WORTHWHILE

Chapter 11

It was only a few weeks until Ivy would be leaving for college, and three weeks since she had quit her volunteer work. The year was hours away from ending, and her family, as they often did were already preparing for their annual crossover-night vigil at church. They had been doing it for as long as she could remember.

How exactly was she supposed to tell them that, according to their own Sunday preachings, they were dragging an “unrepentant sinner” to church? Except she wasn’t about to confess anything. She would not be the girl dragged to the altar while the congregation prayed loudly to cast out the “spirit of homosexuality.” That was the best-case scenario. She didn’t even want to imagine the worst.

Her father called out to her before leaving. “Don’t miss church for anything,” he said.

Ivy forced out a reply. “I won’t.”

She went to get ready. By the time she finished preparing, it was already 10 p.m. She left for church, her chest heavy.

Inside, the service went exactly as expected: praise and worship, with Ivy singing along quietly; prayer time, during which Ivy moved her lips without actually praying. Testimonies came next-people spoke about surviving accidents that had killed others, praising God for sparing them. Ivy wondered, not for the first time, why no one ever mentioned the ones who weren’t spared. Did they not matter?

Then it was preaching time. Only thirty minutes until midnight. The preacher climbed the pulpit, and Ivy’s mind drifted off almost immediately.

Fireworks jolted her back. Midnight.

But the sermon… wasn’t ending. The preacher wasn’t even close. This was strange-they always finished by 12 a.m.

Ivy tried to ignore it. Zoned out. Zoned in. 12:20. 12:30. 12:40. Her irritation grew with every glance at the clock. This should have been done almost an hour ago. What was happening?

By the time she looked up, it was 1 a.m. Something inside her just snapped. She gathered her bag, stood up, and walked out-sermon or no sermon.

At home, she couldn’t sleep. She scrolled her phone, too restless to settle. Forty-five minutes later, her parents returned.

“Why did you leave like that?” her father asked.

“I had an upset stomach,” she lied.

Her mother repeated, “You were having an upset stomach,” clearly unconvinced but not pushing further. With nothing else to say, they walked into their room. Ivy headed to hers, drained physically, mentally, and emotionally. She fell asleep refusing to think any further.

Two days later, Ivy was about to start her chores when she paused to reply to a message on her phone. Right then, her mother’s voice cut through the air.

“Won’t you do that chore and leave the phone?”

“I’m about to. Two minutes won’t stop the chore from being done, Mom.”

“Yes, it won’t. But there is time for everything.”

Out of nowhere, her father’s voice thundered from behind.

“Drop that phone this instant and do that chore!”

It took everything in Ivy not to roll her eyes.

But he wasn’t finished.

“If I come close to you and you’re still holding that phone, I will smash it-and smash you with this stick in my hands.”

Ivy felt her whole body tighten. Her mind screamed at her to disobey, to talk back, to run, something...anything. But she wasn’t ready to fight. Not when he actually might hit her. So she left the message unsent and turned to her chores. She did roll her eyes then, quietly.

She was exhausted. She had said so a thousand times, but it never changed anything. Her home felt toxic. Draining. Heavy. She no longer knew whether this was better than being in the city or worse. Which toxicity was more bearable?

Sometimes she hated her life. Sometimes she hated that she wasn’t straight, because maybe everything would be easier. Maybe she wouldn’t constantly feel wrong, confused, or afraid. Maybe her life wouldn’t feel like a maze with no exit.

Maybe, just maybe she would feel like she was allowed to be human.