Read Online Devoted by Jennifer Mathieu - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer Mathieu
Ads: Link
kind of Freaking Me Out and everything because Iâm afraid Iâll run into Them or people from the cult who hurt me, but itâs cheap as dirt here and I love my job and Mitzi and Frankie love it, too.
Every set of words Lauren writes sounds like an explosionâlike she has so much she wants to say she canât even stop to use periods or commas. Her pictures are like little explosions, too. In each one she has different hair, each picture starring some new, unusual color that canât possibly be natural. Lime green. Lemon yellow. Sky blue. Like fireworks. Iâm stunned at what she looks like. I suppose I thought she would still look like I remember her from her days at Calvary before she began to rebel. I instinctively touch my hair. The thought of even cutting it seems sinful.
Back in my old life, I couldnât do anything to my hair. My hair was my crown of gloryâor thatâs what I was toldâso I wasnât supposed to cut it at all. But now my hair is mine to do with what I want, so I want to do the most extreme things I can think of with it. Dye it, shave it, gel it, whatever it. I keep wondering if Iâll get sick of doing these things and just let it grow out normal again, but itâs been six years since The Great Escape, and Iâm still doing them so I donât know.
Sitting in the family room, I blink my eyes over and over, trying to keep them comfortable as I race through Laurenâs blog. Each little story she writes has links to some other story, and my fingers slip over the keyboard and grip the mouse, clicking and pointing, stopping only to read as fast as I possibly can. I canât stop. I canât get enough of finding out what happened to Lauren Sullivan.
What would I look like to one of my family members if they found me now, like this? Hunched over the dim light of the computer in the middle of the night, my gaze focused and intent, my mouth slightly open, my mind anywhere but with God? Is this how James Fultonâs parents found him before they sent him to Journey of Faith for looking with lust at women on the computer?
But this isnât immodest images. Not really. Itâs just like reading a book. A story.
One where I happen to know the main character personally.
I force myself to take a breath and listen for creaking on the steps or Sarah crying out or my dad getting up to go get a drink of waterâheâs not the heaviest sleeper. But thereâs just the tick of the clock coming from the kitchen and the sound of rain lightly drumming on the plants and bushes outside.
Thereâs one link I havenât clicked on yet. If I donât click on that, what Iâm doing isnât wrong. If I donât click on that, all of this is research, really. Learning. Just like reading the encyclopedia. Itâs okay as long as I donât click on that one link. The one at the top right hand corner of Laurenâs blog that stares at me like it can hear me thinking.
The Great Escape: How I Left My Fundie, Homeschooling, Woman-Hating Past Behind
I donât know what fundie means. Lauren was homeschooled like the rest of us, thatâs true. But if Scripture tells us that an excellent wife is more precious than jewels, how can she say we hate women?
But it doesnât matter because Iâll never click on that link. If I donât click on that link, I havenât done anything that wrong. Thatâs what I tell myself.
Suddenly, thereâs the sound of coughing coming from down the hall. Gruff and deep. My dadâs cough.
I leap up, shutting down the computer with a few quick clicks. Thereâs the cough again. I can either make an excuse for why Iâm down here or I can make a break for it up the stairs. But maybe he wonât even come out into the kitchen?
The computer is sighing shut, evidence of its recent use.
Please be quiet now , I will it.
Thereâs the cough again.
I could race to one of the
Every set of words Lauren writes sounds like an explosionâlike she has so much she wants to say she canât even stop to use periods or commas. Her pictures are like little explosions, too. In each one she has different hair, each picture starring some new, unusual color that canât possibly be natural. Lime green. Lemon yellow. Sky blue. Like fireworks. Iâm stunned at what she looks like. I suppose I thought she would still look like I remember her from her days at Calvary before she began to rebel. I instinctively touch my hair. The thought of even cutting it seems sinful.
Back in my old life, I couldnât do anything to my hair. My hair was my crown of gloryâor thatâs what I was toldâso I wasnât supposed to cut it at all. But now my hair is mine to do with what I want, so I want to do the most extreme things I can think of with it. Dye it, shave it, gel it, whatever it. I keep wondering if Iâll get sick of doing these things and just let it grow out normal again, but itâs been six years since The Great Escape, and Iâm still doing them so I donât know.
Sitting in the family room, I blink my eyes over and over, trying to keep them comfortable as I race through Laurenâs blog. Each little story she writes has links to some other story, and my fingers slip over the keyboard and grip the mouse, clicking and pointing, stopping only to read as fast as I possibly can. I canât stop. I canât get enough of finding out what happened to Lauren Sullivan.
What would I look like to one of my family members if they found me now, like this? Hunched over the dim light of the computer in the middle of the night, my gaze focused and intent, my mouth slightly open, my mind anywhere but with God? Is this how James Fultonâs parents found him before they sent him to Journey of Faith for looking with lust at women on the computer?
But this isnât immodest images. Not really. Itâs just like reading a book. A story.
One where I happen to know the main character personally.
I force myself to take a breath and listen for creaking on the steps or Sarah crying out or my dad getting up to go get a drink of waterâheâs not the heaviest sleeper. But thereâs just the tick of the clock coming from the kitchen and the sound of rain lightly drumming on the plants and bushes outside.
Thereâs one link I havenât clicked on yet. If I donât click on that, what Iâm doing isnât wrong. If I donât click on that, all of this is research, really. Learning. Just like reading the encyclopedia. Itâs okay as long as I donât click on that one link. The one at the top right hand corner of Laurenâs blog that stares at me like it can hear me thinking.
The Great Escape: How I Left My Fundie, Homeschooling, Woman-Hating Past Behind
I donât know what fundie means. Lauren was homeschooled like the rest of us, thatâs true. But if Scripture tells us that an excellent wife is more precious than jewels, how can she say we hate women?
But it doesnât matter because Iâll never click on that link. If I donât click on that link, I havenât done anything that wrong. Thatâs what I tell myself.
Suddenly, thereâs the sound of coughing coming from down the hall. Gruff and deep. My dadâs cough.
I leap up, shutting down the computer with a few quick clicks. Thereâs the cough again. I can either make an excuse for why Iâm down here or I can make a break for it up the stairs. But maybe he wonât even come out into the kitchen?
The computer is sighing shut, evidence of its recent use.
Please be quiet now , I will it.
Thereâs the cough again.
I could race to one of the
Similar Books
