Chapter 20 The Home Visit
Then it hit me.
“Shit,” I whispered, panic surging through me.
I ran upstairs as quietly as I could.
Mom was already at my door, hand on the knob.
Before she could open it, I stopped her.
“Mama, wait.”
She turned, surprised. “Why? Is there something in your room I’m not allowed to see?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said quickly, my voice shaky. “I just… I left it messy. Let me clean it first.”
Mom raised a brow, but she looked too tired to argue. “Well, I came to collect your laundry anyway. It’s our turn for the monthly home prayer visit. Pastor Matt will be coming tomorrow morning for it.”
“Tomorrow?” I asked, surprised.
“Yeah. He’s also coming with his son.” Mom’s face softened. “Oh, God bless his soul… Elijah has been such a good example. Maintaining his celibacy even now that he’s almost 40. He’s keeping himself pure for the Lord. What a blessing.”
Her words were like knives in my chest.
The guilt was overwhelming. The man she was praising — the golden son of the church — had been fucking her daughter for months. The daughter she thought was still innocent. The daughter she was trying so hard to protect.
I forced a small smile. “Yeah… he’s… something.”
Mom didn’t notice my reaction. I went into my room, collected the laundry basket and handed it to her. She left without opening anything else. I was relieved.
Before I could close my door, she called from downstairs.
“Abby? You won’t be going to work tomorrow. I already called Mrs. Harper.”
I sighed. “I figured.”
\--
The next day came too fast.
I had barely slept. The long night, the argument with Mom, the memories of Eli — it all kept me awake until the early hours.
When I finally dragged myself downstairs, still yawning in my nightdress, I froze at the bottom of the stairs.
They were already in the living room.
Pastor Matt sat on the couch with his Bible open. Mom sat beside him, looking composed but tired. And Eli…
Eli was there.
He saw me first. For a split second, that devious, possessive smile flashed across his face — the one only I knew. Then it vanished, replaced by the perfect, innocent pastor’s son expression.
“Good morning, Sister Abigail,” he said calmly, voice warm and respectful. “Did you sleep well?”
My heart raced. The way he said “Sister Abigail” felt so wrong. So distant, yet so intimate. So dangerous.
Mom smiled proudly. “Come join us, baby. Pastor Matt is here for the monthly home prayer visit.”
I sat down across from them, feeling completely out of place. The tension was thick. I could feel Eli’s eyes on me even when I wasn’t looking.
Pastor Matt began reading from the Bible. His voice was deep and authoritative.
“‘Flee from sexual immorality,’” he read. “‘All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually sins against their own body.’”
The words hit me like bullets. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Eli’s eyes met mine for a brief second. There was a dark spark in them.
Mom nodded along, murmuring “Amen.”
Eli continued reading the next verse, his voice smooth and perfect.
“‘Do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common?’”
Every word felt aimed at me. At us. I kept my eyes on the floor, cheeks burning, thighs pressed together as memories of yesterday with Eli in the bathroom flooded back.
During the closing prayer, Pastor Matt asked us to hold hands and form a chain.
Mom took my left hand. Eli took my right.
The moment his fingers closed around mine, I felt a jolt. His grip was firm. Possessive. Under the cover of the prayer, his thumb slowly stroked the back of my hand — hidden from everyone else.
Pastor Matt prayed loudly for purity of heart and body, for protection against temptation, for strength to resist the devil’s snares.
Every word felt like a knife. Eli’s thumb kept stroking, slow and deliberate, sending heat through my body. I was terrified Mom or Pastor Matt would notice. I was terrified I would moan out loud.
The prayer finally ended.
I excused myself quickly. “I need to go to my room for a moment.”
I ran upstairs as fast as my shaking legs would allow, the wooden steps creaking under my feet like they were accusing me too.
My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might crack my ribs. The prayer session downstairs had been torture — every Bible verse about purity and temptation felt like it was aimed directly at me.
And Eli’s thumb stroking my hand the entire time… that secret touch while Pastor Matt prayed for strength against sin… it had been too much.
I burst into my room and closed the door behind me, leaning against it and sliding down until I was sitting on the floor. My uniform laid beside me, still slightly disheveled from the café. My body was still sore from the all that happened the day before. And my mind…
My mind was a complete mess.
'How did I get here?' I thought, tears burning in my eyes. 'How did I go from the good girl who prayed every morning and night to this — sneaking around with the pastor’s son, lying to my mom, letting him fuck me in bathrooms and behind chapels while everyone thinks I’m pure?'
I hugged my knees to my chest, rocking slightly. I was falling in love with him. That was the terrifying truth. Not just lust. Not just the thrill of the forbidden. I loved the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered. I loved the way he held me, like he was scared I’d disappear. I loved the way he made me feel alive when everything else felt like a cage.
But love with Eli came with chains.
I wiped my tears and stood up, trying to pull myself together. I needed to change out of this pajamas. I needed to breathe. I needed to pretend I was still the innocent girl my mom thought I was.
I had just pulled my shirt over my head when I heard footsteps on the stairs.
Slow. Deliberate. Coming up.
My heart stopped.
It wasn’t Mom’s light footsteps. These were heavier. Confident.
Eli.
He was coming upstairs.
“Oh no…” I whispered, panic and a twisted thrill mixing in my chest.
I stood frozen in the middle of my room, half-dressed, staring at the door. The footsteps reached the top of the stairs. They paused for a second — right outside my room.
Then the handle turned.