If you have not read Twisted Circles, DO NOT READ THIS POST.
You must read the book first. You can find it here: https://www.clairecontrerasbooks.com/books/twisted-circles/
…………….LAST WARNING ………
WENDY.
I’ve seen the looks people give me when I got to the grocery store. The questions in their eyes – how could such a young girl choose the life I did? How could a girl with such a pretty face choose to become a nun? They never ask me directly. Probably because I’m never alone. There are always chaperones around me, watching me, waiting for me to slip up. I won’t. I won’t because I have to save my sisters, my mother, the women I’ve grown up around who have made me who I am today. People see us and think they have us figured out. They discount us for being women, for being nuns, but they don’t know our struggles. Most of my sisters had lives before they gave themselves to this life. Most of them are still in touch with their families. Some of them invite them over every once in a while, their blood sisters, their nieces and nephews, and I watch in wonder. I’m not exempt to the curiosity. Not when I see how much joy those children bring. Why did they choose not to have their own?
I asked Sister Marie once and she laughed, shaking her head, as if it was the most ridiculous question. Sister Michelle had been married before this. She ended up here because she’d been running from an abusive husband, one who swore he’d kill her if he ever found her. And so, here she was, enduring pain from other men, Godly men, because she couldn’t find another way. The sacrifice was coming up and it was great. It was what we’d been waiting for, quietly planning and training for, because we’d end this. If nothing else, we’d be the ones to end this. I’d taken Dima this morning and put him in the car, telling Sister Marie to call the police once I was far enough away. The story would be that a monk kidnapped me, not the other way around. The story needed to stick, needed to make people stop and question the men, not automatically put the blame on us for being young or being pretty. It was what always happened in these cases. We’d seen enough of them on the television. We’d seen enough of them in the convent. We’d experienced enough of it from the priests and monks. Women are disposable. They use us to fulfill their needs and then toss us aside like dirty rags. They used little boys like Dima, too. It wouldn’t happen this time.
“Where are you taking me?” Dima’s voice was shaking, wary.
“A safe place.”
“How do you know it’s safe?”
“It’s safer than The Manor.” I drove into the forest, past the clearing, past the church, and made a right.
I knew this route by heart. It was the direction I drove every time I visited my sister, Stella, at The Institute. It was the direction I drove when I watched Eva from afar, cringing every time she made poor decisions, wishing I could stop her. Tonight, I’d kidnap her as well. I’d reveal myself to her and confirm her suspicions. I’d finally meet her face-to-face. I’d be able to hug her, though I wasn’t sure if I would. Hugs weren’t given out frequently in the convent. Sister Marie said we’d be tougher that way, as if surviving all the things we’d survived wasn’t enough to make us develop thick skin.
“Are they going to sacrifice you tonight?” Dima asked quietly.
I set my lips in a line and nodded. Despite the preparation, despite the self-motivating talks, despite planning, a part of me hoped it wouldn’t come to that. A part of me hoped I’d live. Sister Michelle asked me what I would do if I survived and I shrugged. I didn’t know, not really anyway. I’d leave the convent. I knew that much. I’d enroll at Ellis. I’d meet a boring accountant and marry him and live a boring life with adorable children and an abundance of love. It was all I wanted now. The priest had made it clear that I wouldn’t live. One of us had to die and it had to be the pure sister, which he assumed was me. Sacrifices bring stability. Sacrifices keep order in the world. That was what they believed, and it would take a triplet to achieve that. In years past, they did it with multiples – twins, quadruplets, quintuplets. Triplets were holy. Triplets would provide the ultimate bridge between them and the holy world. I would provide it for them. Never one of them. Always one of us. They said it was because of Mary of Nazareth, but we all knew the truth. We were disposable.
I parked the car in front of the house, my heart pounding as I shut the engine off. I looked over at Dima, who still looked scared. He was just a kid when he was brought to America. He was still just a kid at seventeen.
“You have to trust me. This family won’t hurt you.”
“Will you come back for me? When it’s all over?”
“I hope so.” I reached over and squeezed his hand, tears prickling my eyes.
“If you do it, if you make the ultimate sacrifice . . . do you think we’ll be closer to God?”
“I don’t know.”
“It won’t work if you don’t believe it. The lamb has to believe it.”
“How do we know I’m the lamb?”
“Father said you are.”
“And we should believe everything he says? After all he’s done?”
Dima looked away, focusing on the house in front of us.
“We have to create our destinies,” I whispered.
“I know. It’s just . . . will I still get into heaven? If I stay here?”
“Of course you will.”
“Even after everything I’ve done?” His blue eyes met mine. “Even if I’m un-pure?”
“Your heart is pure. That’s enough.”
“I wish you weren’t the lamb.”
I tried to smile, to reassure him that it would be okay, but my face was frozen. I was as scared as he was, maybe more scared. We stepped out of the car and walked toward the house. Mr. Robinson promised he’d care for Dima. I’d met him twice before, at the university library. He had a house full of children with no parents that he took in as if they were his own. I trusted Dima would fit right in. The door opened before we had a chance to ring the doorbell. Mr. Robinson stood on the other side of it, comforting smile on his face as he greeted us.
“You must be Dima.”
Dima nodded.
“Thank you for doing this,” I said.
“Any time. I hope you’ll accept my offer and come live with us soon.”
“Maybe.” I looked at his collarbone as I smiled, then turned to Dima. “You’re going to be okay here.”
Without preamble, he lifted his hands and wrapped them around me tightly. I froze for a moment before returning the hug. It felt foreign, uncomfortable, good.
“Please come back for me,” he whispered.
“I will.” I squeezed him tighter.
When we let go, he took a breath and followed Mr. Robinson inside. I waved goodbye and walked to my car. Once I was up the street, I let myself cry. I drove around for a little while, enjoying the silence, the trees around me, the freedom of being behind the wheel, and then I headed back to The Manor.
I had to go see my sister.
I’ve seen the looks people give me when I got to the grocery store. The questions in their eyes – how could such a young girl choose the life I did? How could a girl with such a pretty face choose to become a nun? They never ask me directly. Probably because I’m never alone. There are always chaperones around me, watching me, waiting for me to slip up. I won’t. I won’t because I have to save my sisters, my mother, the women I’ve grown up around who have made me who I am today. People see us and think they have us figured out. They discount us for being women, for being nuns, but they don’t know our struggles. Most of my sisters had lives before they gave themselves to this life. Most of them are still in touch with their families. Some of them invite them over every once in a while, their blood sisters, their nieces and nephews, and I watch in wonder. I’m not exempt to the curiosity. Not when I see how much joy those children bring. Why did they choose not to have their own?
I asked Sister Marie once and she laughed, shaking her head, as if it was the most ridiculous question. Sister Michelle had been married before this. She ended up here because she’d been running from an abusive husband, one who swore he’d kill her if he ever found her. And so, here she was, enduring pain from other men, Godly men, because she couldn’t find another way. The sacrifice was coming up and it was great. It was what we’d been waiting for, quietly planning and training for, because we’d end this. If nothing else, we’d be the ones to end this. I’d taken Dima this morning and put him in the car, telling Sister Marie to call the police once I was far enough away. The story would be that a monk kidnapped me, not the other way around. The story needed to stick, needed to make people stop and question the men, not automatically put the blame on us for being young or being pretty. It was what always happened in these cases. We’d seen enough of them on the television. We’d seen enough of them in the convent. We’d experienced enough of it from the priests and monks. Women are disposable. They use us to fulfill their needs and then toss us aside like dirty rags. They used little boys like Dima, too. It wouldn’t happen this time.
“Where are you taking me?” Dima’s voice was shaking, wary.
“A safe place.”
“How do you know it’s safe?”
“It’s safer than The Manor.” I drove into the forest, past the clearing, past the church, and made a right.
I knew this route by heart. It was the direction I drove every time I visited my sister, Stella, at The Institute. It was the direction I drove when I watched Eva from afar, cringing every time she made poor decisions, wishing I could stop her. Tonight, I’d kidnap her as well. I’d reveal myself to her and confirm her suspicions. I’d finally meet her face-to-face. I’d be able to hug her, though I wasn’t sure if I would. Hugs weren’t given out frequently in the convent. Sister Marie said we’d be tougher that way, as if surviving all the things we’d survived wasn’t enough to make us develop thick skin.
“Are they going to sacrifice you tonight?” Dima asked quietly.
I set my lips in a line and nodded. Despite the preparation, despite the self-motivating talks, despite planning, a part of me hoped it wouldn’t come to that. A part of me hoped I’d live. Sister Michelle asked me what I would do if I survived and I shrugged. I didn’t know, not really anyway. I’d leave the convent. I knew that much. I’d enroll at Ellis. I’d meet a boring accountant and marry him and live a boring life with adorable children and an abundance of love. It was all I wanted now. The priest had made it clear that I wouldn’t live. One of us had to die and it had to be the pure sister, which he assumed was me. Sacrifices bring stability. Sacrifices keep order in the world. That was what they believed, and it would take a triplet to achieve that. In years past, they did it with multiples – twins, quadruplets, quintuplets. Triplets were holy. Triplets would provide the ultimate bridge between them and the holy world. I would provide it for them. Never one of them. Always one of us. They said it was because of Mary of Nazareth, but we all knew the truth. We were disposable.
I parked the car in front of the house, my heart pounding as I shut the engine off. I looked over at Dima, who still looked scared. He was just a kid when he was brought to America. He was still just a kid at seventeen.
“You have to trust me. This family won’t hurt you.”
“Will you come back for me? When it’s all over?”
“I hope so.” I reached over and squeezed his hand, tears prickling my eyes.
“If you do it, if you make the ultimate sacrifice . . . do you think we’ll be closer to God?”
“I don’t know.”
“It won’t work if you don’t believe it. The lamb has to believe it.”
“How do we know I’m the lamb?”
“Father said you are.”
“And we should believe everything he says? After all he’s done?”
Dima looked away, focusing on the house in front of us.
“We have to create our destinies,” I whispered.
“I know. It’s just . . . will I still get into heaven? If I stay here?”
“Of course you will.”
“Even after everything I’ve done?” His blue eyes met mine. “Even if I’m un-pure?”
“Your heart is pure. That’s enough.”
“I wish you weren’t the lamb.”
I tried to smile, to reassure him that it would be okay, but my face was frozen. I was as scared as he was, maybe more scared. We stepped out of the car and walked toward the house. Mr. Robinson promised he’d care for Dima. I’d met him twice before, at the university library. He had a house full of children with no parents that he took in as if they were his own. I trusted Dima would fit right in. The door opened before we had a chance to ring the doorbell. Mr. Robinson stood on the other side of it, comforting smile on his face as he greeted us.
“You must be Dima.”
Dima nodded.
“Thank you for doing this,” I said.
“Any time. I hope you’ll accept my offer and come live with us soon.”
“Maybe.” I looked at his collarbone as I smiled, then turned to Dima. “You’re going to be okay here.”
Without preamble, he lifted his hands and wrapped them around me tightly. I froze for a moment before returning the hug. It felt foreign, uncomfortable, good.
“Please come back for me,” he whispered.
“I will.” I squeezed him tighter.
When we let go, he took a breath and followed Mr. Robinson inside. I waved goodbye and walked to my car. Once I was up the street, I let myself cry. I drove around for a little while, enjoying the silence, the trees around me, the freedom of being behind the wheel, and then I headed back to The Manor.
I had to go see my sister.
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