Saint Agatha (shallnotmove) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2013-12-19 14:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | saint agatha, saint patrick |
WHO: Agatha & Patrick
WHEN: Thursday afternoon
WHERE: Her place
WHAT: Confession time
WARNINGS: talk of sexual assault, torture, starvation, self injury.
Agatha was so far beyond tired.
Ten months ago Lust had taken something from her, and Agatha knew she would never gain it back. For almost a year she had lived a life that wasn't her own: Saint Agatha was a story of virtue and innocence and without that story being true, she knew she wasn't worthy of her own name. Only sometimes did she blame God for letting it happen but she knew the way her inviolability was supposed to work: her virginity and purity were only safe in the circumstances that she held tight to them. There had been a slip, and now she was no longer what she was.
The year had been marked by losses: she left her nursing placement, unable to fulfil the required hours, and found a diner job through connections. She had stopped seeing most of the people she knew, finding it too difficult to face them. The only people she saw with regularity were Judas and Satan.
Judas asked sometimes what had happened to her, but he stopped asking after a short time. She wasn't going to tell him. She was glad he was still in her home though. Sometimes she wallowed with him, although she didn't drink or share his drugs. She was still living on the barest of human needs. She afforded herself no luxuries or kindnesses. (Hair thinned, eyelids bruised, bones jutting, skin yellow. This was a body that had betrayed her.)
Satan punished her body just as Agatha felt it deserved. The agony he inflicted was creative and enduring and every time it hurt as much as the last. She suffered in the weeks after, bleeding and broken and barely able to even move in her apartment because of it. But it gave her a sense of peace. The peace never lasted.
But now she was just too tired and she was done with holding her shame so close. Maybe it was time that someone else knew. Maybe it was time they all knew that Agatha was no the paragon of faith and virtue she always professed to be.
She opened her front door a crack and then went to sit down at the kitchen table with a glass of water, long fingers wrapped around it. (One of her fingers didn't bend well, badly healed from the last time Satan had broken it. She saw no reason to get it fixed properly when it would only be broken again.)