Jezebel

I gawked at Erik, still reeling at his confession. While the thought of my father suddenly dying crossed my mind a few times while my father was torturing me, I wouldn't want his death on my hands.

"No, Erik. You can't kill him," I whispered as he backed me into my bedroom.

"Why not?"

"It's a sin, and you could go to prison!"

"According to our school's over-the-hill football coach, I'll be incarcerated by the time I'm 21."

"Why would he say something like that?"

"He wasn't fond of my tattoos."

My eyes zeroed in on the intricate rose and expansive spiderweb that covered his neck.

"You do have a lot of tattoos," I whispered as I traced the exposed inked skin.

"It looks like dear ol' daddy left you with a few tats of your own," Erik mentioned. I hissed when he poked one of the fingermark bruises on my neck. "You have five seconds to convince me not to slit your dad's throat."

"Because what happened to me was your fault." Erik's eyes widened in surprise. "If you wouldn't have abducted me, then I wouldn't have been late getting home, and he wouldn't have had to find me."

"Careful. It sounds like you're making excuses for your abuser," Erik lowly warned.

"That's not what's happening at all, but you need to take accountability. I-I need an apology, Erik."

"You don't want that," he refused.

"I do," I stubbornly replied.

"No, you don't, and I'll tell you why. I am a clinically diagnosed sociopath, so if I ever said sorry to you, I'd be lying. The apology would be as empty as my soul."

"Oh...well, that explains a lot actually. I knew something was seriously off about you," I sighed. My eyebrows knitted together in confusion when Erik began to chuckle. "What's so funny?"

"You talk a lot more than I expected."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't want your apology, but what I do want to know is why your dresser is pushed in front of your bedroom door. Did your dad touch you or something?"

"Obviously," I remarked, pointing to the bruises on my neck.

"You're a comedian. Did your father touch you sexually?"

"What!?" I shrieked. Erik swiftly clamped his hand over my mouth.

"Shut the fuck up, or your dad will hear us!" Erik seethed before ripping his hand away.

"I'm sorry, but that question came out of nowhere, and it's disgusting!"

Erik produced his cell phone from his pocket, punched in the code, and handed it to me after a few clicks. "Press play when you're ready." Erik walked off, leaving me to my own devices. I silently watched him as he toured my bedroom. He caressed the sheer curtain of my canopy between his tattooed fingers before swatting some of my stuffies onto the floor like a misbehaving cat. I wanted to ask him if that was necessary but refrained. Chances were, whatever the response, I wouldn't like it. I narrowed my eyes at him when he pretended to gag at my Sunday School Student of the Year award but was mildly impressed when he didn't comment. Erik's next stop was in front of a chest where I laid my clothes out for school the next morning. He gave the uninspiring dress a tsk before snatching up my stockings. I rolled my eyes when he began playfully stretching them out and then whipping them above his head like a helicopter.

He is just a child with tattoos and a bad attitude.

Erik grew bored of the stocking helicopter and focused his attention on a crucifix on the wall. He closely observed it, and I knew he was up to no good. I picked up a tennis shoe and threw it at him when he started to rotate it upside down.

"Don't do that!" I harshly whispered.

"Watch the video, Squeak," he reprimanded.

"Behave," I warned before focusing on his phone. My face morphed in confusion, then finally disgust the longer the video played.

"So, what do you think?" Erik asked once he exited my closet wearing one of my favorite dresses. It was a white lace dress that I wore every first Sunday of the month for communion.

"Please take my dress off."

"If you say so," Erik sighed. The oxygen left my body when he crossed the room and lifted my nightgown over my hips. Out of instinct to protect myself, I slapped Erik so hard that he stumbled and had to catch himself from falling.

"Why did you do that?" I was nearly in tears as I pulled my nightgown down, making sure that it was in place, almost dusting the floors.

"You told me to take off your dress. You even said please," Erik answered as he rubbed his face.

"Erik, this is a nightgown, and you know it. I-I think you should leave."

"I'm not leaving. I have to keep you safe from your father. You heard the recording. Your dad referred to you as his woman. Squeak, I hate to be the bearer of bad news—no, I don't, but what I'm trying to say is that your father is 3000% grooming you, and if he hasn't touched you yet, then he will. Especially since another man is encroaching on his territory. I mean, look at your room and your clothes; it's all pink and frills. If he tells you that he dresses you like that to protect your modesty, then you're lying. He dresses you like that to turn other men off. Has he ever done anything that made you uncomfortable and questioned if other fathers behaved in that manner?"

One instance immediately stuck out in my mind. For my 18th birthday, my father took me to see a gynecologist for a young woman's exam. Although I was 18, he forced me to sign a HIPAA form to release my medical information to him. I thought it was very strange that I was an adult woman, and he wanted to know about my feminine health. I refused to sign at first until he berated me and told me that I was hiding something from him just like a Jezebel. I signed the form and wiped away the tears. After the embarrassing exam was finished, my father stepped into the exam room and asked the doctor if I was still a virgin. The doctor felt uncomfortable and refused to answer the question before asking us to leave.

"Erik...while I appreciate your concerns, I barely know you, and I don't feel comfortable sharing parts of my life with you. I don't trust you, but what I can say is that I've never been molested by my father."

He nodded a resignation.

"Fair enough. You shouldn't trust anyone, but why go as far as barricading yourself in your bedroom?"

I'm not answering that. No way am I going to tell him that my father practically waterboarded me earlier while shouting Bible scriptures and prayers at me.

"I'm going to sleep, Erik. I think it's time for you to leave."

"But I thought we'd stay up and watch The Color Purple," Erik said, producing a DVD from his backpack. I accepted the DVD from him and examined the cover. It was an older version made out of cardboard, and it had certainly seen some wear and tear. I opened the case and found a message written on the inside of the cover.

"Happy birthday to my beautiful son, Erik. Love Dad," I whispered.

"He gave it to me after we saw it on Broadway. I miss him."

"Where is he? What happened to him? He didn't die, did he?"

"No, he's alive and well in prison."

"Oh, my goodness. What did he do?"

"Look him up like I said. Are we going to watch this movie or not?" Erik challenged.

On one hand, I want to toss Erik and my favorite dress out the window, but on the other hand, it is nice having someone around who isn't bullying me.

"You can stay under a few conditions."

"I'm listening," Erik confirmed with a devilish grin.

"You take my dress off, you stay on top of the comforter, and you leave as soon as the movie is over."

"That's it?"

"Yes. That's it."

"Cool. Let's work on that first condition, shall we?"

My mouth gaped open when Erik took off the dress, leaving him bare with the exception of his boxer briefs. My body was going haywire; rapid beating heart, sweaty palms, temperature rising, clouded judgment. I couldn't snatch my attention away from his inked muscled flesh. The tattoos were everywhere like a graffiti mural you'd find downtown.

"E-excuse me...I have to go to the bathroom," I stammered before rushing away. I gently closed the door and locked it behind me. I tore my nightgown off and removed my panties, thinking I had unexpectedly started my period. I ran my fingers between my thighs and was surprised to find an abundance of a white milky substance. I understood the concept of discharge, but this was something completely different.

Soft knocking stole my attention.

"Hurry up, Squeak."

"I-I'm coming," I mumbled as I threw my panties into my dirty clothes hamper; they were soaked. I cleaned myself up and donned my nightgown again. "Stop being weird, Jezebel. Everything will be fine," I whispered to myself in the mirror as I washed my hands. I splashed cold water against my face and dried it.

I can do this.

Jezebel's father is sick...we all know that.

Erik has a playful side, and I was laughing when he attempted to invert her cross. That's such an Erik thing to do. When he put on the dress, I kinda imagined Joker when he impersonated a nurse and blew the hospital up.

Clearly, Jezebel liked what she saw. Poor, Stink, lol.