The morning sun crept in through the window, soft and steady, painting the room in pale hues of gold. Madison stirred, slowly rising from the depths of her dreams, like a body rising through thick, murky water. Her mind, still heavy with the remnants of night, clung to fading dreams — doors leading to more doors, windows sealed shut, and viscous shadows chasing her through endless corridors as she desperately tried to escape.
The weight on the end of her mattress registered before she fully woke, a dip in the surface tension of her small island of safety.
She rolled over and opened her eyes, the world coming into focus with painful clarity. Faith sat perched at the foot of her bed, back straight, hands folded primly in her lap. Her face was a pressure cooker, the steam held in, ready to explode—something Madison had learned long ago was more dangerous than any shouting.
From her position near the bedroom door, Hope shifted from one foot to the other, her discomfort radiating across the room in almost visible waves.
"How dare you even think about running away." Faith's voice was quiet, each word enunciated with surgical precision.
Madison's gaze snapped to Hope, betrayal burning like acid in her chest. "You told her!?"
Hope's eyes dropped to the floor. She looked smaller somehow, diminished. "She's your mom."
Madison stared at Hope, trying to communicate with her eyes alone the depth of her anger, her sense of violation. The one person she'd trusted. The only ally in this suffocating house.
"I'm sorry, I had no—" Hope began.
"Don't apologize to her," Faith interrupted, her eyes never leaving Madison's face.
"I told you I was joking around," Madison said, the lie brittle and unconvincing even to her own ears.
Faith's jaw tightened. "That's not funny!"
"Sorry, Maddy, I had—" Hope tried again.
Faith's voice cut through the room like a whip crack. "I dare you to apologize again."
Hope's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Well, you're not going to let me talk, so there's no reason to stick around here."
"Okay, bye," Faith said, her voice dripping with sarcasm that seemed to puddle on the floor between them.
As Hope hesitated at the bedroom door, Faith turned her full attention back to Madison. The anger had transformed her face into something barely recognizable, skin stretched tight over the bones beneath. "You think you're running away?"
Hope paused, one foot already in the hallway. She looked back, concern etched into the lines around her eyes. "Do you need anything?"
Madison felt something crack inside her chest. Whatever tenuous connection they'd had—whatever trust or friendship or understanding had begun to form—was severed now. Clean and complete, like a dried vine snapping. "I think you've done enough."
Hope's face collapsed. She left without another word, the space she'd occupied seeming colder in her absence.
Faith didn't wait for Hope's footsteps to fade before she leaned forward, the mattress springs groaning beneath her shifted weight. "Drugs, money, painting yourself up like a whore! Until I get the truth, you're grounded."
"The truth is, you're crazy!" Madison's voice rose, weeks of fear and frustration building to a crescendo. "You glued my windows shut!"
Faith's expression didn't change. If anything, she seemed pleased that Madison had noticed her handiwork. "Your Dad wasn't the only one skilled at construction."
The mention of her father sent a bolt of reckless fury through Madison's body. "And you wonder why he left you. It wasn't the religion or the fact that you're controlling... it's that you're crazy!"
Faith's hand shot up so quickly that Madison didn't have time to process its movement. It hung there, palm flat, fingers rigid—a promise of violence suspended in air. Madison flinched, her body curling inward as if preparing to absorb a blow that had landed countless times before.
Faith’s hand wavered. Lowered slowly. Faith's face smoothed into something almost serene. "No," she said, so quietly Madison had to strain to hear. "I'm your mother."
Faith's gaze swept around the room—taking in the collage, the small rebellions, the evidence of a person Faith didn't recognize or understand. "This is the last warning. Take all this nonsense down."
She turned and walked out, leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar—a small torture of its own. Not even the dignity of a properly closed door. Not even the pretense of privacy.
Madison lay still for three heartbeats, her body electric with rage and shame. Then she was moving. She leapt from the bed, the icy floor barely registering against her bare feet as she grabbed the crucifix from where it hung above her dresser. Her face contorted with a hatred so pure it felt like ecstasy. She raised the crucifix above her head, the weight of it familiar and satisfying in her hands.
In the hallway, Faith stood with her back to Madison's door. She rocked gently on her heels—a self-soothing gesture that struck Madison as infinitely sad in that moment, though she couldn't have articulated why. A tear traced its way down Faith's cheek, catching the hallway light as it fell. She began to turn, perhaps hearing some small sound from the bedroom, or feeling Madison's fury radiating through the thin wooden door.
The door SLAMMED with a force that shook the frame, the sound reverberating through the house like a gunshot.
Faith froze as the pointed end of the crucifix pierced through the door between them, splinters of wood exploding outward around the metal. The crucifix quivered there for a moment, impaling the barrier between mother and daughter—Christ's small metal body crucified a second time.
Chapter 18