Chapter Eleven

Thomas

I LEAVE DIANA after relieving my aching balls all over those beautiful, bruised breasts. Just thinking how the colors will deepen to a kaleidoscope of red, purple, and green by tomorrow could make me hard again.

This was my biggest challenge yet since joining the community. Could I do what I needed to do, despite knowing it would arouse me, without taking her? Without making her mine, without forcing her to worship me as she should? Could I prove I changed from the man I used to be before I joined?

And I passed the test. I proved myself. I proved that my transformation was nearly complete, that God worked within me since arriving here. Despite temptation, I did not succumb.

Diana is so beautiful. So strong yet fragile. I see the sweetness below the hardened exterior her life on the streets caused her to build around her heart. I just need to figure out how else to reach her. I need a bridge of sorts.

I have applied the physical aspects, but she seems to reject anything emotional. Something has to bridge it, to make her more comfortable with me.

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 of touching 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 my fiancée , 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 while she 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.

Leaning across her bed, I grab one of the two stuffed toys: a ratty, old red and black gingham bear with mismatched white button eyes and a badly sewn-on nose. Its mouth gives a friendly, lopsided smile. The rabbit that matches the keychain can stay. This thing looks much more … loved.

"Diana?" a woman's trembling voice calls. "Diana, thank God! It's been three weeks, I was worried something happened to you—" The woman cuts off as I enter the living room, her face turning ghost white.

Diana was angry with me; never once these past three weeks have I seen fear on her face. I don't want her to fear me; no one should be in fear of another human.

This woman? The word petrified would not be enough to describe what I see in her eyes. And there is a green bruise on her face that makeup can't hide.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Wait," I call, wishing my voice wasn't naturally deep and commanding. I don't want to scare this woman further.

She turns to me, visibly trembling.

"Diana is my fiancée," I tell her. "I was just getting a few things for her." I hold up the bag and doll.

She looks less scared now; more sad and despondent as tears come to her eyes. Looking away from me, she nods. "I'm glad she's getting out of this Hellhole. I hope she never sets foot here again. Can you … can you tell her I said thank you for protecting Whitney and helping me out when she could?"

"Protecting?" I ask. Shaking my head, I decide I will ask Diana. "Of course I'll tell her, Miss?" I pause, waiting for her to give her name.

"Thompson. Mrs. Thompson. My husband passed but I still prefer missus," she explains, raising her eyes to meet mine. "Congratulations to you both. But if I may, ensure you cancel her lease if you haven't already. Rick will come after her for lost money."

"Rick is the landlord?"

She shivers. "Not surprised Diana never mentioned him. Anyway, I need to figure some things out, I'm sorry. Congratulations again!" She scurries away, hunched over as if preparing for an attack.

Something doesn't sit right with me, and I need to have a talk with my fiancée.

Back at home, I go right down to the basement and knock on the door before I open it, finding Diana sitting on the edge of the bed, looking off into the distance. Sometimes when she does this, she looks pained. Today, however, she looks happy. I almost wish I didn't have to disturb her.

"Diana."

At her name, she jumps and turns towards me, watching me with wary eyes.

"I have questions for you." I shut the door and walk towards her, shocked when she doesn't flinch, just moves over to let me sit. Good. I don't want her scared of me. What I do is for her own good. I think, deep down, she knows that.

"First … I brought you something," I admit, reaching into the bag to pull out the teddy bear.

Her hard, wary eyes fill with tears, and I see the girl she once was, the woman she could be. Whatever happened in between those two periods to bring her to the life I saved her from, I hope to erase it completely.

She nearly snatches the bear from me, clutching it to her chest, as tears fall down her sweet face.

"I went to your old apartment," I admit.

For the first time, I see terror in her eyes. "Why would you— Wait. You mean where I live now?"

"Lived," I correct, mentally tabling another discussion I will need to have with her. Where on Earth did she live before? Was she not with family? "You live here now."

She clutches the bear tighter to her chest, no longer looking at me. Ah well. In time she will come to think of my home as her home. As soon as I finish my work with her.

"I ran into someone there, a Mrs. Thompson."

Her eyes widen, but still she doesn't look at me. "Is she okay? What about Whitney, her daughter?"

"She didn't look well, and appeared to panic when I said you wouldn't be returning," I say. "She told me to thank you for protecting her daughter, and she was glad you got out of that building."

Diana is silent.

"What goes on there that you needed to protect her child?" I press.

She shakes her head so hard her hair flies.

I nudge the bag with the cosmetics closer. "Let's cooperate here. It's not anything you did wrong, is it?"

She shakes her head again.

I push the bag even closer to her. "I brought you something else from home."

With a side-eyed glance, as if I'll bite, she peers inside, her pretty mouth forming a little O shape.

"Tell me exactly what went on in your apartment, and you can have these, too."

"You need to believe me…" She trails off for a second. "There's nothing you can do."

"Let me be the judge of that."

"You don't get it." Her voice is hard, angry, hurt. "I tell you, you will go to the police. And they'll pretend to investigate, and Rick will … no. No . I won't make things any worse for them!"

"Diana. Look at me."

She does, determination aflame in her eyes. I would never tell her, but I love that look. As much as I want to break her, I must do so carefully. This spark is one I will love in my wife. I do not wish for meek and submissive always. Submissive to me in many ways, yes, but never meek in such a way as she has no personality.

Sometimes even I like to play with fire.

"Do you believe I would go to the police when they may come here to question me? I do not know this Rick person, but I am sure he would, as most other heathens, happily throw me to the wolves to save his own skin." I gesture to her. "I know what I have done is not wrong. The law sees things in black and white, not shades of gray."

She is silent, so I continue.

"It seems he has done horrible things; he should be punished. But only you can help me do that. Consider this part of your training. To trust in me, and to condemn those within your past."

"I need you to make me a promise. You won't let Whitney or her mom be hurt." Her eyes soften. "Please."

That word shocks me to my core. I have put her through three weeks of my restructural training for her body and soul, and never once has she begged for anything. Yet, on someone else's behalf, she lowers herself to pleading.

"I promise."

She sighs and sits back, so her back is against the bare stone wall, still clutching the bear for dear life.

"He is assigned to the public aid office and Section 8. For poor people," she adds, as if I don't know what that is. "He is marked as a safe space for young women and mothers. He's not."

Her eyes turn dull; so sudden, it startles me.

"When I moved in, it was about ten months ago now, I didn't have much. And the lease said we got three days leeway for late rent. Well … he wanted it that night, when he showed up at my apartment, letting himself in with his keys." She glances at me and then away. "I'm sure you can guess what happened next."

My stomach churns. There is a reason aside from wanting her body and soul equally cleansed that I have not properly had sex with her. When I'm inside her, I need her to beg me for it first. I need her to want me as much as I want her, if not more. I have absolutely no interest in laying with a woman whose heart doesn't feel the same, nor her body. Not anymore, anyway.

She will desire me first.

I nod at her words. "And the neighbors?"

"He beat Mrs. Thompson while Whitney was in school. He said next time, he'd … he'd rape Whitney. She's twelve, for fuck's sake!"

I ignore her curse for the moment over my own disgust. The Bible is very clear on one thing: harming a child is a direct insult to God.

"I took her to my apartment the next afternoon after Mrs. Thompson said she was short two hundred dollars so she would be safe. Lied that Whitney wasn't going to be home until the next day. He said if she didn't have the money within a day, there would be nowhere the kid could hide."

She bends her knees and tucks her head, and the bear, into them. "That was the night you picked me up."

"You were working to earn the two hundred dollars?" I ask.

She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek.

I catch it with my hand and she flinches, but I press my palm to her face. My soft touches make her flinch, yet she doesn't bend or break when I inflict pain. Interesting.

I wonder about what she just said to me. Did I inadvertently cause a child to come to harm?

"You are a good person, Diana," I assure her. "That is why I am keeping you here, washing away the stain of all the sin so that goodness can shine."

I stand up, placing the bag of cosmetics on the bed next to her. "Thank you for trusting me with this information."

"What will you do?" she asks me.

"Make it right." I cannot undo what has already been done, but I can change the course of the future.

But first, I have to get the hot sauce from the cupboard. After all, my dove did curse, and I cannot be lenient on her.