Devoted by Jennifer Mathieu

princess is held kidnapped in a tower until she’s rescued. Like Rapunzel.
    Only, no knight in shining armor saved me. I saved myself.
    From birth I was part of an extreme religious community—some might call it a cult … when I’m having a bad day, I call it a cult—where women were marginalized, shamed, humiliated, and not given one ounce of autonomy. And why? Because the Lord dictates this is how it should be.
    I never went to regular school until I was old enough to go to vet tech school as a legal adult. I didn’t cut my hair or wear pants until I was 18 and I didn’t have a boyfriend until I was 19 and for a long time I didn’t even think it was possible to exist outside of this weird, tightly-controlled world with my dad in charge of everything I did. When I say my dad was in charge of everything, I don’t mean everything like where I went and who I hung out with, although he was in charge of that for sure. I mean he was in charge of what I wore, what I read, what I said, and even what I thought.
    I hate my dad for so much, but do you know what I hate him for the most? I can’t even pray to God anymore without hearing my father’s voice in my head.
    I was told that my only possible future was acting the way my future husband would want me to act, and I was told that my dreams of becoming a vet were just that. Dreams. That I had to maintain a cheerful countenance and practice to be a good helpmeet. Mother and wife. My only options.
    When I was a teenager, I started rebelling. I met some kids hanging out near the local gas station when I went to fill up my dad’s car—one of the few things I was allowed to do outside my house. The rest sounds like a bad teen movie (note:—I didn’t even get to WATCH bad teen movies until I wasn’t a teenager anymore, but anyway…). I started sneaking out of the house, meeting (jerky) guys, drinking cheap vodka in the backs of trucks. Yes, cheap vodka in the backs of trucks. I told you. Teen movie.
    The cult didn’t like it. They prayed over me, they preached about me. They threatened to send me away to this camp where they force you to do hard labor and barely let you sleep and brainwash you.
    One day I just literally walked out. I’d made some friends from the outside by then, and when I thought the preacher was talking about me during one of the Sunday services, I’d had enough. I just got up and walked out. No one came after me, not even my parents. I didn’t have a car. I hitchhiked into town and called one of my new friends from the only pay phone still standing. She said I could come move with her to the city where she was going to start taking classes at a community college.
    That night, I went back home to my parents’ house to get a few things. My ID, a few of my clothes, the little bit of money I’d saved from taking care of our neighbor’s dog. And I really wanted to say goodbye to my two cats, Fluff and Stuff. I knew I wouldn’t be able to take them with me even though I desperately wanted to. I’d bottle-fed them from birth after their mom abandoned them in the flower garden outside the house.
    So I walked in and my friend was waiting for me in the car outside the house. I walked in and my mom was on her knees praying out loud in the living room. She had to have heard me come in but she just kept praying. It hurt my heart, it’s true. But my mom hadn’t defended me or herself in so long I wasn’t surprised.
    I was sobbing at this point, and I ran upstairs with a paper bag for my things when my dad came down the hall and stopped me when I got down to the foot of the stairs. He was so furious I thought he was going to explode right there in the middle of the kitchen. His face was so red.
    â€œDad, I’m leaving,” I said. It was like I was watching myself from someplace else. Now that I’ve seen movies, I can say it was like I was a character in a