Secret Sins Ch. 19

Seraphine was the only one who noticed, my uniform's last disgrace getting more attention from my beloved grandmother than the taboo spectacle in front of her. As warped as it may sound, it's one of those things that lets me know in no uncertain terms that I'm her number one concern.

Seraphine's mother tongue came in quite handy while travelling through Quebec three days later, though she had nothing good to say about that province, and I had to stop her from doing horrible things to a few locals we'd met along the way for no real reasons. Apparently, Acadian and Quebec French had some bad blood between them in the distant past, a past that wasn't so distant from Seraphine's perspective. I found it odd that Quebec Francophones would look down on Acadian Francophones while those in France looked down on both of them. It only went to show that, like love and understanding, hatred and intolerance always found a way.

She'd finally stopped griping about it, probably because she'd run out of demeaning insults in both languages for the 'self-important separatist scum', and we both lay quietly on the bed in the rear as we rolled down the highway.

"Miss the uniform?" she idly asked.

I lay braless with my top pulled up to my neck as her hand lightly caressed my stomach, sometimes teasing my lower belly, lingering and often stopping before returning to my upper abs. It was very relaxing, even when her question brought back the drunken memory of how I'd let my uniform out the RV's rear window, bowler and all as we passed the Sudbury exit. I smiled when I did it.

"No. It... it became way too small for me."

She smiled, catching my meaning before saying, "So, you're really not mad at me for the loss of your career?"

"No. I'm the one who fucked that up, not you."

"A lot of people wouldn't see it that way, especially people your age. I'm very proud of you, sweetie pie."

"I've always been very driven to succeed in getting that uniform. I wouldn't have gotten it in the first place if I was the type of person who couldn't identify the real source of my problems."

"A credit to your parents. I chose well."

"Yes, you did. And by the way, no messing with them this Christmas."

"Of course not."

"I really mean it."

"So do I."

"Because I'd be really pissed off with you if-"

"Yes, sweetie pie, I get it. Geez, you're like a dog with a bone sometimes."

"So are you, that's why I have to make sure."

"Don't worry, I'm quite satisfied with your level of depravity now."

I couldn't help laughing a little at this, closing my eyes as her hand returned to my lower abdomen.

"So, no regrets?" she asked.

"I'm not sure I can say that much."

"Well, you don't seem to drink as much, and I haven't caught you guilt crying into your pillow lately."

"No."

"Though I'm sure you've found some way to pierce your own side, even while hanging, self-crucified for the crime of your nature and blinded by the blood dripping from your crown of th-"

"That's enough," I said, smirking and shaking my head. "Was everyone in your generation so dramatic?"

"I know how important to you your beliefs are, and you haven't been talking about how you've been coping with that, so I'm concerned."

"You were concerned about how I was feeling about my beliefs, so you made fun of me?"

"Oh, would you stop? You know I didn't mean it like that."

"You're really good at imitating people in a lot of ways, but sometimes you really fall short."

"Now you're just being a little bitch," she frowned, though still caressing. "You know I'm different, it's not fair for you to put those expectations on me."

" ... You're right. I'm sorry. It just takes some getting used to."

She was silent for a time, then surprised me by conveying, "It isn't easy. I may not feel like people, or like I have any connection to them- I'm not one of them- but I feel what it is to be not one of them. Two hundred and fifty-five years is a long time by yourself."

"Well, you're not by yourself now," I said, cuddling closer, "and I understand that your outlook is different than mine, partly based on what you've just told me, but maybe it would be better if I handled some things from here on. You know, so we don't attract undue attention on ourselves."

"I don't think I'd have made it this far if I was in the habit of attracting undue attention to myself."

"I had to stop you from making that woman publicly sodomize herself with her finger."

"She had her chance to be nice," she sneered.

"Uh-huh, that's why I'm going to be the public persona from here on. We'll be better off with some subtlety."

"Maybe you should have kept that uniform after all," she shot.

"You're the one who told me I didn't need the uniform."

"How about we get back to the point?" she asked, her patience beginning to strain, "which was my question about how you're coming along with handling your spiritual beliefs. If you don't feel like talking about it, then there's nothing I can do about that, but I wouldn't be asking if I didn't care."

"I know," I said, softening up a little. "It's just that you're the one who planted all the doubts that are in my mind now, and opening up to you about how they're slowly polluting my faith isn't exactly going to give it an even chance."

"You make it sound like a cancer," she replied, "but it's nothing like that. You believed what you did because you had no reason not to. Now you've found reason to maybe believe differently. This is why I harass you so about choosing to hang on your cross. It's the first thing your trained mind bends everything to, even now, when you're feeling lost and unloved by your god because of your natural failings, you're still a slave to that thinking. Sweetie pie, I know it's hard. It was hard for me as well, but don't be afraid to chase these doubts down the proverbial rabbit hole. After all, if your beliefs really do hold water, they should have nothing to worry about, right?"

"You always get in, don't you?" I said with a smile, shaking my head.

"Well, I've had a little experience with people. Wanna know what I've learned?"

"What?" I asked, unavoidably curious as her nail tickled along under one of my boobs.

"God is a personal concept that has nothing whatsoever to do with organized religion of any faith or denomination. This is because the kind of truth that people naturally seek in spirituality can never really come from without, from the knowledge, experiences, beliefs or traditions of others. And you can blame me for bringing all this home to roost if you like, but be careful not to lose the point in that while you're at it. Besides, you would have come to this sooner or later anyway. Better sooner."

"I haven't come to anything, really," I said. "What it comes down to is that I'm just kicking against the idea that I could be going to hell."

"Yeah, well that takes a long time to go away, sweetie pie. You can't expect to just quit practicing religion any more than people expect they'll just quit smoking cigarettes. It takes a while to get the alien substance out of your system, and most people never really do. Sometimes, I wonder if I have, even after all these years and all I've learned."

"I told you, I haven't given up on my faith," I said, feeling myself become a little upset about it in a depressive way, "As much as I want to kick against it by taking refuge in the things you talk about, I won't just abandon- I've believed what I've believed for reasons. I have faith that it's true, that Jesus is the Son of God, that he did die on the cross for our sins, and that he rose again. I believe that Salvation is only by His name. What would that say of me, to abandon all that when it's suddenly very spiritually inconvenient for me? If anything, that just says I really never was saved to begin with, because God really did know better than to bother with me."

"Yet, you continue to do the things that you're afraid you might be going to hell for. Hell."

"Yes, that's right, Hell, lakes of boiling fucking blood to drown in for eternity while the Falchurch's and the Bennetts and everyone else we've victimized are looking down on us from the Heavenly Kingdom."

"So, if that's what you really believe, why do you continue to compound your damning transgressions? I mean, anyone would think eternal suffering in a lake of boiling blood would be a sufficient deterrent. That aside, you probably shouldn't assume that the Falchurch's and the Bennetts will be in this Heavenly Kingdom you spoke of. Even if they were, they'd be too busy on their knees worshiping your almighty god every split second of eternity to look at you. Personally, I think I'd actually rather boil in blood for eternity. I mean, it makes one wonder at what kind of god requires that kind of sycophantic adoration, and would maybe answer a few questions about what in hell is going on in the world if I at least believed it for a second. And doesn't it all sound just so ridiculous anyway? I mean, doesn't your bullshit meter at least twitch at the medieval flair?"

"I keep compounding my transgressions because it's a part of me, something like it's a part of you. I'm weak and... diseased. Spiritually diseased with this obsession for sex and porn and... all of it. I literally can't help myself," I answered, not even wanting to touch the question pertaining to how ridiculous it all sounded.

Because it did sound ridiculous. And while there's a whole lot more to spirituality than either suffering eternity in lakes of boiling blood, or worshiping God in the Heavenly Kingdom, it did all seem to, if you'll excuse the pun, boil down to that. And if the entire point of a belief could seem so inherently ridiculous, how did that speak for the rest of my beliefs? And this was the problem. While it was true that I still believed, I now seriously questioned some fundamental cores of those beliefs. How much longer would they last if I didn't get any answers, like the morning I threw myself to the floor, prostrate in front God and receiving nothing? How long would I go on sticking up for Him, making excuses for Him? The very question was frightening in itself, to say nothing of how I'd suddenly realized that sticking up for him was exactly what I'd been doing. People always pray for God to stick up for them, but wouldn't it be a greater gift if he'd just stick up for himself for once? Instead of making everybody play the cosmic fucking guessing game of social division?

The very fact that I now could even have such a blasphemous thought was almost too much to deal with. I wanted a moment to ask forgiveness, but Seraphine went on with an encouraging smile for me.

"I know. Like I said, I went through it. That's how I know how easy it is for your beliefs to paint me as the enemy right now, but your opinion of me is different. In time, you'll see that you are not your beliefs, and you'll soon after credit yourself with the brains to see me and everything else without the interpretive aid of your programed belief system. You'll overcome your fear of suddenly being without it, and then your life will truly open up," she predicted with a smile, returning her caressing fingers to my lower abdomen.

"Open up?"

"Yes. You'll feel free. Free and happy. Kind of like when you moved out of your parents' house, but in a very different, much more inwardly expansive way. You'll own an inner happiness that has nothing to do with the cage of your beliefs from without, the cage you had the key to all along."

"You make it sound like the adult version of finding out Santa Clause isn't real."

"That's exactly what is. Unfortunately, adults with years of programming don't adjust with that kind of mental gear change like kids can. It's a profound and often emotional discovery, at least until you realize that you can just get over it, bug your parents directly for stuff and to hell with Santa Claus. I know, I know, you haven't given up on your beliefs. Well... wait for it."

"You'd make a horrible therapist."

"But a truly great life coach."

" ... Yes. Yes, you would," I admitted with a smile that bordered on being a laugh.

"So don't think of me as your therapist, think of me as your life coach. And your friend."

"And more."

"Waaay more," she promised, slipping a quick finger down over my button before it returned to my tummy. "How are you feeling about keeping Elena?"

"Well, you were right about her," I said with a shrug, shivering as her fingertips tickled their way back to my boobs. "The Army owns special care homes all over and, during my CFOT training, I visited a couple. I've seen these poor, drugged up people who suffer from different mental challenges and... well, let's just say that I wouldn't want that for Elena. Because you're also right in that she'll end up in one sooner or later. And as much as I don't like the fact that we're taking her from her family, the other fact is that we can do better for her. And I like her."

"She likes you. And she can do for you in return."

"Yeah, well I'm not just using her as a sex toy, y'know."

"I know, and what I'm trying to tell you is that great, freakish sex with Elena is only one side of the situation with her. Remember how you fixed her little klepto thing?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's just the tip of the iceberg, and her lack of cognitive ability makes her so malleable. She'll be like clay for you. You can give her the education she'd otherwise never have had. You could put her in just such a certain state, then read her a textbook from beginning to end, and she'd remember that entire textbook, every fucking word. Tara, you could turn her into whatever the hell you want."

" ... Really?" I asked.

"We didn't actually have any textbooks, but Angelique was very good at that kind of thing, and you are too. You just don't know it yet."

"Hm," I toned, having one of those moments where my inheritance was all too large for belief. "Well, I guess that could come in pretty handy, alright," I said, shivering as her wandering fingers found their way further south again, stopping just short of my tuft.

"Yes, it will. She'll make a great nurse."

"Nurse?" I asked, looking at her quizzically.

"M-hm."

"Why would we need a nurse?"

"For little Kali," she replied.

" ... Wha- Who's little Kali?"

Her smile became radiant, a rare show for her, as she said, "Well... there's one thing that I haven't told you. I didn't want it to be a reason for your resignation, and you had enough to deal with before we left Regina anyway. Do you remember Debesh?"

"Sumitra's husband? Of course," I answered, particularly remembering the time Sumitra and I whipped his naked chest, laughing until we almost peed ourselves before taking turns fucking him senseless.

Resting her hand meaningfully on my lower abdomen, her radiant smile explained, "Well, sweetie pie, it happily seems that Debesh has gone above and beyond. And it's a girl!"

End