Betrayal: Brianna's Secret (The Betrayal Series) by Sofia Velardi Page A
Authors: Sofia Velardi
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story. After returning from the kitchen, Brianna tipped her head back and downed half the beer in a couple of gulps.
Abby watched her intently with a mixture of dread and curiosity in her eyes.
Feeling a little more relaxed and emboldened by the alcohol working its way through her blood stream, Brianna resumed her story. She had assumed the same position as before: legs pressed against her chest and arms wrapped around her knees. She continued to stare into space.
“I had been locked up for three days when one afternoon, my father came into my room. A man from our church walked in with him. His name was Patrick Miller. Miller was in his late thirties and was the assistant pastor at our church at the time. I should say my parent’s church because I rarely attended Sunday service with them.”
“I never liked Miller. I got a strange vibe every time he was around me. Sometimes my father would invite him to dinner, and he just ogled me in a creepy way. I never said anything because Miller never said or did anything I would consider offensive. He just stared at me a lot.”
“Anyway, my father, who I hadn’t seen since the day he whipped me, sat next to me on the bed while Miller stood at the foot of my bed. My father wouldn’t even look at me. He had this look on his face, a mixture of desperation and shame. He sat on the bed hunched over and kept looking at his hands while he talked to me. He told me that he had spoken to Miller about my ‘disease ’ , and Miller had offered to come over to pray and help cure me. I looked up at Miller who was nodding while clutching his Bible against his chest.”
“My father walked out of the room and left me alone with Miller, but not before telling me he was doing what he was doing for my own good. He said he loved me and was just trying to save my soul from eternal damnation. He instructed me to listen to Miller and do whatever he asked me to do because it was going to cure me.”
“Cure you? How exactly was he going to cure you?” Abby asked.
“After my father left the room, Miller began to flip through the Bible in his hands while telling me how God had spoken to him and had chosen him to help rid me of all my depraved thoughts and urges. I rolled my eyes as he hovered over me.”
“When Miller found the verse he was looking for, he read it to me twice before closing his eyes and saying a prayer. I thought his therapy session was going to be just that: him reading verses from his Bible and saying a couple of prayers for me. I was wrong. After he finished his prayer, Miller dropped his Bible next to me on the bed and gave me his signature creepy stare.”
“A cold chill ran down my spine when Miller began to undo the buttons of his dress shirt while reciting Bible verses from memory. What are you doing? I kept asking him, but he wouldn’t answer me. He just kept unbuttoning and untucking his shirt from his pants and reciting Bible verses.”
“When I realized what type of therapy Miller had in mind for me, I began to scream at the top of my lungs for my father to come back into the room, but he didn’t come back. When I saw Miller reach for his belt buckle, I leaped out of the bed and ran to the door. I turned and pulled on the doorknob trying to get the door open, but my father had locked it from outside. I began to bang on the door and scream for my father.”
“I kept screaming and looking over my shoulder at Miller who kept reciting Bible verses and getting out of his clothes. My father wouldn’t answer, let alone open the door. There was no one else in the house. My mother was at work when that happened, and Kyle was at school.”
Brianna paused to catch her breath. She wrapped her arms tighter around her knees, suddenly feeling as helpless and scared as she did that fateful day seven years earlier. She cleared her throat and continued, her voice sounding huskier the more she talked.
“After Miller had taken off all of his clothes, he came after
Abby watched her intently with a mixture of dread and curiosity in her eyes.
Feeling a little more relaxed and emboldened by the alcohol working its way through her blood stream, Brianna resumed her story. She had assumed the same position as before: legs pressed against her chest and arms wrapped around her knees. She continued to stare into space.
“I had been locked up for three days when one afternoon, my father came into my room. A man from our church walked in with him. His name was Patrick Miller. Miller was in his late thirties and was the assistant pastor at our church at the time. I should say my parent’s church because I rarely attended Sunday service with them.”
“I never liked Miller. I got a strange vibe every time he was around me. Sometimes my father would invite him to dinner, and he just ogled me in a creepy way. I never said anything because Miller never said or did anything I would consider offensive. He just stared at me a lot.”
“Anyway, my father, who I hadn’t seen since the day he whipped me, sat next to me on the bed while Miller stood at the foot of my bed. My father wouldn’t even look at me. He had this look on his face, a mixture of desperation and shame. He sat on the bed hunched over and kept looking at his hands while he talked to me. He told me that he had spoken to Miller about my ‘disease ’ , and Miller had offered to come over to pray and help cure me. I looked up at Miller who was nodding while clutching his Bible against his chest.”
“My father walked out of the room and left me alone with Miller, but not before telling me he was doing what he was doing for my own good. He said he loved me and was just trying to save my soul from eternal damnation. He instructed me to listen to Miller and do whatever he asked me to do because it was going to cure me.”
“Cure you? How exactly was he going to cure you?” Abby asked.
“After my father left the room, Miller began to flip through the Bible in his hands while telling me how God had spoken to him and had chosen him to help rid me of all my depraved thoughts and urges. I rolled my eyes as he hovered over me.”
“When Miller found the verse he was looking for, he read it to me twice before closing his eyes and saying a prayer. I thought his therapy session was going to be just that: him reading verses from his Bible and saying a couple of prayers for me. I was wrong. After he finished his prayer, Miller dropped his Bible next to me on the bed and gave me his signature creepy stare.”
“A cold chill ran down my spine when Miller began to undo the buttons of his dress shirt while reciting Bible verses from memory. What are you doing? I kept asking him, but he wouldn’t answer me. He just kept unbuttoning and untucking his shirt from his pants and reciting Bible verses.”
“When I realized what type of therapy Miller had in mind for me, I began to scream at the top of my lungs for my father to come back into the room, but he didn’t come back. When I saw Miller reach for his belt buckle, I leaped out of the bed and ran to the door. I turned and pulled on the doorknob trying to get the door open, but my father had locked it from outside. I began to bang on the door and scream for my father.”
“I kept screaming and looking over my shoulder at Miller who kept reciting Bible verses and getting out of his clothes. My father wouldn’t answer, let alone open the door. There was no one else in the house. My mother was at work when that happened, and Kyle was at school.”
Brianna paused to catch her breath. She wrapped her arms tighter around her knees, suddenly feeling as helpless and scared as she did that fateful day seven years earlier. She cleared her throat and continued, her voice sounding huskier the more she talked.
“After Miller had taken off all of his clothes, he came after
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