Yeah, that was an eye-opener.
It was then I knew.
That my life was not as it seemed. My community was not typical. We were not like other communities.
We were different.
Horribly different.
After that horrible night, I prayed daily for God to help me, send someone, anyone who could save me from my fate. Only I wasn’t so sure God was listening anymore. For so long, I had been a part of my community, helping and doing as I was directed. Was I culpable, guilty by association? I prayed for forgiveness daily, hoping that God would grant me his mercy. Yet, I knew there were certain things that even God couldn’t forgive, and I was pretty sure that worshiping Satan was one of them, well, along with murder. Though I was innocent of murder, I worried I was guilty of worshiping Satan.
Was I? Was I guilty? I didn’t know.
My whole life, my Uncle was a pilar in our community. A man people sought out for advice, for his thoughts and his friendship. He was liked by everyone. He was our leader and respected by all.
Growing up in our community, I thought I was like everyone else. I did as my Uncle instructed, I went to school and got good grades, I never dated, for all intense and purposes, I was a good Christian girl. I believed in God and lived by his commandments.
Well, that was until I learned the truth.
That was two years ago when I witnessed my Uncle kill a woman. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I just wanted to get a glass of water, but when I headed downstairs, I overheard something unusual. Moving closer to the bottom step, I noticed the woman on the floor, a man up by her head, holding her arms, as my Uncle did horrible, nasty things to her, but when he plunged the dagger into her chest, I almost screamed.
I then learned the truth about our community I lived in and what was expected of me. When I refused, saying it wasn’t God’s way, my Uncle whipped me until I blacked out.
It was the first time he’d ever struck me.
And it wasn’t the last.
For the next two years, I refused to accept my fate within our community, and whenever I refused, my Uncle would beat me senseless, saying that he was doing the Lord’s work.
The night I witnessed the woman's death, I was taken to our community chapel, where elderly women of our community explained what it meant to be a blessing to our church. The true blessing was a submissive, docile offering that let men use their bodies for pleasure. According to them, it was the greatest gift I could ever give a man.
The problem with that was I didn’t believe it.
I wanted no part of it.
Nope. I wasn’t anyone’s offering.
If my Uncle was doing the lord's work, I wanted no part of it anymore.
I was done.
I learned later that to be a proper offering, one had to willingly submit. And for me, that was my way out. I absolutely refused. I believed in God, the one and true holy father, and he was the only one who would ever make me change my mind.
That was until I met Balthazar.
I wish I could say that meeting Balthazar was like some divine intervention, but it wasn’t. There was something about the strong, virile man that called to me. Maybe it was his many tattoos or piercing silver eyes that could bore into one’s soul. Perhaps it was his cavalier attitude or the way he told my Uncle to go to hell where he belonged. I couldn’t rightly say. I only knew that Balthazar wasn’t like any man I’d ever met before. He was a man of his own mind and didn’t take to orders well. When my Uncle had enough of him and branded him. Balthazar fought so bravely, sending two men to hell and damn near maiming my Uncle in the process.
The man was an answer to my prayers. Sent from God, in my opinion, to serve justice to our community and save me in the process. I only prayed that he remembered his promise before he left. I prayed that he would come back and save me from what was about to happen.
Staring out my window into the dark night, I prayed that Balthazar wouldn’t forget me. I prayed that he made it home safely and found the people he needed to help him. He was kind to me for a short time he was here, and never once did he do or say anything to give me pause. I could tell just by looking at him he wasn’t part of our community, and I was forever thankful for that. He was a man of his word, and for that reason alone, I trusted him.
I believed him when he said he would come back for me.
I believed him when he said he would bring help.
Seeing the calendar on the wall, I prayed he hurried because I only had one day left. I told him exactly that before he left, and he swore to me that nothing but death would prohibit him from returning.
That was six days ago.