Out of Heaven's Grasp by V.J. Chambers

around her.
    She hugged me back, chuckling. “I mean it.” She was trying to sound stern but having a hard time. “You need to pray.”
    * * *
    Jesse
    Normally, I would have tried to stand up to my father, but I knew that I’d screwed up this time, so I just took it.
    He took me out into the barn, which was where he liked to do it. He went after me with his belt, something he hadn’t done since I was maybe thirteen or fourteen. He made me take off my shirt, and he just started wailing on me.
    He never talked while he did it. Sometimes, he’d let out little grunts—I could never tell if they were out of exertion or satisfaction. He’d really work himself up doing it, though. He’d end up sweaty and out of breath.
    I’d learned to concentrate on what he was doing—on what I could hear and see—so that I didn’t feel the pain as much. If I cried out in pain while he was doing it, then he’d do it for longer, so I had to stay absolutely silent and take it. Sometimes, if I was quiet and obedient, he only hit me a few times.
    But this time, he seemed so angry that he couldn’t stop.
    He whipped me until my back was bleeding.
    And then, almost as if he was unleashed, he leaped on me and started using his fists, slamming them into my face and jaw.
    But I didn’t even try to stop him then. I knew that I deserved this. I should never have gone after Abby London. Now, I’d disgraced my family. My father would be seen as an ungodly man who couldn’t control his own son. He might never get another wife.
    But as I spit blood out of my mouth when my father was done beating me, I thought that maybe it was for the best. He didn’t deserve another wife.
    My father wasn’t a good man. He didn’t model the spirit properly. But I didn’t either. I was sinful, and I’d hurt everyone around me. I’d hurt my family, my mother. I knew that my father would blame her for my actions. He’d say that she had raised a sinful son, and that she should have taught me better. But the worst thing was that I’d hurt Abby. She’d tried to do the right thing. She’d tried to stay away from me, but I’d pushed it, and now I didn’t know what was going to happen to her.
    My father grabbed my hair and lifted my head to force me to look at him. He was kneeling next to me. His face was red, and there was sweat dripping off his chin. “You’ve always been worthless,” he rasped. He was out of breath.
    There was blood dribbling into my eye, but I didn’t dare brush it away. My face stung, and the wounds on my back burned.
    “Ever since you were born, you’ve been nothing but trouble. You’re a useless, lousy excuse for a son. God put you on this earth to test me, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t beat the devil out of you.”
    Everything hurt. I stared at him, his face contorted in anger, and the guilt consumed me. I’d known that what I’d done was wrong, but I’d done it anyway. My father was right. I was worthless and sinful.
    My father stood up. He aimed a kick into my midsection.
    I wasn’t expecting it, and I let out an involuntary grunt at the impact.
    “Don’t you moan and groan, boy.” He kicked me again. “You got yourself into this mess, and now you got to take your punishment.”
    This time, I managed not to make a noise.
    “Get yourself cleaned up. The elders want to see you.”
    When I heard him leave, I collapsed on the ground. I lay there, trying to breathe through the pain, even though it seemed as if my whole body was in agony.
    I couldn’t move for what seemed like a very long time. I tried to get to my feet a few times, but it hurt too much, and it was easier to stay where I was. I let out little anguished gasps. No one was there to hear me. It was okay. Sometimes, giving voice to the hurt made it a little easier to deal with.
    The door to the barn opened.
    I stiffened, sure my father was back to go at me some more or to scream at me to get up.
    But instead I heard my mother’s voice. “Oh dear