Growing up in the church offered you the only sliver of normalcy in your childhood. Your father, the pastor, was a strict man. He'd always made his expectations of you clear, and you were not one to go against his teachings. After all, his words were the extension of the words of God, as he had made abundantly clear.

You'd never been to a public school, and living in such a small town meant you were not subjected to things that most young girls were. Your father favoured it. This way, he could ensure his daughter stayed free of temptation. That she would be safe under his watchful eye, and never stray from the teachings of God.

As you got older, the need to spread your wings and leave the nest only grew. Your father got stricter, roped you into more church duties. Anything to keep your curious mind wandering too much.

That was until the Kennedys moved into town.

Along with them came a boy, only a few years older than you. You could feel the tension in your father's body as you stood next to him while greeting them after they attended their first Sunday Mass there.

It would not be until many weeks later that you'd first speak to him. He'd been missing from Sunday Mass that week, and you'd hoped it was God answering your prayers to remove temptation from your life.

You were wrong. As you left the Church, he was leaning just off to the side, smoking. His eyes flick over to you as he takes the final drags, his lips the picture of sin as they wrap around the cigarette. He drops it to the floor, crushing it with the toe of his boot. He grabs your arm, dragging you away from the entrance of the church.

“I've seen you watching me.” He says bluntly.