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As usual when I have issues to work out, I go to one of two people in whom I find it easy to confide: my older sister, Lisa.
Typically, I would have used her to let out my frustration and arousal, as unmarried people within the compound serve this purpose. But now that I have found Diana, the thought oftouching anyone — even someone as beautiful as my sister — makes me feel sick to my stomach.
I find her at the church, practicing with the choir. Mother Catherine, Father Oliver’s wife, directs them, while he plays the piano. Normally I would speak to Father Oliver about any issues I have, but I need a woman’s touch.
When they finish their song, Mother Catherine calls for a break and my sister spots me immediately, coming to sit in the pew next to me as she downs her water.
“What brings you by? Ready to sing with us?” She nudges me playfully.
“I’ll leave the hymns to the choir and focus on my sermons,” I reply. “Actually, I wanted your advice, as my sister, not as a church member.”
Nodding, she leans back in the pew. “Of course. I assume it’s about your little plaything in the basement?”
“Diana is myfiancée, not a toy,” I scold her.
“Right, right. Sorry. Anyway, what’s up?”
I sigh, toying with my ponytail. This is out of my depth entirely. “I need something to balance out the punishment and training. Diana has stopped talking back, mostly stopped cursing, and is generally responding well. She is even eating better. She deserves something but the reward part of ‘punish and reward’ … eludes me.”
Lisa chuckles. “You know, women really aren’t that mysterious.” She holds out her hand, showing her manicure. “We like cosmetics, soft things, nice smells…”
“Are you saying my house stinks?” I arch an eyebrow at her.
“No! I’m saying that basement is bare and uncomfortable and sterile. Give her something cute, something soft, something that isn’t monochrome,” Lisa explains. “Home comforts whileshe is in your home. At least for now, until her training is over and she can come upstairs.”
I smile at my sister. “Thank you. I should have thought of that myself.”
She rolls her eyes. “I was always the socially smart sibling. You had your books to tend to.” She stands and pats my shoulder. “Good luck with her. If you ask me, God gave you quite the challenge, Pastor-in-Training.”
He has. But I trust God sent me Diana for a reason, to help me grow and to help save the woman my soul was made for.
I head back home and double check Diana’s ID for her address in the city before I drive over in a bit. It’s about an hour away and in a neighborhood that must once have been nice, but the pandemic, inflation, and the wicked ways of our politicians have caused it to fall into disrepair, according to a quick Google search.
A shame.
Sister Lisa said home comforts; I must agree the basement is bare. And Diana has behaved the past three weeks. She is owed something.
Also, she has bills that will accumulate. I should go settle things with her landlord, electric company, things like that. After I ensure Diana has been brought lunch, I head to the address on her ID, wrinkling my nose at the location once I arrive. I feel as if I may get stabbed just getting out of my car.
The six-flat is derelict, and that’s being polite. Once Diana has earned it and I can take her out of the basement, I’m sure she will love my little lakeside home much better than this Hellhole.
The front door isn’t even locked; I enter it easily. Her apartment is on the top floor, to the left. The little pink rabbit keychain reminds me I made the right choice with her. This bit of whimsy and childlike wonder means she can still be saved.
Unlocking her door, the apartment looks barely lived in at all. Threadbare carpet, walls once white, now gray, a window facing the gangway, and worn, old furniture. Not even a TV. Nothing to suggest comfort whatsoever. Except the pile of ratty, secondhand books against one wall. Peering closer, they are all Young Adult fantasy and paranormal; some classics. My girl apparently likes to read.
In the bathroom, the nicest thing in there appears to be cosmetics. I take the facial cleansers and body wash, putting them into a bag I brought with me. They could be used to bargain with her as well.
The kitchen is more well-used, but the food in there is scant, cheap, and generic. My nose involuntarily wrinkles.
Finally, her bedroom. This looks like a room she took care of. The bed doesn’t look new, but the mattress is high, and the worn sheets look comfortable. So does the pile of pillows and 2 plush toys. There are posters of some pop star on the walls.
The TV is in here, facing the bed. It’s small, looks more like a desktop monitor than a TV.
Inside the closet, none of these clothes can be salvaged. My future wife can’t be seen in ratty, cut-up t-shirts and certainly not in the clothes she wore while streetwalking. Those can be burnt. The others can be donated, whatever isn’t cut up or full of holes. I make notes in my phone; I will send some of the church ladies over. I’m sure Sister Lisa can spare some of them for a day to help pack up and donate things.
Home comforts.
I’m a man who needs little, always have been. But I know many who need collectibles and things like that to feel comfortable. Diana has earned something.
