As he hits me with the belt I scream out in pain. “You want to be like your brother huh!”
Dad screams, then he whacks me again. My back and sides are bright red, and some places have started bleeding. “No!” I scream in agony, the pain finally beginning to get to me. “I want to be a good girl! A good god-believing girl!” Dad stops beating me for a second. “Good.” He said, he grabbed me and moves me off my bed. He takes away the mattress and moves it to the living room, he comes back and grabs my arm. He takes me to the bathroom. “Wash up, I don't want to see blood when you get out you hear?” he says in a stern tone, “yes sir,” I reply. I hate it here, I wish Judas could have taken me with him. It's so frustrating. Mom passed over a year ago from food poisoning. Everyone says that they think my dad did it, but I don't think he did. Since mom passed Dad has only gotten worse. “Mary! I don't hear water running! Hurry up!” he shouts through the door, “yes sir!” I say back, quickly starting the shower. I get into the shower, the hot water stings the welts and cuts on my body. The blood is washing down the drain. It hurts. The pain only gets worse as I wash my body. The soap mixed with the blood, making it pink. Once I finish I see my nightgown sitting on the sink. I get dressed and walk out of the bathroom. Dad is on the couch, he's reading something. “Mary, you want to explain this to me?” he says as he holds up the stack of letters I wrote for Judas. The letters included me stating how I wish I could have gone with him, and how I don't know if god can help him anymore. I go pale, my skin feeling cold. He comes to me and snatches my wrist. He drags me to the praying closet. “No! I don't want to pray to him! You need to! Not me!” I start shouting, but he doesn't listen. He tosses me in and said “you pray for forgiveness for what you've done. Maybe in the next week or so, you can get out.” I start to cry, loud ugly crying. Wailing. Each cry comes with screams as he closes and locks the door from the outside. The snot and tears from my face mix now. The closet has crosses hung all over the walls, with psalms written by them. The psalms are in gold ink, I remember when Judas and I helped Dad and Mom write them. The praying closet used to be something nice. You could come and ask for help, without judgment, but after Mom passed Dad made it a punishment. We’d stay in here for weeks. One time Judas stayed for a month in here, and when he was let out he ran away. I don't blame him. “Pray damn it! Apologize for what you did to me!” he screams from the other side of the door, “god give me strength to live in the hell you’ve put me in! For I can no longer bare it! The devil on the other side of this door is too strong for me! Come and take me god, for I want to be able to walk through your gates and feel safe again!” I say I repeat it over and over. Word for word. Every time I say it I get louder and louder, the tears still rolling down my face. I start banging on the door as I chant. The blood from my wounds stain my nightgown, but I keep chanting. “Mary! Stop this right now! I mean it girl!” Dad yells, I keep chanting. My body shaking with rage. I grab a cross off the wall, I keep chanting, and I dig the cross into my side, hitting the worst cut on my body. I keep digging the cross into my side. The more blood that runs the more my chants come out as screams. I can't take the pain, I collapse onto the floor. I feel myself getting weak. I keep shoving it into me. I feel the jolt of pain as the crosses end entirely goes into my side. I gasp, the pain is unbearable. But it's amazing. The stress and torture finally leaving me. The feeling of going home. Going back to god, going to Mom. The pain starts to fade, and so does my vision. The last thing I can see is Dad opening the door and starting to cry. It's all gone, finally. I'm free from hell. He can not hurt me anymore.