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The Preacher's Daughter

The Night Before

Grace's POV
Chris was supposed to come by to help me pack for the tour tonight. He was late and I was starting to wonder what was keeping him. As someone knocks on the door, I quickly realize exactly what kept him.

"Graceland!" I hear a woman squeal, as I'm attacked in a ridiculously tight hug, "Baby, I've been so worried! Especially after your father told me he hadn't seen or heard from you in a week, after you went there to move out!"

I hug mom back, but my eyes stay locked on Chris and Ashley, as I tell her, "Mom, calm down. I'm fine, really."

"That's what Christian told me, but still, why didn't you tell me you had moved out of your father's place?" She demands, finally releasing me.

"Mom, I just needed some time to get settled in," I tell her. I'm not about to let it slip that I also had to wait for my wounds and injuries to heal, "I swear, I was going to call you today, after Chris, Ashley and I got done packing my bags."

"Why wait until then?" She demands, perplexed with my excuse.

"Because then the apartment would be clean and I wouldn't be so embarrassed. Plus, we were actually going to decorate and make it a bit of a party," I tell her, in a grumble, trying to use any excuse I can to cover my tracks, "Chris was supposed to keep it hush, hush until tonight."

"She twisted my arm!" Chris defends, "You know how mom is, and frankly, I didn't want to be on the receiving end of her wrath because I kept your secret from her."

"And I understand you're a young adult. I'm not worried about your apartment being a mess or that you haven't gotten completely unpacked," mom adds, as if my excuse was the dumbest thing she's ever heard, "I'm more concerned about you, my miracle baby."

She always calls me that, seeing as the doctors had told her I'd be lucky to survive my first few nights. Then when I was 7, I got really sick and they told her I wouldn't see my 10th birthday. Proved them wrong.

"Fair enough," I sigh, walking further into the apartment, straightening up the living room as I go to save face, "Why don't you guys come on in?"

They follow me in as I toss a pillow back on the sofa and grab the books and papers I had scattered across the floor. Mom takes hold of my hand as I go to pick up the leather jacket I'd left laying across the back of one of the cream armchairs, in the living room. She smiles at me, removing the stack of papers and books I still had in my hands and setting them in a pile on the edge of the glass coffee table. She then pulls me to the black leather sofa and sits down, pulling me with her.

She smiles, gently touching my cheek where a bruise once stood, and whispers, "I'm so proud of you. Christian told me you finally stood up to your father and moved out. I didn't believe it at first, but here you are."

I force a smile of my own, placing my hand on top of hers, savoring the feeling. It feels like it's been forever since I've felt her warm, comforting touch, even though it's only been six months.

"Did he?" I ask shakily, and she nods enthusiastically. I sigh again, before telling her, "He may have exaggerated a bit."

"What do you mean?" She inquires, a frown marring her face and her brows coming together in confusion.

"All I did was move out my stuff. He's the one who stood up to the prick," I explain.

"Moving out was a form of retaliation. You were basically telling him you didn't need him," Chris counters, "And you started the process of changing your name to Mora. That's going to be a real kick in the teeth, when he finds out."

"If he's got any left, after that punch you gave him," I retort, smirking at my brother and making Ashley laugh.

"Wait, what?" She demands, looking between Chris and me.

"Which part?" Chris asks.

"Both. The name change and you punched him? Why?" She presses.

Chris and I exchange a look, before I sigh and tell her, "Yeah. I'm changing my name to what it should have been from the start. Grace Eva Mora. And I don't want to go into detail yet, but trust me when I say, Chris had his reasons for punching dad out."

"In all honesty, I should have done more to the bastard," Chris grumbles, sending me a look that says I need to tell her what happened. I shake my head at him, signaling now's not the time, and he nods slightly in agreement.

"What happened? What did I miss?" She softly demands.

"Mom, I'll tell you one day, but right now...right now, I can't," I whisper, taking her hand in mine, "I just need you to trust me. Trust I'm doing the right thing."

"I do trust you, but I can’t help but be concerned," She replies, worry clear in her eyes, "Baby, if something happened, you can tell me."

I feel so conflicted. Like with Chris, I do want to tell her, I just don't know how. The abuse he put me through isn't as apparent now, and for that I'm grateful, but I know I'm still severely underweight and extremely pale.

"I will one day. I promise. For now, I just want to focus on getting better and going on tour with Chris's band," I finally tell her, smiling warmly at her.

She's apprehensive, but finally agrees with a nod. I smile wider at her, before hugging her tightly and thanking her for understanding. With a sigh, she hugs me back and I cherish the feeling.

"Well, mom, we should really get packing. You don't have to leave, but we need to get to work," Chris says, after she and I pull out of our hug.

"Yeah. Hey, maybe she can help me pick out the outfits I'm going to take with me," I add, standing up and running to my room, calling out for them to join me.

They follow, entering my room as I pull open my closet doors. Mom sits on the bed, Chris grabbing my duffle bags from the top shelf of my closet, and Ashley sits in my computer chair, flipping on the lamp. He points it at my mirror, illuminating the room further, as I pull out a few of my favorite shirts, setting them on the bed.

"You'll need about a week's worth of clothes. We'll stop at laundromats on our days off," Chris explains, setting the bag on my bed.

I nod pulling open the bottom drawer of my dresser/vanity and grab out a dozen pairs of skinny jeans, before setting them on the bed next to the shirts. I take two of my favorite sundresses out of the closet and a half dozen camisoles from the top drawer, then start matching them up.

"You know how indecisive I can be, so pick out the six or seven outfits you like best. The dresses are definitely going with me though," I tell her, smiling as I carefully fold the fold the dresses and put them in my duffle bag.

She gives me a warm smile, standing up and looking down at the outfits I had spread out on my bed. She thinks about it for a moment, then points to two of the outfits and says, "These two for sure."

"Alright," I reply, picking up the two outfits to fold them. One was a pair of white, ripped skinny jeans, a black camisole and a white crop top with the Parental Avisory label printing across the front. The second outfit was a pair of black skinny jeans with a black tank top that had blue writing on the front. It reads, "Be yourself! The original is always better than a copy!"

Chris grabs the folded outfits, placing them in the bag, while I walk over to the desk to pick out my jewelry and accessories to match. I smile shyly at Ashley, who watches me with soft, chocolaty brown eyes.

"That's a pretty necklace," he says, pointing at the star-shaped locket Chris had gotten for me, that held a picture of him and me on one half and one of mom on the other.

"Thanks," I reply, picking it up and opening it, before passing it to him, "Chris got it for me."

"You really look up to him, don't you?" He inquires, admiring the locket.

Before I answer, I look back at my mom and brother, who are busy picking out my outfits. I turn back to Ashley and say, "Yeah, I do. He says he failed me, but he couldn't be more wrong. Sure, he wasn't there at some much as I'd hoped, but when it came down to it, he was there when it mattered. I honestly couldn't have hoped for a better brother and on nights when I really missed him, I would listen to BVB's music and watch videos of you guys. If that didn't work, I'd write him a letter. I can't tell you how many letters I wrote but never sent."

Ashley gives me a sad smile, passing the necklace back to me, whispering, "I think I understand. We'd be on tour, just walking around, and he'd spot something and run off. One of us would usually run after him, and he would sit there and tell us a story or something about you. I remember one time, we were in Japan, just before that real bad earthquake, and he saw this shop that was selling those hanging scrolls. He ran to one that had a woman standing beneath a cherry blossom tree, with mountains in the background, and told me how much you loved Japanese art."

I laugh, knowing the exact scroll he was talking about, before reaching across him to pull it out of my desk drawer. I unroll it and set it on the desk with a grin, asking, "You mean this one?"

His chocolate eyes widen at the sight of it, making me giggle again. He smiles, shaking his head, as his eyes meet mine again and he whispers, "Yeah. That's the one."

We gaze at each other for a long moment before Chris calls out to me, "Hey, sis. Your clothes are packed. What else do you need?"

I mentally shake myself, before saying, "Umm, thetc three makeup pallets and my makeup bag on the vanity, the small straight iron and pick out a hoodie for me."

"Got it," he replies, walking back to my closet, while mom sits on the bed again. She passes me a knowing smile as she re-folds my jeans and camisoles that I won't be taking with me.

I turn away from her, focusing on the jewelry and accessories again, as my cheeks flare with a deep blush. Ashley chuckles from beside me, but I do my best to ignore him, picking up a few sets of earrings and rings, placing them carefully inside a small plastic container, so they won't get lost.

I walk out of the room, towards the kitchen to get a freezer bag and a handful of plastic straws, for my necklaces. Heading back into my room, I find mom putting my folded clothes back where they belong, and gathering up some socks and underwear for me. Chris is placing the stuff from my vanity in the side compartment of my bag, and as I walk to Ashley, he takes the bag and straws from me.

"Pick out the necklaces you want to take. I'll pack them for you, while you get what you need out of the bathroom," he tells me, so I nod and thank him, before setting five necklaces on the desk, followed by three chokers and three accent, multi-layered chains.

I smile at him, before grabbing my toiletry bag and racing for the bathroom. I open the mirrored cabinet to grab my toothbrush, hair brush and comb, then move to the linen closet and pick out a new puff, a couple of disposable razors, my soap, shampoo and conditioner, and my hairspray. Next in the bag are some feminine products and I drape two blue towels over my arm, before zipping the bag and walking back to my bedroom.

Chris takes the towels from me, putting them in my bag, then the toiletry bag. Ashley walks over with the freezer bag of my jewelry and sets it next to the toiletries, before I zip it shut.

"Don't forget to take a small bag with you for the days of the concerts, and if you need to, I recommend taking your backpack for any electronic items, which you can store in your bunk," Chris tells me, "And don't make the same mistake I did, and leave your chargers behind."

"I won't," I tell him with a giggle, then move around my room, gathering up my laptop, MP3, the chargers for them and last but not least the hat Ashley got me and a couple of my headbands, carefully placing them in my backpack.

When done, Chris sets my duffle next to the end table by my bed and I lean my backpack against it. I grab my purse from the metal wrack on the back of my door, setting it on top of the duffle bag, then ask, "Where's the first show going to be?"

"Here in L.A.," Ashley tells me.

I pull out my phone to check the weather for tomorrow, and whistle at the heat index. Yup. It's going to be a scorcher.

"Hot enough for ya?" Chris laughs at my reaction.

"84 with high humidity. You tell me," I reply, showing him my phone.

"Ouch. Well, might have to show a little skin to keep cool," Ashley teases, looking at my phone screen.

Chris and mom laugh, sharing a knowing look, as I blush, locking my phone and turning to my closet. He would have to make some smart comment, wouldn't he? Alright. Purdy wants to tease? I can play along.

I look through my clothes with a smirk, then toss a black crop top over my shoulder, that has skeleton hands printed along my breasts. I kneel down, pulling out a pair of black fishnet leggings and a pair of light blue jean short, shorts, tossing them on the bed. Next I pull out my white crochet bikini and add it to the pile, followed by my black fishnet arm warmers.

"Looks like she's taking your advice, Ashley," mom says, holding up the shorts with a smirk and a wink. When I glance at Ashley, he's wearing a blush on his cheeks, as Chris laughs from behind him.

When Ashley recovers, he smirks at me, before releasing a low chuckle and saying, "I'm not gonna complain."

Uh-oh. I think I just started something I wasn't prepared for...

Notes

Comments

Awesome new chapters! I know you put a lot of hard work into this and I hope everything goes alright with your health. Love this :)

This is amazing!! Please finish it if you can! I can't wait to find out what happens next!!

AWWWWWW!

IzzieDeadnow IzzieDeadnow
4/21/18

<3

IzzieDeadnow IzzieDeadnow
3/7/18