Page 1 of His to Keep
Prologue
My first kiss was with a boy from church.He was a choir boy with the voice of an angel and hair like woven silk. Arrogant, I thought, but Melissa said that was confidence, and she’d be the same if she could sing like him.
During one of our school’s weekly visits to church, she rushed over to tell me she overheard him saying he liked me to his friends and was going to ask me out. Before I had a chance to prepare myself, he appeared next to me and invited me to walk with him in the gardens. As we did, I struggled to know what to say to him. Not that he made any effort to talk to me. We didn’t speak for the first five minutes until he mentioned something about the weather, which was dull of him.
“Actually.” He stopped me beside a bush of pearly white roses and rubbed the back of his neck like he was nervous. Why, I don’t know. He was the least timid boy in our whole school. “I just wanted to tell you how beautiful you are. The prettiest girl in our grade by far.”
As if telling me that would flatter me enough, his hand fell on my hip, and I held my breath when he confidently leaned in and put his lips against mine. It was my first kiss, and it was terrible. There were no butterflies or fireworks, and our teeth knocked together, his tooth slitting my bottom lip open. When he pulled away after I gasped, it was apparent he was as underwhelmed as me.
“Ouch,” Melissa laughed when I told her about it. I was speechless and embarrassed it happened. My lip throbbed, and the metallic taste of blood mixed with his spearmint gum made me queasy. Melissa erupted into more giggles. “You must have broken him, Ava. He’s supposed to be a great kisser!”
He wasn’t, and I was upset there was nothing when we kissed—not like how Melissa described her first kiss at the back of the bleachers during gym class.
The kiss played on my mind all day, disrupting my focus in class. Seeing I was moping, Melissa told me I was being silly. “It wasonlya kiss. It’s not as if he asked you to marry him.”
She was right; I knew that. But when we passed each other in the school hallways, and he avoided me, it hurt. Even more when rumors circulated he’d kissed a senior girl in the morning.
Were kisses so meaningless to boys? If that were true, then I never wanted to kiss anyone again.
The day only got worse when I arrived home from school. Someone had told Gran about my secret kiss in the garden, and her reaction changed everything. Cornering me in my bedroom, face twisted with rage, she demanded I tell her what I’d done. I had no choice but to reveal I kissed a boy at church.
Grabbing my hairbrush from the vanity, she surged forward and hit me over the head with it. She beat me until I was cowering on the floor, my arms my only defense as I cradled my head from her vicious attack. Not giving me a chance to explain I already knew kissing him was a mistake and I was sorry for letting him steal it.
“How dare you put your lips on another!” The bristles on the brush were like claws scratching my skin. Warmth slid down my face, and tiny drops of crimson dotted the beechwood floor beneath me. “And sin in the house of our Lord, you devil girl!”
She hurt me that day—physically and deep in my heart. I knew she was old-fashioned and a proud Catholic woman, but she was never strict or violent, especially toward me.
Leaving me broken on the floor, she staggered away, and when she called me down for dinner hours later, she stared straight through me like you would a stranger, and it terrified me. It didn’t end there. More beatings followed after that day. My sweet Grandmother I loved was gone, replaced by someone who wanted to control my every move and paint my skin with bruises.
Soon, I learned I wasn’t going to be a normal teenage girl when she forced me to stop being friends with Melissa, who had been confused and bitchy about it when I drifted away like a ghost, no longer giving the attention she deserved. She found new friends to fill the void, and all was forgotten.Iwas forgotten.
It was a kiss with a boy, but it’s the deadliest sin of all.
Chapter One
My sixteenth birthday, and I have a ball of dread in my stomach, as it means I have to talk to my mother, which I don’t want to do. She calls some time past noon, voice sleepy like she’s only woken. How nice it must be to sleep in until the afternoon and not be shouted awake at six to begin morning prayers that are never listened to. But that’s my momma—a teenager more than I am these days.
“Happy sweet sixteen! How’re you?”Notgreat,I want to tell her but can never get the words out of my mouth. With Gran listening to everything, I trudge through this painful charade every time she calls to make life easier for myself. Though, as I glance over my shoulder, Gran’s asleep, her hands no longer working the knitting needles for a blanket she’s making. Deciding against disturbing her, I go out into the hall and sit on the stairs.
“Are you there, Ava?” Momma asks, and I reluctantly press the phone back against my ear.
“Yes, sorry—” A male groan in the background cuts me off. As Momma hushes whoever it is to be quiet, my cheeks tingle. She didn’t tell me she was seeing anybody.I clear my throat. “I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?” She’s pushing because I wasn’t meant to hear she has a man in her bed. “You sound depressed?”
“I’m sure.” Blinking back tears, sudden emotion swells in my throat, and I grit my teeth in anger at myself.
Not now,go away.
Depression is a word that doesn’t describe what’s going on inside of me. Words are useless to define a life that fades in and out. A shadow you only exist in. With Gran asleep, Icouldtell her the truth about how miserable I am and beg her to take me away. Be a mother for once. Anything has to be better than this. Even living in the city with Momma, who will undoubtedly call me her sister and not her daughter to anyone curious to know.
“Doing anything nice? I sent gifts, though they won’t arrive until tomorrow.”
“That’s okay.” I won’t receive whatever she’s sent, as they’re usually something forbidden for me to have. Gran stows my presents away to inspect before burning whatever she deems inappropriate in the fire. AndeverythingMomma sends is inappropriate. “Gran baked me a cake.”
She did—a pink one with fondant flowers and my name piped on the icing. It surprised me because she wasn’t in a pleasant mood when she woke this morning.Maybe it was an attempt at reconciling with me. Starting fresh, since I was older now and didn’t have to be punished so severely. But when she shouted at me to do chores and cook her breakfast like every morning, I knew it was wishful thinking. “What about your friends?”
“Oh, Melissa and a few others are coming over later,” I lie, good at it now. “We’re going to watch a movie. That new romance one—”