to church and I followed her, oblivious to the outcome.

That day, he ruined me. My mother in the next room didn't hear my cries and he warned me, "If you leave-- I will find you and kill you."

I told my mother I changed my mind, unpacked my bags and sat on my bed with a heavy heart. That day was supposed to be the best day of my life-- a day I would get away from everything and he ruined it.

How is it my fault I killed him and why am I the one on the run?