Satan's Vessel

11.

Kaitlyn stared up at the ceiling, feeling strange. She wouldn't say she was numb, though that was the closest word she could think of that came to describing what she was feeling. There was a turmoil of emotions bubbling below the surface—horror, shock, guilt, shame—but they were safely beyond her heart's reach.

Jacob had done something to her with his angel light, with his angel warmth. She knew she should be upset. She knew she should be feeling serious emotional pain over what Satan had done to her—and yet she did not.

It was hard to remember now—her dream. Or was it a nightmare? All she could really remember was how Jacob had held her, the look in his eyes, the warmth of his arms. Whatever he had done to her seemed to have melted away both the pain and the memories. Kaitlyn touched her chest. She could feel it still—that warmth. That peace. She couldn't remember when she'd felt it last. As a child? As a baby? She wondered if she ever had.

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks as she remembered how he'd healed her. She could not believe he'd done that. She knew it hadn't been sexual for him. But ... well ... that didn't make it the same for her. Had it really not been sexual for him? Kaitlyn touched her lips, remembering his gentle kiss, so long ago now. Kaitlyn winced as she explored the welt on her neck with her fingers. Though she couldn't remember how it had got there, it was obvious who'd given it to her.

And that wasn't the only thing that hurt. She lifted up her nightie with a grimace. There were red marks all over her, particularly around her hips and breasts—and she knew they would soon turn into bruises, from his fingers, from his mouth. Her nipples were so tender that when they brushed up against the front of her nightie they stung. Dropping the nightie back down, she held herself.

She sat up on the edge of her bed. Though the warmth of the sun was beating against the side of her face, the hard stone of the floor was cold against her feet. Her chest tightened. She couldn't be alone anymore. The walls felt like they were closing in on her. Just as she was about to stand, there came a knock at her door.

Quickly, Kaitlyn straightened out her rumpled nightie. 'Who is it?'

'It's Grace. I have towels and things if you want a shower.'

The day instantly became brighter as Kaitlyn yanked open the door with a grin.

Afterwards, Kaitlyn wandered the abbey with Grace.

'Are you all right?' the young nun asked her, studying her face.

'Of course. Why?'

'Your lips—they're bleeding.'

'Oh!' Kaitlyn pressed her fingers to her mouth. How bad did they look? They certainly felt more swollen and they were starting to sting. 'It-it's nothing. I have a habit of biting them that's all.'

The nun nodded but Kaitlyn could see she didn't believe her, her eyes flicking curiously over the rest of her face. Kaitlyn smoothed her hair around her neck as she tried to cover up the ugly hicky. Kaitlyn suddenly wondered if she'd been screaming in her dreams. She felt her cheeks flush. How many had heard? What did the nuns think about it? Were they talking about her?

Kaitlyn cleared her throat. 'So, tell me, how many nuns stay here?'

'We have forty-three at the moment.'

'Really?' Kaitlyn was yet to see proof of so many. 'Don't they wear habits?' she asked, watching as a pair walked past them. They were wearing the same plain dress Grace had given Kaitlyn, though with scarves that covered their hair. It seemed Grace was one of the few who dressed traditionally.

'Not all. It's a personal choice. Our Mother Abbess is quite liberated. As long as it's modest, she doesn't mind.'

Though it was an interesting place with its many halls, stunning architecture and old paintings, Kaitlyn didn't feel comfortable. Despite not being a church, it was little different to one. Too cold. Too quiet. Too many shadowy corners. She gripped onto her elbows as the tall, rake-like demon flashed in her mind. The nuns were always pleasant though, if not a little too curious.