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I sighed, It was a simple question yet the answer wasn’t so simple.
“Growing up I never really had a safe space,” He turned to face me and he just stared but his eyes,
They are softer.
“Reading became my safe space when things got a little rough to handle. A place between pages where I could block out the rest of the world and just breathe. Places and characters on amazing adventures full of people that loved each other so fiercely and wouldn’t judge me for what I was or what I had done.”
“And what is it that you think you are?”
“A monster.”
“Why do you believe you’re a monster?”
Because that is what I was always told I was.
“It’s what my mother always said I was.”
I looked up and saw Lucifer staring at me with a curious yet intrigued look on his face.
How much do I want this guy to know?
“Gabriel said that you said you and your mother never got along?”
I nodded back,
“Nothing I ever did was good enough. I only made mistakes. It just seemed like everything I did pissed her off even more. Especially when I decided to question things that my mother believed and turned from her beliefs.”
He nodded,
“You were raised-”
“My mother and father were catholic and raised my brothers to be as well, they attempted to raise me the same as well but it didn’t work out so well.”
“You don’t believe in my father?”
I took a deep breath before answering him,
“My entire life I have been told if I wanted things to happen then to pray and he would listen and answer them and I did for a while. Nothing happened.”
Growing up I had prayed and prayed and prayed for help but no one listened it seemed, and after a while, after years of unanswered prayers I began to hate him. To hate God.
“People used to ask me what God had ever done to me to make me turn from him, I used to laugh in their face, what has he done to me? besides give me an absent father and a narcissistic, abusive mother?”
A dark laugh left me as I gazed up at the dark sky that matched how I felt inside. Dark. Void. Empty.
“Where was God when my mother took that belt to my flesh? Where was he when I would pray for someone to stop her? Where was he when I prayed at night to take the pain away? Where was he when I prayed to let me fall asleep and never wake up again?”
I closed my eyes, fighting back the tears that were desperate to escape me. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t cry now. There were so many nights that I had cried myself to sleep, praying that that night would be my last and I would finally get to know some sort of peace. But no matter how hard I prayed or wished, I always woke up, forced to be subjected to another day of life. After a few years, I stopped. Stopped praying to a false deity. Stopped listening to the stories. Stopped participating in the church’s activities. I paid the price for it, many times. Sometimes with a belt and sometimes with words.
I opened my eyes to find Lucifer staring at me, his eyes piercing through me as if he could see every part of me. Every vulnerable piece that I had laid out in front of him.
“Your father is someone who does nothing but gets all the praise.”
“I agree.”
His answer surprised me. I turned to face him as he continued,
“My father is someone people will pray to for help and guidance but they will do whatever it takes to make those prayers happen and then they will thank him for their hard work. They do the work, he gets the praise. It’s ridiculous.”
