Jezebel

"I-I want to go home...please. I won't tell anyone. I promise," I pleaded for the umpteenth time as my tears dampened my face. What did I receive in return? A cold, unremorseful glare.

God? We really need to have a chat because what the heck is this!? I said heck. Yep...I'm going to the Hot Place.

"I could watch you cry all day," Erik suddenly said.

Who says that!?

"Do you want to know why?" he asked as he leaned across the table. I scooted as far away from him as possible and furiously shook my head. "Too bad. I'm going to tell you anyway. You're beautiful when you cry."

I was temporarily stunned by his...compliment. My low self-esteem wanted to hear him repeat it because no guy had ever called me beautiful, including my father, but my common sense told me this Child of God was unwell and needed divine intervention.

"You're supposed to say thank you when someone gives you a compliment, Squeak."

"Th-thank you," I whispered, not taking my eyes off the mountainous BLT surrounded by crispy fries. Silence enveloped us as I wiped away my tears.

"Squeak–"

"Jezebel," I softly corrected.

"I'll call you Jezebel when you learn to love your name. Until then, I'll call you Squeak."

"Why do you care if I love my name or not?"

Erik laced his fingers together, drawing my attention to the rings on his fingers. I was particularly fascinated with the skull one.

"Take a few bites out of your sandwich, and I'll answer your question."

I didn't hesitate to yank the toothpick from the neatly cut sandwich. I was starving, but my earlier meltdown from being kidnapped, or, as Erik would say, abducted, had taken precedence. I held back a groan of satisfaction after taking my first bite. I viciously chewed as I reached for a handful of fries. They were barely warm but passable. I wouldn't dare complain. I didn't know Erik at all, but I could picture him saying that my fries would be hot if I hadn't spent so much time crying.

"Good?"

I nodded and reached for the pickle spear. My eyes widened in surprise when Erik dropped his pickle onto my plate. I swallowed what was in my mouth before addressing him.

"You don't want it?" I softly asked.

"I know they say there are no stupid questions, but that was a stupid fucking question. If I wanted it, I wouldn't have given it to you," Erik drawled in annoyance. I couldn't help it. I started crying again. I'd been abducted, and Erik left me in a constant state of confusion.

One moment he's sticking up for me, and we're discussing my favorite movie, and the next minute he's threatening to shoot me in the back and abducts me. He feeds me and then belittles me. I would be at home if I wanted to be fed and degraded.

"Why are you crying now?" Erik sighed as he relaxed against the red leather of the booth.

"C-can you just...not talk to me?"

"I can, but I won't. We have much to discuss. You asked me why I care if you love your name. A name can hold a lot of weight and bring about certain privileges. In the legal sense, your name can be your 'get out of jail free' card. I can see the skepticism on your face. One day, you'll understand when you have the King last name."

God...I need an adult.

"That will never happen."

"What won't happen?"

"My daddy says I have to marry a good Christian man."

"My daddy says I have to marry a good Christian man," Erik childishly mimicked as he moved his hand like he was working a puppet's mouth. "Spare me the Christian bullshit. Most people who paint themselves as "Good Christians" aren't that good. In fact, they're the worst. Plus, God doesn't exist."

Erik evilly laughed while I choked on a fry that found refuge at the back of my throat. A hand flew to my throat as I gagged on the fry and Erik's blasphemy. Erik's version of assistance was pointing to my water. I snatched it up and gulped it down, successfully dislodging the fry from my throat.

"I take offense to your blasphemy," I gasped once I could breathe again.

"I don't give a fuck. Your offense is your problem," Erik gruffly replied as he lit a cigarette. Smoking was prohibited inside the diner, but I was starting to learn that Erik King didn't care about the rules. He moved through life as if the rules didn't apply to him. That was a dangerous way of living.

"Tell me about yourself, Squeak."

"I rather not."

"You want to go home, don't you?"

My stomach roiled with uncertainty.

I don't want him to know anything else about me. Erik is clearly unhinged and suffers from mental health issues. The less he knew, the better.

"I'm interested in knowing more about you," I replied, causing Erik's eyebrows to jump in surprise.

"Really?" he suspiciously asked as he blew a ringlet of smoke above his head. He tapped his ashes into his water cup as he carefully considered my proposition.

"Really," I confirmed. I didn't lie. I was...intrigued. I at least thought it was prudent to know my enemy.

"What would you like to know?"

"Anything you're comfortable telling me," I answered before taking another chance with a French fry.

"Would it surprise you if I told you there's not much to tell?"

"I highly doubt that. Start with something simple; when is your birthday?"

"April 4th," he answered.

"Do you have any siblings?"

"Nope. What about you?"

"I am an only child," I confirmed.

"I bet that's lonely for you."

"Is it lonely for you?" I countered.

"I'm never alone. The voices in my head never shut up." My eyes bulged from my head, and I started measuring up Erik to see if I could take him or not if I chanced an escape. I settled a little once I noticed the dopey grin on Erik's reddened face. "You're so gullible, Squeak," he chuckled as he finished his cigarette.

"You kid—abducted me. It is plausible that the Devil might be whispering in your ear and using you."

"Oh, you're a scary little indoctrinated fucker, aren't you?"

"E-excuse me?"

"I would've hated running into you during the Spring of 1692," he chuckled. Next thing I would've known, I would've been bound and tossed in the nearest body of water to see if I would sink or float."

I rolled my eyes once I realized he was referring to the Salem Witch Trials. With his behavior, he'd earn his way to a burning stake all on his own.

"I don't believe in the Devil," Erik admitted. "I can see the disbelief on your face, but you shouldn't be shocked. Why would I not believe in God but believe in the Devil? Religion is nothing more than a way to control us, and if you'd ask me, I'd say religion is heavily rooted in evilness. It's a front."

While I wanted to grab my bless oil out of my backpack and douse him in it, I was interested in his stance.

"How is religion a front?"

"Throughout history, men have used religion as an excuse to kill, torture, plunder, and rape. How many times have we seen religion used to justify death? I guarantee there are more false prophets on the pulpit on Sunday mornings than there are righteous men. Your preachers and priests stand before you on a peaceful Sunday morning and scare you to toe the line with threats of eternal damnation. Meanwhile, the collection plate is overflowing, and his Internet search history looks sketchier than the rancid smell coming from Jeffrey Dahmer's apartment. They tell you it's a sin to fornicate, yet they are cheating on their homely wives that sit on the front pew with their ridiculous hats and kitten heels. They preach to you about perversions but can't stop thinking about that 12-year-old altar boy whose innocence they don't mind stealing. They tell you that the Bible says to give with a joyful heart and pay your tithes and offerings; meanwhile, that money is pocketed, and the joyful givers rob Peter to pay Paul until next Sunday. They preach to love thy neighbor; however, some of those same men hate gays, Jews, and all people of color. Do I believe that everyone who preaches and upholds religious beliefs is bad? No. Some do some good in the world, but I'll be damned if I blindly follow a fallible man that isn't free from sin."

"My...my daddy is a pastor."

"I said what I said. I bet my father's rings your father fits in one of those categories."

"H-how could you say something like that? You don't even know him."

"Tell me about your mother, Squeak," Erik deflected.

"I don't have a mother. She died soon after I was born."

"No stepmother?"

"No."

"Never?"

"Never. Erik, where are you going with this?"

"Your choice of clothing attire is very...telling. Do you choose to dress like that?"

"No. My daddy picks out my clothes for me."

"So...your "daddy" dresses you like a child?"

"Tell me about your father," I deflected.

"You should look up Jacob King. I would tell you more, but it looks like we have company," Erik said as he pointed towards the window.

My soul left my body when I found my father glowering at us through the window.

God. Please forgive me. This is why you've been M.I.A today. You knew I'd need you more now than before. Dealing with Tucker and Erik was small potatoes compared to this. 

10/15/2022

Author's Note:

Y'all pray for Jezebel because...

In the next chapter, we'll find out more about Erik's father. I know there were some questions about him.