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“Diana, honey, this is for your own good. Look at me, look around at how we’re living. Do you know how many men I’ve been forced to sleep with just to survive? I had no other options.”
She’s never admitted that to me outright—she’s never once brought them to the house—though I’ve had my suspicions.
“It’s because of my sins,” she whispers. “Do you understand?”
I nod, wiping my tears and sniffling. Of course, I understand. I’ve been weak, letting these awful thoughts about those two men fester in my mind.
I’ve had awful thoughts, not just about Tommy and Remy…evil thoughts about Mama, who loves me so deeply. Kneeling beside me, her voice is clearer than it had been since Papa left. “My mistakes cost me everything. Weakness allowed the devil inside me, and he never let go. But he gave me you, and I can’t lose you to him.” Overwhelmed, I dropped to my knees, sprawling across the couch, my back bare. “God will forgive you, child,” she continues, “but first, you need to forgive yourself.”
She strikes me once with the belt, and I remember little of what happens afterward.
DIDI
All I can smell is tea.
The tea Mama and I used to have for the precious years growing up. I used to love having tea parties with Mama—the little cubes of sugar, a touch of milk to make it just right. She was the best at throwing tea parties, especially after church.
It was my favorite smell in the world. It was safe, spicy, and warm.
Mama used to give me tea to help me sleep when the nightmares got bad.
Soft hands run along the side of my face. Gentle strokes and humming. I try to open my eyes, but my head is spinning and pulses through my skull.
I snap to my senses.
Tea.
Mama gave me tea that made me sleepy.
“Mama,” I moan and try to jerk up but can barely move. My body is weak. My mouth and lips are dry, and I’m nearly paralyzed.
The room is dark, just how I like it. My cheek is smashed against the side of the coiled mattress, and I can make out the bloodstain on the floor a few feet away. The bloodstains no one ever bothered to clean up.
As the moon shines in my window, a draft hits my white curtains, and I see her standing there watching me. The girl who used to live here shimmers along the wall. Her hair is in pigtails, and she looks a couple of years younger than me. Eyes thick and ashen, she tilts her head and smiles as if she wants to say hi.
My stomach twists in every direction. As if seeing her means I am on the wrong side of heaven.
I keep my eyes peeled on her. “Mama,” I cry out again. “Mama!”
My back throbs as the memory of Mama punishing me with those lashes rushes back and the darkness that followed.
“Mama,” I moan again, and the girl disappears into the moonlight while the blood spot seems to get thicker. Mama’s music is playing in the other room. That song plays on repeat and will haunt my dreams forever.
Who wears white satin anyway?
“Mama, please come here,” I weep as the ghost girl disappears entirely. I’ve learned one thing about living so far away from others: screaming is pointless, so I don’t bother.
Mama comes rushing in with a candle, casting a dull light that nearly blinds me. My eyes adjust to see her wearing her Sunday church dress—the red one with puffy sleeves—and her hair is curled so nicely.
Why does Mama look so pretty?
“Diana, sweetheart. You’re finally awake.” She kneels and presses a warm cloth to my forehead. I’m sweaty, I realize, hot like I’m burning up from fever.
“Mama, what’s going on?” I ask under a layer of fog.
I’m not sure what she gave me, but I can barely move. Sometimes she takes pills, so I wonder if she gave me one of those pills that helps her relax.
“Don’t worry about anything, sweetheart,” she whispers. “It will all be over soon.”
