Mason grasped my hand firmly, leading us away from my father's unwelcome presence.
"Can we please leave? I don't want to see him," I pleaded, my gaze fixated on the ground as we walked.
"Sure, no problem," Mason responded, his voice laced with concern. I withdrew my hand from his, taking out my phone to send a quick message to Lexi. Her swift reply brought a smile to my face.
"She said her parents are fine with driving them back. They want more time with her and Zach," I shared, slipping my phone into my back pocket. Nervously, I clutched onto my dog tag, finding peace in its presence—a tiny source of courage.
As Mason pressed the remote, the car's indicators blinked, momentarily illuminating the surroundings. In that burst of light, I caught sight of a trailing shadow. I knew exactly who it belonged to.
"Dad, come out. I know you're following me," I called out, crossing my arms with a mix of annoyance and apprehension. His head peered out from behind some shrubs, and my disappointment deepened.
"State your name!" he bellowed, his voice carrying a tinge of aggression.
"Dad, come on. It's me, Quinn," I replied, growing tired of his bizarre behaviour.
"State your name!" he insisted, his tone growing more forceful.
"Uh, it's Quinn. Dad, just come out. What are you doing here?" I implored, hoping to understand his intentions.
"I've come to save my daughter. State your name, demon, or I'll call upon divine help," he declared, holding his Bible aloft as if it were a protective shield.
"Dad, I'm not possessed," I sighed, rolling my eyes. Mason couldn't help but chuckle, fully aware of the absurdity of the situation. Slowly, my father emerged from the bushes, brandishing his cross and Bible as if they were weapons aimed at me.
"He's serious?" Mason whispered in disbelief, his expression mirroring my own embarrassment. I gritted my teeth and nodded, the weight of the situation pressing down on me.
"My daughter would never lead a sinful life. I raised her better than that. And when she reached adulthood, you took her away from me!" anger etched deep lines across his face, accentuating his wild eyes.
"Dad, when I 'came of age,' I wanted to experience life. I wanted to embrace it, especially after..." I trailed off, sensing his resistance to hear me out.
"Stop! Stop talking, demon!" he interrupted, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a small plastic bottle. I raised my hands in surrender, a knot forming in my stomach, fearing the worst—a harmful chemical or acid. Protective, Mason positioned himself in front of me, shielding me from any harm.
As my father uncapped the bottle, he lunged to the side, flinging the clear liquid with a force that splattered across my face. The cascading droplets drenched my hair and seeped through the fabric of my shirt, leaving a chilling trail. To my surprise, the liquid also managed to graze Mason's sleeve, a testament to my father's skilled side-angle throw.
"Water? Thank God it's just water," I murmured, grateful that it was a harmless substance.
"Holy water? Really, Dad?" I wiped my face with my hand, the remnants of the liquid leaving a faint residue. I couldn't help but spit out the remaining drops, disbelief evident in my voice.
"But... if you're not possessed... then... you chose to do those things? You CHOSE?!" My father's hands dropped to his sides, his face a mask of sheer distress, as if my choices had wounded him more deeply than any supernatural affliction ever could.
"Yes, Dad, that's exactly what I've been trying to tell you. I wanted to experience life like any normal person. Dancing, singing, drawing, wearing makeup—they're not sins, Dad. They're just expressions of who I am." I softened my tone, hoping to bridge the gap between us, watching as he wiped away a few tear-stained trails.
"Yes, yes, they are sins, Quinn! Even the way you were touching that boy just now. No physical contact until you're married! You've been tainted now! And the worst part is, you've defiled your body with those markings! The Bible clearly states not to mark your body, and you've deliberately gone against God. You're now Satan's bride!" His voice cracked, and he sank to his knees, clutching his crucifix to his chest, murmuring incomprehensible prayers.
Mason's head snapped in my direction, his eyes widening with a mix of concern and confusion.
"Defiled your body? What does he mean?" Mason's eyebrows furrowed, his concern evident in his gaze.
"It's not important. Don't pay attention to him," I replied, shaking my head in an attempt to brush off the hurtful remarks. But inside, my heart clenched, weighed down by the stress of the situation.
"Dad, I'm sorry if my choices have caused you and Mum pain, but I can't continue living my life locked away, constantly seeking your approval," I confessed, tears welling up in my eyes, threatening to spill over.
"After you and Mom cut me off, I realized that no matter how hard I tried, I could never be what you wanted me to be. I spent my whole life trying to fit into your mold, but I'm exhausted from making myself sick, worrying about your and Mum's opinions. I can't do it anymore. You used to make me feel ashamed of who I am, but this is who I am. I can't be ashamed of myself any more." I let a solitary tear trace its path down my cheek, quickly wiping it away before anyone else could see. Mason's comforting hand rested in the middle of my back, offering comfort for the raw pain inflicted by my parents.
My father slowly rose from his knees, his head hanging low as he approached me. Suddenly, he gripped my wrist with an intensity that sent tingles of numbness radiating through my fingers. His gaze lifted, and in his eyes, I saw an overwhelming surge of hatred.
"You're not ashamed of what you've done? Look at what you've done to your body! If you're truly unashamed, then why hide it? Why not proudly display to the world what Satan's whore looks like!" His voice boomed, mere centimetres from my face, as he began tugging forcefully at the sleeve of my shirt, attempting to tear it off. In that moment, Mason swiftly intervened, placing himself between us, shielding me from my father's escalating aggression. I struggled against my father's grasp, my voice growing louder.
"Dad, please, let me go! I'm not ten years old anymore!" I yelled back, a mix of frustration, fear, and desperation colouring my words. Though he was still my father, he terrified me even now, and while I didn't want to resort to violence, I refused to be a helpless victim in his presence.
Mason swiftly moved, encircling his arms around my father's waist and forcefully pulling him away from me. The sound of fabric tearing filled the air as we were forcibly separated. Mason released his grip on my father's waist, but he still maintained a firm hold on his shirt. My father, his laughter tinged with madness, fell back onto the gravel, his eyes fixed on me.
The right sleeve of my blouse had been ripped clean off at the seam, baring my arm and exposing the black and grey tattoos that adorned it, stretching from my hand up to my collarbone. These were the marks I had chosen to embrace when I made the decision to leave home and truly live life. I rubbed my arm, a mix of vulnerability and determination swirling within me. I couldn't alter the past, nor did I desire to. This was my true self, and I had no choice but to confront it head-on.
"You disgust me!" My father spat venomously, spittle landing on the ground beside him. Tired of being spoken to in such a degrading manner, after enduring years of his and my mother's hurtful words, something inside me snapped.
"Well, nothing has changed, has it? You've always been disgusted with me, no matter how hard I tried," I retorted, my voice charged with anger.
"I'm done, Dad. Completely done!" Pushing my hands out in front of me, I started walking toward the car. In the background, I heard Mason's low voice, issuing a veiled threat to my father, followed by his steady footsteps drawing nearer.
"You're going to burn in hell, girl. You belong to Satan now. When the time comes for your funeral, your mother and I won't be there," my father sneered, a sick satisfaction seeping into his words. I paused by the car door, my hand gripping the handle tightly.
"Well, here's some good news for you, Dad. You won't have to wait that long!" I declared, my voice laced with a mix of anger and defiance. With a forceful motion, I swung open the car door and slammed it shut. Mason started the car, backing up slightly before shifting into drive. I cast one final glance at my father, witnessing his futile act of throwing his bible at the car, before we drove away, leaving him and my painful past behind us.