Angel Tears

by veronicadecidestowrite

Summary:

Your return to Crockett Island was not planned. After losing the life you had, it's time to settle for some time, until your ready for the next step of your plan. But the destiny has something else in store for you, something as dark and beautiful as the eyes of the man who gives you communion. It's a blessing, but also a curse. For both of you.
Will you save each other's soul, or will you wash your guilt away with sin?
[...]
"I have no problem in being the one to help you see that God still hears your prayers” his voice reached to you in the dark.

You looked down, embarrassed. “I don’t even pray anymore”

“I’ll help you” he said. “Just kneel... and I will guide you”

Notes:

I’d like to say that, first of all, English is not my first language so if there are any mistakes in the writing, just tell me, please. Second, this is horny as hell, but also sad and existential. It's gonna be SLOW burn, but I promise to make it up for it. Also, TW for: suicidal thoughts, cheating (apparently, I have to include this), blood kink and hot priest. I write as an expression tool, so this fic is gonna be more like the show itself in some topics, like the melancholy the island itself has and Riley´s thoughts about the afterlife. Hope you like a miserable girl’s sceneries about religion and Hamish Linklater. I’d like to specially apologize to Lilly Rabe. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: The bride

You had lost it.  

You knew that, there was no other word in the world that could describe this feeling.  

Loss.  

It was better like this, to say it was loss. You didn´t want to use the word humiliation. You were left by your ex-fiancé, just weeks before the wedding dinner you had planned. He took almost all your savings with him, running away from the responsibility, and doing it in the most coward way possible. But that wasn’t enough for him, he had to take your best friend too.  

Two of the people you trusted the most, betraying you without thinking twice and running away together, like teenagers. Ridiculous .  

Your lawyer was doing the best that he could, even with the very little information you had about where the traitor – and the money – could be. Not even you ex mother-in-law had any idea of where he could possibly be hiding, she was completely shocked when she realized what her son did to you, and her age didn’t help either. She was in the hospital the same morning you’ve told her about the incident. You couldn't even feel angry at her, there was no point, she had no fault that her loving son turned out to be worse than his father.  

All you felt was loss. Loss and judgement. Loss and sorrow. Loss and guilt.   

Yes, guilt .  

It was your fault after all, how could you be so stupid? You blamed yourself day and night, trying to understand how you were naïve to trust him. To love him. You wish that therapist you’ve been seeing since was actually helping you get through everything, but she wasn’t.  

It’s been seven months since he left, and the feeling was that you were paying for the seven deadly sins. You handled work like a robot, overworking yourself until you had to basically get kicked out of the building by the cleaning lady. Every night after work was the same, like you’re stuck on some sick carrousel. It was a lot to deal with. You lost your appetite, your patience, your resilience... It was too much loss at the same time.  

Everything was too much. Living was too much.   

So, you attempted against your own life, and you failed .  

The nurses said you got lucky your neighbor noticed something was off. She was a psychology student and you used to chat from time to time, and she was the one to find you that morning, when your door was purposely unlocked so people could find your body days later, when you started to decompose.   

“She was an angel” they said. Yeah, makes sense.   

So... There were you, going back to your hometown, the place you swore you’d never return. Crocket Island, the epitome of a boring life. Your aunt, the only legal guardian you had your whole life, was waiting for you on the pier. The Breeze had just arrived, and you could already smell the fish-like odor you hated so much.  

It's not that you hated the Island, you just didn’t want to be there anymore. Since you were seventeen, you’ve been living in what they call the mainland . You graduated college, started your career and build your own name in the field. You found good friends, met a handsome man and got engaged. Everything was going according to plan.   

Now, you were back in town, and could almost feel that people were laughing at your downfall. But you weren't the only one.   

“Y/n L/n?” a voice said at your back, just when you got up your seat to get off the boat.  

You turned. “Rilley Flynn? Oh my!”, you answer in response to your childhood friend, “Look what the tide brought”.  

He laughed and gave you a side hug. That was a surprise, somebody else was returning that day, you wonder what on earth could have made him comeback. Maybe he was a looser like you. You talked briefly, before getting off the boat and going to your respective relatives.  

Your aunt was almost crushing you on her hug, but you didn’t complain about it. It was good to have someone who cared about you around. The way she ran her hand through your hair reminded you of the good days during your childhood, when there were only the two of you, decorating the Christmas three, baking cookies and going to church on Sunday. Your parents passed before you could even miss them, so she was everything you had as a parent. And that was more than enough.   

“Sweetie... I missed you so much” she said between the hug and the tender kiss she gave you in the cheek.  

“Me too, I’m sorry for-”  

“Don’t say sorry, honey” her voice replied while she looked into your eyes, heavily. “You don’t need to be sorry for anything. You are safe now, and we’re gonna get through this”.  

And, just like that, you walked hand-in-hand across the small village. The view was the same, places like Crocket Island never change after all, but something was lacking in that place. Like the sun wasn’t shinning enough to brighter the day of those people. The air was.... depressive. Interesting , you thought, it feels colder than ever, like life itself is lacking here... Maybe I did die, and this is hell.  

You didn’t know at the time, but it was a half-truth.   

 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

 

It was about 6 P.M when father Paul finally could sit and relax. His travel was exhausting, and the burden on his shoulders was a lot heavier than he expected. He didn’t want to complain about it, though, he knew he had to do it. It was his mission, and he would never admit it to himself that he was scared of it, not for a while.   

But something inside of him was twitching, something was off, and he stood up, walking towards the church, heading to the confessionary.  

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned...” he began, but that feeling didn’t disappear.  

“No... It´s not it, this is wrong... Forgive me father, for I am going to sin”  

As he continued with his confession, across the Island, sitting on a dusty old swing that clearly hasn’t been used by any children in the past five years, you held a cigarette in your fingers while the smoke slowly rose from your mouth. It was not a habit, of course, but in your life, even you could recognize when some situations required something like that. You were nervous, and for no reason at all. There was nothing going on, but your head suddenly was worried about some bullshit.  

 

The sunset was... funny. Not orange and pink like in California, but yellow and gray. Mostly gray, just like everything else in the Crock Pot.  

Depressing , of course, but I can´t blame the sun or the clouds for not being in the mood today.  

You could hear your aunt calling from a far, telling you dinner´s ready, so you rush to her before she called again and again, like you knew she would.  

Feels like I´m a teenager again... Broken heart, almost no friends, rushing to aunt Rose... everything looks the same here, it´s like an infernal loop.  

When you get to bed after eating and forcefully reading a passage from the bible with her, you realize there is no point in trying to stop this. There's no way that feeling of being stuck in a carrousel is gonna vanish. So, you make a promise.  

You'll give yourself just enough time to make it seem like you tried, and you will reset the button of life again. Its either a miracle or death for you at this point , there’s no in-between.   

So you close your eyes, sleeping, but only seeing the dark night sky in your dreams.  

A starless night.  

Chapter 2: Visitors

Notes:

Hi loves, I gave your "aunt" a Name, but if you want to ignore that and gave her another one, it's ok.
Also, I made a little playlist of the songs I listen when I write the fic, here's the link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ne3FxnaiTsoxEGu75cfyT?si=23cd1a4dfbed4a55

Hope you like the chapter, sorry if there's any mistakes.

Morning mass.  

The perfect way to announce to the whole town of your returning, like the prodigal daughter of some kind. Useless, in your opinion, you had nothing to say to most people. A “hi” right here, an “Oh! It´s been so long since I’ve seen you” right here... Nothing else to say, and you were not the type to be all smiles all the time, so people would probably spread around that you were snob and rude. Funny how woman are always “rude” when they don’t make an effort to show their teeth to anyone. You stopped caring about that a long time ago, fortunately.   

You could see Riley Flynn sitting on the other side of the church, clearly forced by his mother. Erin Green was just in the seat in front of you. You looked at each other and laughed, while still chatting about life and how time flies. Erin was beautiful. Since you both were fifteen, she was always so... breathtaking.  

You had a hard time admitting to yourself you had a crush on her back in the days, especially after her brief dating with Riley. But she didn’t have to know it then, so she doesn't have to know now that you don’t feel like that anymore. She was expecting a baby, so no surprises, even silly ones.   

“Come by my house any time, I missed you!” she said.  

“Okay... I promise to pay you a visit, but I assure you I’m not good company” you replied, tilting your head slightly in Beverly Keane’s direction, who was dressed in white, sitting close to the altar.   

Erin rolled her eyes, “Nobody is good company in her eyes, only God and, maybe, the poor Monsignor”  

Oh, shit.  

“Hes still alive?” you whispered, in shock.  

“Yes... But very close to retiring. I’ve heard he was sent to Jerusalem by the people of the Island, he deserves it. After so many years giving to this community, it was his dream. I think he returned already”.   

You could remember him very clearly. Although you’re not quite religious nowadays, you used to be very frequent in church, and he was already very old back then. Aunt Rose said something about him giving clear signs of dementia, but that people were too much in denial to acknowledge.   

Suddenly, the organ begins to play, announcing the beginning of the mass. As everyone got up and started singing, you saw the altar boys arriving. You turned your head back subtly, with a caring expression, expecting to see what time had done to the Monsignor you knew your whole life, preparing yourself if the view was heartbreaking.  

But that was not what you saw.  

He was tall, with curly black hair perfectly combed back. The white and gold cassock fit him like it was part of his body and he sang along with the people while walking towards the altar.   

Your heart skipped a beat. Shit, the old man died, and now we have a usurper.  

“Good morning. I know I am not who you’re expecting to see this morning” he began, looking at the confused people with a soft smile that didn’t correspond to his imposing voice.   

As he continued to explain why Monsignor Pruitt would not be joining you today, you felt that same thing from yesterday. That bullshit feeling, that little voice inside your head. Yesterday, you heard it say something like “life is pointless”, but it was saying something else now. But you couldn't hear it.  

“I am Father Paull Hill, and I am looking forward to meeting you all”.  

Run.  

Said the voice in your head, but you shook it off. You were not letting yourself have a panic attack or something in the middle of mass, with all these people around. Fuck anxiety.   

The rest of the mass went as usual, except for the new priest. He used his voice in an interesting way, it was calm and soft, but somehow very powerful. He must have been doing this for some time now, or maybe he just had the gift of rhetoric. His face was cheerful and he seemed so happy to be here, like it was the chance of a lifetime. Maybe he’s sick, no one could be that happy to be in this ghost island.  

However, something caught your attention, although you couldn’t catch what it was. Your eyes searched around the church, trying to find the source of your discomfort. But no one was spying on you, even though you could feel eyes on you. Riley was distracted by his own shoes; Beverly was too full of herself to pay attention to anything else, so what was that feeling?   

After communion was served and as the people left, you had already forgot about it. But it came again just when your foot stepped out of the church and you were taken from your inner thoughts.   

“You must be Rose Blackwood?” said a man’s voice.  

“Oh, I am!” your aunt replied. “It’s great to meet you, father! It’s been a while since a new face came to this... Well, to the Crock Pot.”  

“The pleasure is mine, Monsignor Pruitt told me a lot about you” he said, smiling. “And you are...?” his eyes turned to you.  

“Oh, this is my niece, Y/n L/n. She will be spending some time with us”   

“It's nice to meet you” you said, shaking his hand and trying your best to smile.  

Run.  

“It’s lovely to see young faces at the lord's house. You’re always welcome here” it was like he was sucking your soul from your body, peeling the shame from your spine and shattering all you knew about what was divine or not, just by looking into your eyes. He went on about how he heard a lot about Riley but so little about you.  

“Well, I guess I’m better at running away from the gossiping tongues of some neighbors”. He smiled briefly. “Funny, because, as far as I remember, God is not pleased with the cursed mouths of those who spread lies... The devil, however...”  

“Okay, that’s enough for today, thank you for your time, father” your aunt interrupted, grabbing your arm and dragging you by the stairs as the new priest chuckled at what you said. Good, at least he has a sense of humor.   

You thought you heard him say “This one’s a smart lamb”, but didn’t comment anything, just smiled at him while your aunt dragged and gave you a sermon about talking too much.   

It was curious, because the same man that smiled so kindly to you, was the same one that gave you chills down your spine during mass. You could realize that now, because that strange feeling of being watched you had the whole morning was the same you had when he held your hand.   

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

Working with creativity was ass. Especially when you had your head over hills. It was your third improvised iced coffee that afternoon, and you still couldn’t find the missing part of that work. Who would've guessed that being a freelancer could be so hard.   

You were stuck, so there was no point in keep forcing yourself to finish the job. As you changed clothes after deciding to go for a walk to fresh-up, you realized most of your wardrobe pieces weren’t suitable for the cold weather of the Crock Pot. So you did something that would probably lead you to be at Bev Keane’s naughty list.   

Nah, fuck her. Whoever is brave enough to do it.  

You looked nice. No, you looked hot. You felt like Monica Bellucci in that Malena movie, the tights matched perfectly with the black dress and were enough to keep you warm. You grabbed a matching jacket, your purse and a pack of cigarettes. You walked outside, letting your feet take you to whatever place they wished to go. Absorbed in thoughts and in your third cigarette, you noticed some old women walking past you, including Keane and the mayor’s wife.   

They held their bible tightly, like you were some type of witch who could easily murder them if God wasn’t looking. The only one who tried to be cordial to you was the so-called first lady, who greeted you with a “Good evening, sweetie” and a smile, that you returned shyly.   

Bible study ladies: one. You: zero.   

The next day your new what kind of nickname would be going around.  

“You’re stealing my spotlight!” Erin’s voice said. She was sitting by her door, your body unconsciously brought you to her house.  

“The hometown bad girl spotlight? Yeah, I'm looking forward to, you deserve some rest”. You weren't lying, the more the eyes were on you, the less gossip about Erin’s babydaddy and speculations about her life before returning to the Island.   

She laughed, closing the book she was reading; “Thank you for that, should I call you Messias or savior?”   

“Better call me Jezebel or something” your quick answers where always a great way to make her laugh, and you were more than happy to do it. “Judas might do it, too. Makes me feel badass.”   

“I think Jezebel fits you better, come on, sit with me” she said, tapping the old bench by her front door.  

You put down your cigarette, stepping on it. As you set by her side, you felt her cold hands reach yours. She looked deep in your eyes, kindly.  

“How are you? I mean, really?”. Damn it, she knows. She always knows when there’s something going on.  

It was like a connection you shared since you were kids, but it must have got stronger for her now that she’s pregnant. Mother’s instincts, Rose would say. You sighed, avoiding her gaze.  

“How is the baby?”  

“Don’t try to answer me with another question, I taught you that”. You gazed at her, analyzing her features. She was being honest, she knew you your whole life, you couldn’t hide from her in the same way you did to your aunt.  

But you also couldn’t talk to her. How could you tell that woman, who was blessed with a new life in her womb, that you wanted to end yours? That you lost the man you loved and your best friend in the same day, that after Daniel’s cheating, everything went down. The shit hit the fan, your other “friends” were only near you when they were curious about him leaving you. And then you realized that, deeply, you had no one. You felt like you had no one.  

“I am... Getting better, slowly”; you lied. “Working on myself, focusing in my work, beginning a new life, even though it's in this old place.”. There was bitterness in your voice.  

“You didn’t come back willingly, Y/n. I might not know you so well right now, since we’ve spent a lot of time apart. People change, I know that. But you wouldn’t come back just because you missed miss Blackwood, you would’ve taken her to the mainland”.  

Another sigh came out of you as you looked at your own feet. It's not that you didn’t trust Erin enough to tell her about everything, but putting your feelings into words was not your strong.   

“I don’t wanna trauma dump on you”.  

Erin was the one to sigh now.  

“Well... You’ll have to talk to someone. I know you haven’t talked with your aunt, you always pushed her away whenever you had problems”.  

That was true, and you felt very guilty about it, too. It wasn't a conscious act, but made her upset, and you knew that.   

“You used to confess to Pruitt, right?” she continued. “Maybe because you felt that, because he was old and knew everybody’s dirty secrets, he wouldn’t judge you. Why don’t you try with Father Paul? He seems... nice.”  

You thought about it for a moment.  

“Maybe... I promise to try” you assured, just to please her. As you watched the sunset together, you realized that Erin had changed a lot. She was not that rebel teenager anymore, of course. But something about her didn’t: her kindness.   

Unfortunately, you couldn’t say that about yourself.  

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

Your cigarette had a bad taste in your mouth, but you kept smoking. You had a tendency of continuing things even if they weren’t joyful anymore. It was like that for some time with your best friend, you could see in her eyes that she wasn’t so happy when you announced the engagement with Daniel. She was already acting strange before, but you ignored it. You ignored a lot of red flags. They were like a big stain of blood in your favorite white shirt, and still, you pretended it wasn’t there. But now, those red blood stains were all over your wedding dress, and there was nothing you could do about it.  

As you walked home, you saw Joe Collie being dragged across the street by a tall, strong man. He had a mustache and a brown skin, with dark hair slicked back. Must be the new sheriff you aunt told you about. He didn’t saw you, but the interaction between the two men entertained you enough, and you also were oblivious to the slim figure in a white collar passing by you, on the other side of the road. Father Paul was many things in life, he was very aware of that.  

He was a miracle, a lie, a salvation and also a curse. Some of those things more than others. But there was something else, something he had long forgotten ever since Mildred passed away, many years before he received his salvation in Jerusalem.  

He was a man.  

And he was reminded of that right now, as he watched you walk by.  

Notes:

Old man Pruitt is dead, long live Father Paull. This is funny because when I first watched the show I thought Paul had really killed John and was trying to create some kind of cult in the Island. I wasn't right, but I wans't exactly worng, was I? I hope you guys are ready for the next one, because we'll get to see how he is when there's no one else around.
Tell me, did you like it?

Chapter 3: Confessions

Notes:

So.... Here I am. This one is shorter than I would like, but it's a test. If you guys like it, I promise to make longer chapters.
Hope you enjoy it! Sorry if there´s any mistakes.

Do not give your strength to women, or your ways to that which is the destruction of kings.  

Proverbs, 31;2.  

 

It wasn’t uncommon to have storms in Crockett. It’s an island in the middle of nowhere, abandoned by God and forgot by time. The rain in this afternoon was not actually a storm, but for you, it felt like it, because you were caught in the middle of if while heading to the church. Your black overcoat couldn’t keep you exactly dry, so you just ran as fast as your legs allowed.   

When you finally reached Saint Patrick’s, your busted open the doors, hoping Beverly Keane wasn’t on the other side. The smell of incense and wood rapidly came to your nostrils as you turned around to find it completely empty, but still with many candles lit. It was a nice place, peaceful, quiet. It was hard to see that on Sunday mass, due to the people overwhelmingly mumbling around. The sound of the rain was muffled now, and you felt like you could breathe.  

Still panting from the run, you walked the isle between the seats, admiring the altar for a moment. Your wet hair touching slightly on your chin.  

“May I help you?” a deep voice said, behind you. He was sitting in the last bench, in the corner, like he was hoping to scare some unaware parishioner. It worked.  

“Oh... I...” you began.  

His eyes wondered on you.  

“Sweet lord, you’re all wet!” he got up, walking towards you with a worried look. “Let me take this for you... Here you go”.  

Before you could even think, he took of your coat, putting in one of the benches. You just stood there, not being able to make a sound.   

He analyzed your face, smiling. “You don’t seem very happy to see me here”.   

It hit you that you have a resting bitch face... And he caught you off guard, even though you came here for a reason and was very possible he would be here.   

“No! No... I was just... surprised!”. This was awkward. “I actually came here to see you”.  

Now was his turn to be surprised. “To see me?”   

Fuck, what is wrong with me today?   

“Yeah, I mean, I came to confess. I was just... admiring the view”, you smiled. “The church looks lovely when it’s empty”.   

He agreed, making a gesture for you while walking towards the confessionary, opening the door for you. You thought you heard him laugh when you called him a gentleman, but you were too nervous for that. Words were simply escaping your mouth, and you didn’t know why. After he sat on the other side, you knelt on the wooden kneeler and sighed.  

“Take your time” his voice was warm and gentle. “I know it must be hard to open up to a complete stranger, but neither me or God will judge you here”.   

He was a good liar. He might not judge you, but you know God does.   

You breathed heavily.  

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned”  

You stopped.  

“No, this is not right. Forgive me, father, for I am going to sin”. Paul’s eyes darkened through the small holes that separated the two of you, he could feel a punch in his stomach.   

“Forgive me, because... I have tempted against... God’s biggest creation? And I might do it again”  

He leaned forward. “That sounded like a question, y/n. Are you sure you want to confess?”  

His question made your spine go cold and the words get stuck in your throat. His kind voice making you shiver inside.  

“What do you mean?”  

“I mean... If you have doubts about how you feel about what you’ve done, there’s nothing to confess. Do you feel guilty?”  

Shit .  

“Yes. But not for what I did. For something else”  

There was a loud silence between you, and your eyes looked up to find his. Your biggest mistake. He was hypnotizing, there was something angelical in his face, but there was also darkness in his eyes. He was dark. You didn’t know why, but he was. You feared that looking at him for too long would have the same effect on you that what a siren’s singing has on a sailor.   

Father Paul knelt, drawn by your vulnerable face across the small holes the confessionary allowed him to look at you. He was also hypnotized.  

“What do you mean by attempting against God’s creation, y/n?”  

You swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of his eyes upon you becoming too much to handle. That was not the same man from Sunday morning, it was impossible. The morning mass priest was totally different, he was smooth, charismatic, engaging. This one... He was something else. He was a pulse, an electric sensation fulfilling every corner of that small cabin. Even the tone of his voice seemed deeper than usual.  

“I’m sick” you lied, before you could even think. “I’m slowly dying and there’s nothing that can be done, there’s no cure. I haven’t told anyone”, your hands touched the wood before you, trying to keep you in place as you closed your eyes. “I have taken away peoples free will to suffer before it happens. Free will it’s God’s biggest creation , and I’m taking this from them”.  

It wasn’t a total lie, but a half-true. You were slowly dying, there was no cure in sight right now.   

But not in his eyes. He knew you were lying, he could see your heart beating faster, but he was not mad. He understands. You are just a lost sheep, and he must not let you wonder around without a purpose. Not because he was the Sheperd, but because he wanted to help you, deeply and sincerely. He wanted you to be restored to your best self, but not only by the gift of the sacrament.  

You felt as his fingers touched the point of yours through the wholes that separated you, opening your eyes in surprise. Your faces were only apart because of the goddamn confessionary, and his mint breath reached yours. You are a grown woman, but you feel like a teenager going for her first kiss. What in the world is he doing? Why so close?   

“I’m not giving up on you, dove. I won’t give up on anyone in this community. You don’t have it if you don’t want to, but I’d like you to see me not only as a priest, but as a friend who you could run to whenever you want ”, his eyes seemed to steal your soul. “You don’t have to change your mind because of what I’m saying right now, but trust me in this: you don’t have to carry this burden alone”.  

Drunk . That’s how you felt. Drunk . Like you’ve drank all the wine from the sacrament.   

And it was all because of the way he used the words, the way his fingers barely touched yours, the way his face was dangerously close. So close, but so far. Devoted to a life of charity and celibacy. Out of your reach, slipping through your fingers before you could even think about having him in your hands.   

“Do you think there’s still salvation for me?” you whispered. “I’ve left the religious life so long ago. I don’t think God would hear me even if I screamed for help”  

Something inside of him twitched. A strange sensation growing as he shivered.  

“It depends, darling. Do you wanna be saved?” he whispered back.   

You realized you were clinging to the confessionary window, almost as if it was the only thing keeping you in place.   

“Think about it, dove. And tell me whenever you have the answer. I have no problem in being the one to help you see that God still hears your prayers”  

You looked down, embarrassed. “I don’t even pray anymore”  

“I’ll help you” he said. “Just kneel, and I will guide you”  

Your ears became hot as you realized what was going on. You were attracted to the new priest, a man of God, a pillar to the small society you lived on. You didn’t want to admit it, of course, so you told yourself you were just needy since Daniel left you. As you thanked him and said your goodbyes, the rain had stopped. Absorbed in thoughts, you cursed as you saw that you had left your coat there. Wich means you’ll have to see him again to grab it, and your heart wanted to avoid that at all cost.   

That night, you dreamed again, but this time the sky was full of stars.  

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

A disgusting smell, dozens of dead cats on the coast, the mayor trying to manage the situation in his own way while there is a perfectly prepared sheriff right by his side. This was a disaster. Riley was trying to convince Erin not to stay so close to the poor animals, talking about toxoplasmosis or whatever. You were static as your view was taken away by the sun, blinding you momentarily. You should’ve bought some sunglasses.   

Aunt Rose stood by your side, crossing her arms and secretly checking on every curious person on the beach.   

“You came home all wet yesterday, what happened?”  

“I was on a date”, the words left your mouth in that sarcastic way you knew pissed her off, but she only looked at you over her glasses, making you laugh. “I was... at church, confessing”  

“Well, at least you’re talking to someone ”, there was a bit of hurt in her voice. “I know he’s not Pruitt, but he gets the job done, I suppose?”. She looks at you again, trying to find something that would indicate if the new priest was trustful or not. She never questioned God, but Rose Blackwood was not the type of woman to be blind enough to trust any man, and she made sure to teach you that from a young age.   

So she was waiting for your judgement, of course. Like it was the confirmation she needed.   

“Yes. He is... very understanding”  

She nods. “Well, he is young, I bet he has some progressive ideas, too. Did he encourage you to attend the meetings?”. Meetings?    

Before you could ask, she recognized Riley’s mother, Annie. And you knew there was nothing else you could say to get her attention. Many hours later, you were home, sitting at your old study table, painting your nails and trying to distract your mind.   

“They mistook my kindness for weakness. I fucked up, I know that, but Jesus! Can’t a girl just do the best she can?”  

You used to sing to yourself a lot before your depressive episode, but melancholic artists like Lana del Rey were a new addition to your playlist. The red on your nails reminded you of your favorite wine, and also your favorite shade of lipstick. As the nail polish dries, all the words of affection you had heard in the last few days come to your mind. Maybe Erin was right, and you should talk more often. Maybe not, because you’d worry everyone.   

The song in your speaker changes, filling your room with the familiar sound of “Enjoy the Silence” by Depeche Mode. You feel like getting up and dancing, but something stops you. Because now, this song feels different. Because now, it reminds you of him .   

His dark eyes, chaining you to him like you were a bird he was trying to keep.   

His long hands, that you deeply knew you wanted in your body.   

His deep voice calling your name.  

Him, entirely. Because now, he was what you secretly wanted so bad, even if you denied it so hard.   

Notes:

I wanted to write this is been a while, the idea of his hands barelly touching you is something so hot, but also so torturing for me. So? How about it? Should I make longer chapters? Did you liked the playlist I've put in the last one?
See you next time.

Chapter 4: Ashes

Notes:

Heeeeeey, happy new year! I hope yall had a great evening and a great beggining of 2023. This chapter was specially hard for me, I kept feeling something was lacking, and had to rewrite some parts. I hope this version is as satisfying for you as it it for me. I promise some priest praise in the next one.

Father Paul made sure to remind every islander present in church how great was to see them there, but that he’d love to watch them comeback more often. “Why not every Sunday?” he says, and Beverly Keane is smirking quietly in her place. She was very proud of herself; anyone could see the glimpse of entitlement in her eyes.   

“I am so much more enlighten than anyone here” you bet something along those lines was running through her mind. But being the pick me woman she was, nothing like it would come out of her mouth. There was something so strange about her, the way she presented that angelic wannabe image only made her appear more and more evil, every day. Woman like her are the type to use tears to get someone in trouble, purposely, but gladly that didn’t work for her in the Island. Everyone knew who she really was and how she viewed the world. How passive-aggressive she is and how she always finds a way of making her will be heard above other’s needs. In the past years, she was like a tick feeding of the church’s funds and the Monsignor’s inability to take care of things.   

There was a time, long ago, when you thought she wasn’t that bad. You thought were just rumors and gossips because of the way her religious fanatism got on everyone’s nerves. But then, you found out she started the speculations about your aunt and what could’ve led to her ex-husband to leave her. Of course, she would blame the woman for the domestic violence happening inside your house. You barely remember your aunt’s ex, because of how young you were back in the time he used to live with you.  

Still, you were glad he left.   

Your thoughts switched to the priest in front of you, Rose had insisted in sitting in the second front row, and you could even smell the musk and incense of his clothes. It is hard to admit, but he is good at this. He uses his voice as if it was an arrow, which he points at every heart and every mind of each one sitting inside that church. He talks about death, about grief and resurrection. Then, he gets to the specific thing that keeps – or used to keep – this Island alive. Fishermen.   

And he’s excited, gesturing and smiling and talking about faith. About faith and resurrection. “This Island... God hasn’t forgot you, no. He sees you; he sees you all ”.  

His eyes meet yours.   

“Have faith, and faith shall save you”.  

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

Receiving communion from that man was not the hardest part of today. Running away from him, however...  

You were glad you still had that Nikon Camera with you, so you had something to keep yourself busy while The Crock Pot Luck went on. It was one of your favorite events, memories were made on days like this when you were a teenager. It was a breath of life in that monotonous grayish village. Your first kiss was during one the crock pot luck, with one of the church boys who was friends with Riley. You can barely remember his name, but you can remember how furious Keane’s mother was when she saw your pink lipstick all smudged.   

That day, Monsignor Pruitt had to break the argue between your aunt and the old lady, things got pretty heated, and for nothing. It was not a big deal. Just two kids, kissing.   

The scent of your perfume exhaled as you sweated, the soft smell calming your nerves a bit. Along with that, the sun kissed the top of your head, lightning your hair. The breeze brought the scent of the eucalyptus trees around, ensuring a natural refreshment that slightly lifted your dress. You were alive, for the first time in those seven months. You felt alive. The camera captured everything, from the surrounding mountains to the way Warren Flynn looked ad Leeza Scarbough. Cute .  

Erin was already very entertained, chatting with Riley. Rose greeted everyone, making sure they had a plate of every food she’d cooked for the event. Everything as deserving of a click, that was the best part of photography, you could experiment with it and see the world differently.   

“Excuse me, miss. Are you the Crock Pot’s official photographer?” said a voice behind you. A tall figure with a charming mustache, along with a kid you could clearly tell it was his. He smiled at you, hoping you’d understand the joke.   

“Guess I am” you smiled back. “You must be Sheriff Hassan, I’m Y/n L/n”.   

You shook hands as he introduced his son, Ali.   

“I was hoping you could, perhaps, take a picture of us? You know, family picture in this new place they chose to call home, etcetera.”   

“Dad!”, Ali seemed pretty embarrassed, quite common in his age.   

“Oh, come on, pose with your father, I promise no one’s looking”, you seemed to have taken him by surprise, which gave the sheriff time enough to have his photo. Ali basically ran from there after the click, you could almost see him blushing.   

“Thanks, sorry for that, I don’t know what’s up with kids nowadays” his dad says, watching him go, with his hands on his hips. Dad pose, I suppose.  

“It’s okay, he’s at that age, I understand. Here, check it up” you approached, showing him the picture. It was decent, considering how fast it was taken. A perfect click. “So, how do you like the Crock Pot? Have people been nice to you?”   

He seemed to ponder a bit before answering, looking around. “Kind of”.   

You chuckled. “I’m sorry to hear that. I know what kind of means when it comes to the people here. I assume you’re not christian?”  

“You’re the observant type, huh?”, he chuckled.   

“It’s the only reason people would treat you differently here, so...”, you shrugged.   

He agreed. You heard the mayor calling him.   

“Well, duty’s calling, it was nice to meet you. Thanks for the picture, we’ll talk about it later... Sorry about my son again, I think he has a crush on you or something”, and then he left, making you laugh with his last statement.   

A teenager having a crush on you, did you enter your milf phase, finally? Was that even possible, giving the fact that you had no children?  

As you laughed, you let your guard down. It was a matter of seconds until your aunt came for your neck, siding with the only person you wanted to avoid the most. She sneaked her fingers through your waist, tickling you and making you turn around.   

His eyes hit you like a dodge ball, right in your face. A small smirk on his face.   

“I see you’ve made a new friend, huh?” Rose says, teasing you. “He’s a good catch!”  

You turn your eyes to her, confused. “Oh, the sheriff? As if! We were just talking and I took a picture of him and his son”  

She stepped forward, closer to you. Paul remained a step behind her, indecipherable.   

“You know, you should go for it. I mean, you’re single now, if I had your age, I would definitely be chasing him. He’s very charming!”; Paul Hill looked like a rock behind her, his arms crossed and his glance stuck on you. “Don’t you agree, father?”  

He looked at your aunt, confused, like he wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying. But that face disappeared the second she looked at him, switching to a warm smile and condescending face.   

“Sure! We were just talking about renovation and restart at this morning’s sermon. Why not?” he got closer, making you want to take a step back. But you don’t, you can’t show any emotions like this near him, priests have a weird gut feeling that allows them to... know things. You feared he found out something about you, although you were not sure of what. “Your aunt is right”  

“See? You can still use that wedding dress if you want!”  

“Wedding dress?” his gaze alternated between the two of you.   

Shit. Of course she would bring that up, even unintentionally.    

“It’s not a wedding dress. It's just a white dress, I told you”, you were facing down, feeling a little embarrassed by having to admit that you still had the dress you were going to wear at the fucking wedding dinner. “I was gonna throw it away, anyways”  

“Don’t”  

The ways that he says it, abruptly, makes the two of you stare at him. Rose seemed surprised and so did you. He smiled, smudging.   

“Pardon me. What I mean is... You’re young, and God works in mysterious ways. Perhaps your aunt is right and you should restart. If you don’t feel like that about the Sheriff, just choose someone else ” he explained.   

Rose was thriving, you could feel it. The new priest was backing her up, and she would brag a lot about it to you later. “It would be a shame to throw away any idea of a new start”  

Another punch in your stomach as he continued. This man was not holy, there was nothing holy about the way he played with words. Or maybe he was just being kind, and you were going insane to think a priest is secretly giving you a hint in the middle of that conversation. Yes, definitely, you were going insane. You were the unholy one.   

It was the more logical option.   

You were interrupted by a yell. Joe Collie was crying, crouched besides a dog, apparently poisoned, due to the foaming coming out of it’s mouth. It was a heartbreaking scene, but it was also heartbreaking for the fact that nobody cared enough. It was sad, and people had their reasons not to like or care about Joe’s feelings, what made everything harder. Sarah Gunning tried to help, but it was too late.   

A gut feeling hit you, and you looked up. Bev seemed not to be so shocked like the rest of the citizens, and got out of there as fast as the Sheriff dispersed everyone. You could recognize a fake smile and also a fake sadness from miles away. Fucking cunt. Said the voice in your head. Something was off about her behavior, intuition never lies.   

As you walked towards one of the benches, putting the camera in your bag, you saw Riley, sitting alone. As you headed to him through the grass, a slim hand touched your waist, making you stop and turn around.  

“Actually, if you’d excuse me, I’d like to talk to Riley in particular”   

Fuck, he is too close .   

“Oh, of course, father. No problem” avoiding his gaze, you turned around. It was obvious that you were avoiding him right now, you barely looked in his direction. Before you could run, he collected your arm in his hand, so kindly, like you could break in a half if he used too much strength. Damn, he’s going to make me look at him .  

“Think about what your aunt said, dove”. The sun lightened his face beautifully, and almost formed a halo behind his curly black hair. “You deserve a resurrection, and I bet you’d look lovely as a bride”  

 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

 

The guitar of some old-fashioned rock band filled the bar where you stand, the smell of cigarettes and beer was not uncommon for nights like this. The bartender, a white man with ginger hair and a terrible taste for t-shirts, prepared your drink with the rush that only someone who makes eight dollars per hour would. It was mechanic, and he probably hates you for asking something so complicated. “Here” he hands you the drink, barely looking at you when you gave him the tip.  

Fresh out of college, you wish you could celebrate all your conquers how you planned: with a fancy dinner, just with your closest friends. Of course, Daniel had to make you end up in a stinky bar with all those assholes he called his “bros”. Not sure of how you agreed to this, you head towards the table where they all sit and talk about how the last NBA’s game was so much more interesting than the honors you received at your graduation.  

“We will be celebrating all important things that happened this week! It’ll be awesome” he said while trying to convince you to come. “Come on! It’s gonna be fun!”  

And, of course, you ended up agreeing with. You wanted to be a good girlfriend, a cool girl.  

It wasn’t so great when you realized he didn’t even care enough about you the whole night, like you were invisible. It was worse after you got home and he started to dismiss everything you said about how unhappy you felt. Nothing was great with him, but he had so much talent for gaslighting that it happened all the time, unnoticed by you.  

Sighing, you close the google drive folder with all the pictures of that night, deleting it right away. Pictures of you, with that old hair color that you hated, with that old fake smile you cursed and with that old boyfriend you wish you’d never met. After transferring all the pictures from the camera to your computer, you notice how every single one of them looks better when in a larger screen. All the details of people’s laughter, all the wrinkles around their eyes while they smile. It's heartwarming, at best.  

Taking a sip of the tea in your mug, you pass each of the images, slowly. Riley’s smile while chatting with Erin, the sheriff's clumsy hugging his son, your aunt serving a hotdog to Keane. The next picture is one of her, smiling at you with those familiar eyes. People used to say your aunt and your mother had the same eyes you have, that they could tell you both were related even if they didn’t knew you at all. With time, those comments stopped. Sometimes you wonder if your aunt asked them to stop or if you just lost resemblance as you grew.  

As you skipped a few pictures that were blurry, you notice something in one of them. It's not very well focused, but it was possible to see what was happening. In the corner of a photo that you almost discarded, Beverly Keane was giving a hotdog to Joe’s dog, crouched next to the animal. Your eyes widened.  

That could be no coincidence.  

For the first time in your life, you had something concrete against that woman. Something that could prove how she really was. Who she really was.

Notes:

So... what do you think y/n should do with the pic? What do you think she should do with the dress? What should she do about her denying, yet growing, priest kink? The way you answer these questions may (or may not) interfere in the story, so please let me know.
See you later <3

Chapter 5: Casualties

Notes:

Hey loves, this chapter created itself, I am not sure if it's a transition chapter or not. So it's up to you to decide.
I would like to say that I'm writting and posting as fast as I can, but sometimes the story just wont tell me what is about to happen.
I hope you like it, if the next one takes a bit longer for me to post, just now it's because I'm trying to make longer chapters.
Enjoy!

“Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life.” John 6:51-59.

 

A few raindrops fell from the leaves on the trees that morning, remnants of the dawn drizzle. The usual early-morning haze was still taking a while to clear. The road's gravel crunched softly beneath your feet. Still groggy from last night’s terrible nightmares, even though only flashes of it remained in your memory. Saint Patrick’s church, with blood splattered all over the walls. People you couldn’t recognize walking on those same streets, seeming to be made of shadows and with glowing eyes. A gospel hymn being sung in a terrifying way, like someone was crying instead of singing it. Father Paul, giving you a cup full of water, that turned into wine when in your mouth.

Maybe that’s your penitence for thinking the new priest is hot: nightmares.

You let out a sigh as you enter the local market, making sure you have the list with the ingredients your aunt needed in hands. She was either baking a cake or some type of bread, judging by the items. You walk among the products, perfectly arranged in the shelves, somewhere between the clients you hear a small talk. Two of the bible study ladies were filling a bag with the same flour over and over, clearly not paying attention at the process. Their gossip was better. Unable to contain yourself, your curiosity takes the best of the situation, allowing you to hear them.

“I think she is pregnant with somebody else’s child, that’s why she left her husband!” on of them says. “Her old Facebook is still filled with pictures of them, and I’ve seen her talking to Erin. Maybe they’re exchanging pregnancy experience?”

“Her aunt says she’s come home for good, and nothing happened. But she never really gives us any explanation. Honestly, I feel sorry for that poor woman. Having to take care of her sister’s kid her whole life, just for her to come back with another child that’ll be thrown on her arms and trap her as a nanny again.”

Oh, so I am their gossip.

A nausea hits you. You've always knew that the Crockett folk were especially nosy and mean when making up things about their neighbors. But being the scapegoat never really bothered you, until now. Now they're not only making up stories, but they are also openly talking about an old insecurity that lived inside of you for a long time. The fact that you were a weight to your aunt’s shoulders. The more you think about those words and that possibility, the harder it becomes to muster up the courage to face them.

Your legs won't move, betraying you. You want to go over there and yell at those two bitter old women about how ridiculous it is to be assuming everything about everyone's lives all the time. But you can’t. So, surprisingly, someone else does it for you.

“Oh, my sisters in faith. If only your dedication for the church services were as strong as your will to belittle your equals.” Father Paul appears behind them, in his casual clothing. “If only your spread the lord’s words as you do with your malicious assumptions.”

Their face went completely blank, clearly not expecting to be scolded. Apparently, he was passing by to grab some things too, and was also curious about their loud whispers. They stutter in shock, trying to explain themselves and say how they didn't expect to see him there. He nods his head, peacefully, completely unbothered.

“Remember, sisters” he says, grabbing their shoulders and gently rushing them out the door. “God is not pleased with the cursed mouths of those who spread lies. Now go, I’ll meet you at the confessionary.”

Too stunned to speak, they leave.

Too stunned to speak, you just stand there, looking back at him when he turns to face you. Paul gives you a look of concern, slowly walking towards you. Your head just can’t quite comprehend what happened. For the first time, someone besides Aunt Rose, Riley or Erin has defended you in Crockett Island. Has stand out for you when you couldn’t.

All those years suffering in silence with the wicked gossips this place has made about your life. Every time someone suggested you wouldn’t make it all by yourself in the mainland. All the times when someone said something mean, trying to cover it with a fake smile. Those moments you wish you had stand out more for yourself when Daniel diminished your wills.

Everything seems so small now. So far away.

“Are you okay?” his voice calls to you.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to tell him without letting it show how you’re affected.

“I… I’ll be fine” you give him a shy smile. “Thank you for that. You didn’t have to, but… Thank you!”

He returns the smile.

“I had to, y/n. What kind of person would I be if I heard them and just let them say those things? Don’t worry about it”, he looks at the market basket in your hands. “Do you need help carrying those home?”

“I don’t” you answer, looking at him for a bit longer. “But I wouldn’t mind some company. Although, you have guest at the confessionary, don’t you?”

“They can wait. It’s not a real penitence if they don’t eager for the judgment, is it?”

His smirk widens.

After you pay, he follows you out of the store, opening the door for you. The weather outside is slightly brighter, but the rain clouds insist to hide the sun. Father Paul insists on carrying one of the bags for you. Looking closely, he seems to be way more friendly than he appeared before. He wore a gray sweater over the button shirt and the typical white collar, with his usual pants.

“Too tight for a father?” he says, catching you eyeing the skinny jeans.

You let a small laugh come out.

“I didn’t say anything. Reject tradition, embrace modernity, right?”

Now he is the one to laugh. “I thought you would say something like that. It fits your personality really, really well.”

“Oh, so you already now me that much. Or am I just very easy to read?” you tease.

“Oh, no… You are not easy to read, y/n. Definitely.” he says. The morning breeze blows his curls a little. His eyes look like a warm cup of coffee.

It doesn’t take long for you to arrive, so the small talk between you doesn’t go on for long. Surprisingly, you hear him sigh a bit when he realizes you’re both at the front door. Inside the house, you can hear the usual Elvis disk playing in Rose’s old photograph, it’s a miracle it is still working. Going up the front door’s stairs, you look back at him.

“Thanks for the help. I mean, the two of them.”

“The two of them?” he says, a bit confused.

“Yes. The one with the bags and the one in the store.”

He nods, smiling. “I’m your friend, remember? You don’t need to thank me, dove.”

The door opens suddenly, aunt Rose has a broom on one of her hands. She looks surprised to see him standing besides you, and only then you realize how close he was.

“I thought you were talking to yourself, sweetie! Father Paul, what do I owe the pleasure? Does this little devil need an exorcism?”

Her eyes and smile are teasing you, and you can tell she’s had a few beers. Thank God the priest can’t. Then, she looks at the bag in his hand, taking a while to put two and two together due to her dizzy condition. She thanks him for the kindness and invites him in. As you walk down the small hall, towards the kitchen, she keeps talking about all sorts of things.

While father Paul is distracted by her chatting, you look inside the kitchen trash can. One, two… Four empty beer cans. She usually doesn’t drink, so she is clearly a lightweight. The redness in her face starts to show, and she almost falls on the floor when she tries to wipe under the dinner table. Oh, lord…

“I think it’s time for you to lay down a little bit, shall we? Excuse me, father.”

Gently you guide her to her room, upstairs. She complains a little, telling you how she’s completely fine and etcetera. Weirdly, as you enter her room, she immediately lays in her bed. At the side table, sits an empty wine bottle. She falls asleep quickly, which can only mean she’s been awake the whole night. You pinch the bridge between your eyes, annoyed. Whatever is the reason she had to drink that much, you can ask later.

Down the stairs, Father Paul is looking at some old family pictures on the wall.

“You’ve changed so much with time” he says, still looking at the frames. “Almost unrecognizable, it's impressive.”

As his gazes turns to you, it hits you that you’re alone with him again. At your house.

“Yeah, time it’s really magic, isn’t it?”. Damn, why do I feel so stupid talking to him like this?

He smiles, coming closer. “Indeed. People say time heals everything, but I didn’t know it could change your DNA” he looks at you differently, like it’s the first time you’ve met him. “I’ve seen your aunt’s cookbook, looks like she was planning to bake a cake. Is there a special occasion?”

Oh, God. There is! You check on the calendar on the kitchen wall.

“Tomorrow was supposed to be, uhmm…”

He looks at you with a certain playfulness. Arms crossed in his chest, making his shoulders look wider than usual.

“You forgot you own birthday, darling?”

You flush, totally losing the words you had. Then, you let out a laugh, being followed by his. He grabs the groceries, placing them in the kitchen counter, washing his hands afterwards.

“What are you doing?” you say.

“Helping you bake your birthday cake, y/n. It doesn’t look like miss Blackwood is in her best moment to come down the stairs and help you” his eyes look kinder and kinder at every word. “I’m not a great cooker, but surely I can help.”

You flush a little more. “Please, father, don’t bother with that! If she finds out I’ve been disturbing you like this she will…”

“Disturbing?” he interrupts, frowning. “You’re not a disturbance at all.”

He lied.

“Come on, let’s start over”. He takes off his sweater, hanging it in the clothes rack by the door. He starts to unbutton the shirt sleeve bottom, lifting it up to his elbows. You force your mind to focus on something else, otherwise you’d be just standing there looking at him. Hypnotized.

You grab some crockery for the ingredients, placing them in the counter. The air was beginning to get surprisingly hot, maybe from the tension you felt every time he got closer to grab something or read the instructions on the cookbook, so you decide to open the window behind the sink. That Elvis disk is the only thing filling the air as you both start to mix the flour, eggs milk and so on.

After all the steps are done, you turn on the oven, placing the raw cake inside. You can feel his heavy eyes on you, although you wish you didn’t.

Leaning on the sink counter, you cross your arms around you. Biting your lip, anxious.

“So… You never mentioned where were you before you came to the island” you try to find something to say.

He leans on the kitchen door, studying your face for a bit. “You also never mentioned where were you before Crockett. How about we trade information?”

So he is playing this game.

“So you like a little bit of gossip too, father?” you tease, smirking.

“No, not gossip” his face is serious right now. “I was just hoping to understand you. Maybe understand why you’re avoiding me since that day in the confessionary.”

That surprised you, making you lose your words. All that unbothered pose you tried to keep crumbling as he stepped closer. Father Paull had many talents, but making you lose your ground in a matter of question was, in your opinion, the most annoying one. Annoying because it meant you couldn’t run from him.

Especially when he was one step from you, hands on his pockets, smile in the corner of his lips. He maybe is secretly enjoying this, enjoying the small dominance he had over you, because he knew your hart was beating a little faster now. But that was a secret he was planning to keep.

“I wasn’t avoiding you” you say, forcing a smile.

“I’m not a fool, y/n. Look, I understand if you don’t trust me like you trusted Monsignor Pruitt, but I really wanna help you” he takes your hands in his, looking deeper in your eyes. Of all the feelings you thought the crock pot would make you feel when you returned, butterflies in the stomach were not on the list.

Ridiculous, compose yourself! You’re almost thirty years old and he is a priest!

“It’s not that I don’t want to trust you, it’s just… I just-’’

You look down, unable to keep his gaze. Useless, because he gently lifted your chin, making you meet his eyes again.

“A few days ago, your aunt came to me telling me she was worried about you. And honestly, I think she should, y/n. It took me some time to realize what you meant when you said you’ve attempted against God’s biggest creation, but I understand now.”

Suddenly, you want to lie again. You want to tell him he’s wrong and that you would never do that. You don’t want him to look at you like that, worried, eager for you to say those words. Hoping he is wrong. But nothing leaves your mouth. You both sigh heavily. You realize in some point of the conversation he leaned a bit more over, placing his hand on the counter behind you. His presence is disturbing, forcing you to grab the kitchen counter too, like if you don’t you could just crumble right there.

“I have an AA meeting with Riley at the recreation center. I know you’re not an alcoholic, but I think it would be good for you. Just to, maybe, share something. Or maybe just to be there, to see that you are not alone, darling.”

Is it even possible to say no when you’re looking at me like this?

“I promise I will try” you say. It’s a surprise that you can keep his gaze for so long now. But then, his eyes leave yours, going straight to your mouth. Then, he meets your gaze again.

God, I can’t. Please, please just don’t be so close. I’m scared of how long I can keep up with this.

 “I don’t want you to try, y/n. I want you to be there. Thursday, at seven P.M. Let this be your penitence for lying inside the confessional” he said. “I don’t mean to be rude or mean, I just want to make sure you’ll be there. Is that alright?”

You nod. Something crosses your mind.

“Speaking of confessional, don’t you have to meet those women there?”

His eyes widened. For the first time, you were the one getting him by surprise.

“I have completely forgot” he laughs, making you laugh along. His laugh makes something inside you freeze.

You go with him to the front door. But instead of saying goodbye, he grabs his sweater and looks at you for a moment.

“What is it? Is there flour in my face?” you ask.

He smiles.

“You may not be disturbing, miss l/n. But you surely are distracting.”

 

 

The next morning was surprisingly hot. That was the usual weather in Crockett, unpredictable. Apparently, your head was adapting to that reality now, because you woke up anxious and sweating.

Maybe you had a bad dream, but you couldn’t really remember.

Downstairs, Rose had a full morning breakfast table set. She was going to spend the day with you, avoiding the outside world due to her hangover. You could feel the smell of the coffee coming to your nostrils, a warm sentiment inside your chest.

You never really planned most of your birthdays, mostly because the idea of being one year close to death didn’t, please you that much. The feeling that time is unstoppable is only terrifying when you stop to think about it, and days like your birthday were a friendly reminder of that. You think about John Pruitt, the man who dedicated his whole life to take responsibility for the islander’s faith, for the communication they needed to have with God.

Now, with a new priest and new face in this ghost town, his name is barely mentioned. Of course, people are still very thankful to him and miss him dearly, but since Father Paul arrived, you can’t really remember the last time someone asked questions about the old man.

They accepted that he was fine, being take care of in the mainland. So they kept their questions for themselves, perhaps.

Not quite sure why he came to your mind that morning, you head to the shower. The water was supposed to help you clean your thoughts, but it doesn’t.

Monsignor Pruitt. Why did you wake up thinking about him?

What if your dreamed about him? What if something had happened? He is too old; is he being well treated in the hospital?

Was he even in a hospital? Father Paul mentioned one, but never added much to the information. He barely talked about him after his first mass. Never gave any news about him. 

And is with all these thoughts in your head that you cut your leg with the shaving razor, unable to pay attention to one activity at a time. It wasn’t even a small cut, it bleeds to the bathroom floor a bit, a cut right under your left knee. Fuck.

If it was an old razor, you’d have some problems.

Sitting in the board of the bed, now in a towel, you take a closer look. The red of your blood calls your attention more than usual. You fortunately never cut yourself on purpose, and you never understood that trend on the internet some years ago, when everyone posted pictures of their bruises. Now, the redness of your blood looks beautiful.

It runs down your skin, slowly. It reminds you of all the statues where Jesus is bleeding on the cross, suffering for human sins in a sacrifice of unconditional love. It is beautiful, it is poetic, it is miraculous, blissful.

Taste it.

Whispers fill your mind, and it’s almost impossible to ignore them.

Drink from my blood and eat my flesh. For it will fulfill you.

Reluctantly, you collect the blood with your fingers, bringing it to your tongue. Salvation. That’s how it tasted like, salvation. Even though you’re not sure of what that means.

You do this repeatedly, until the blood stops.  

It is only later, on the breakfast table, that you realize what you did. Because now, it’s like water doesn’t taste like it’s supposed to. And the more you drink, the thirstier you get.

Chapter 6: Closer

Notes:

This is were things start to get interesting. Also, I added a few more songs to the fanfic's playlist
here it is https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ne3FxnaiTsoxEGu75cfyT?si=b71d9a3ea5da4fa0

The clink of cluttery at the table was not as loud as the laughs of the three friends. They were talking for about an hour now, recalling old stories from their childhood and high school years. It was not their favorite topic, but it was the one they had in common. That’s because Y/N, Erin and Riley had spent many years away from that island, building their own life block by block, cementing the road of their future. It was a hard work, but in some point, they all made it.

Yes, they made it. In some period between seventeen and their mid-twenties, they had part of the life they imagined for themselves, or at least kind of. They knew that. Yet, the frustration of coming back here, even though was their home, was something haunting each one of them.

“I had to keep myself occupied, so I’ve red tons of books. Nietzsche, Kant, Jung… They all have something to say about life. The bible wasn’t so appealing to me anymore” Riley now talked about his time in jail, eyes busy in the cup of lemonade on his hand. Avoiding eye contact was all he could do when talking about this, especially with Erin around.

She wouldn’t judge him, neither you. But it was something that he just did.

You both nodded.

“So glad we’re not ignoring the elephant in the room. Also, glad that you trust us to talk about it, really” you said, bringing a bit of Erin’s gnocchi to your mouth. Who would tell she’d be such a good cooker.

“Well, we don’t have to pretend. It’s just the three of us here, so… Let’s make our own loser’s club” she said, a kind smile on her face.

 Erin was aways the group’s mood maker. Some things never change.

“Well, that’s my part of the story. I hope you enjoyed my character develop from a church boy to an atheist, because I guess my dad didn’t” Riley was laughing, so the words wouldn’t have a heavy weight on him. It didn’t work. “Speaking of loser’s club, I’ve heard you will be our honor guest at the next AA meeting, y/n. How’s that?”

“Ah” you laughed. “Honor guest, really funny, Riley. I guess I am, Father Paul and my aunt would be very unpleased if I didn’t show up there.”

“And you’re looking forward to please them? Wow, time really changed you” Erin said.

They were clearly having fun in teasing you, but you couldn’t blame them. You were exactly like that when you were younger. Actually, you’re still like that.

“Well, the new priest can be very convincing, Riley knows that. And honestly, I think it’s better to go than to create a situation about it. You said I should talk to someone, Erin. I’m just following your advice.”

“Cheers to that! Y/n L/n is finally listening to someone, at least once in her life!” she said. The three of you lifted your lemonade cups, since none of you drank alcohol.

Riley for obvious reasons, Erin for her baby and you, out of respect for both.

“Isn’t it funny how we talked so much about how we wanted to never come back here? And still, here we are” you said, apprehensive.

“I’m going to give you a sample of tomorrow’s AA meeting, then” Riley cleared his throat, preparing to impersonate Father Paul’s voice. “God acts in mysterious ways, y/n. Who knows what he has planned for us?”

You held a laugh, not sure if laughing at a priest was correct or not.

“Sounds more like Monsignor Pruitt than Father Paul” said Erin. She was probably right. “Come on, Riley, the poor man it’s trying his best. Be nice!”

He agreed, but still laughed a bit. “I’m not mocking him, it’s just the way every priest talks. Honestly, I kind of like him. It was very nice to make the AA meetings here so I wouldn’t have to take the breeze every week. He seems like a good person.”

Yes, he did. But still…

“Don’t you guys feel there’s something strange about him?” they turned to you, frowning. “I mean, it’s no bad it’s just… He feels off-putting, somehow.”

“I never paid much attention to him like that. Maybe he’s just not used to the Island yet” Erin shrugged.

“Actually…” Riley said, calling your attention. “I feel like that sometimes, too. There was this time I…”

He stopped, not sure if it was okay for him to say it. But he was among friends so, whatever.

“During that night, at the storm. I thought I saw someone at the beach, with a had and a black coat. Just like the one Monsignor Pruitt used to wear. I thought maybe he’d returned and was lost, so I went outside to reach for him and bring him in… As soon as he saw me, he ran and I couldn't find him anymore.”

That was the weirdest thing you’ve listened since you arrived Crockett.

“When I talked to Father Paul, telling him about it, he barely cared. Said Pruitt was on the mainland, being taken care of and that sadly he looked like he wasn’t going anywhere soon.”

“Well, unfortunately, he’s right about that. Pruitt was too sick, more than anyone would like to admit it” Erin remembered how, when she arrived about a month before you and Riley. The old monsignor could barely do the whole mass without needing to be helped. “Even if was him that night in the storm, he wouldn’t be able to run.”

This seemed to put an end to the matter. The sound of silence filling the dining room. It was a small place, but very put together. Erin had green on the walls now, contrasting with the old white her mom used to paint it.

“So, birthday girl, what’s your story?” she asked.

You knew that moment was coming, but imagining a conversation is very different from living it. You thought about it for a moment, arranging the words in the best way inside your mind before speaking.

“Well, let’s say I was a lucky girl” you began. “I did everything that’s expected of someone. I went to college, graduated with honor, got a job… All that stuff. I also met someone who was just like me, a lucky boy. He had done everything right too, all the expectations were fulfilled. Power couple bullshit or whatever.”

Their eyes were curious, but non-judgmental, so you continued.

“One day, he proposed. I was head over hills. Then, the next month, I noticed that my bank account was empty, and he was gone. Along with my best friend at the time. Now, he’s nowhere to be found, and it’s been seven months. I’m still waiting for my lawyer to call me with good news, but there’s none. That’s it, that’s why I’m here now.”

Suddenly, you need a cigarette.

Erin looks angry, Riley looks… like Riley. He always had those empathetic eyes.

“He didn’t deserve you” her anger was evident in her voice.

“Well, I guess not. But I still liked him until about two months ago. It’s sad, but now I see that he’d always been trash. Thank you, tough.”

She looks pissed, maybe she took that to a personal level. Erin was that kind of friend, she would always defend you and stay by your side no matter what happened. Surely she’s going to heaven one day. Riley looks like he’s about to ask something, but whatever it is, he keeps it to himself. Instead, he says:

“You deserve to try again, y/n. Give yourself a second chance.”

You wonder if he knows the whole story, the part you cut out. The part where you tried to end everything. It was hard to admit for him, but Riley understood you. He had a lot to think about in prison, and one of those things was death. He couldn’t escape the thought anyways, since the image of the girl he accidentally killed showed up to him all the time. Her face, covered in blood and glass, still reflecting the ambulance and police lights of that night.

“I know you both don’t like this kind of thing, but I’ll say it anyways” begins Erin. “The prettiest and most precious things we have often come after bad situations. They come after we’ve hit the rock bottom. I know it’s a hard to swallow pill, but maybe this is our second chance. The Crock Pot it’s our rock bottom, and maybe this is why we’re all here. To restart.”

You sigh a bit, but deep down, you know there is truth in her voice.

The rest of the dinner goes on for about an hour. The weight is off your shoulders a little, and your heart is filled with the light mood your friends share. When you realize that, maybe, Riley is trying to stay alone with Erin for a bit, you make up an excuse and say your goodbyes, thanking her for the dinner.

At the door, she stops you.

“You know, I think Riley is right” she caresses your arm. “You should allow yourself a second chance. At everything.”

“And by everything you mean…”

She shreds.

“Everything. Life, the hope of a new beginning. Even love.”

You laugh at the last statement.

“Kind of hard to find that last one in this Island.”

She smiles, mischievous.

“I don’t know, honey. I’ve got a feeling you could be surprised.”

 

Sitting by the same swings you’ve sat the day you arrived Crockett, thinking whether you should light a cigarette or not. The stars were silently resting in the night sky, no clouds at sight. It was about ten P.M, and you were just a few steps from your front door, so there was no danger. At least not the serial killer type of danger. Crockett looked the same, of course, but it wasn’t as safe as before. In nature, there is a food chain. In nature, there is the silent law of the strongest species. Whatever animal surpasses the other, usually becomes its predator. It was natural, it was the way things happened.

But in Crockett, the food chain had an invasive species now. A parasite. A plague. The fish in the sea were not the human’s prey anymore, because there was barely any fish left for that since the oil incident. In Crockett, the predator had changed. It used to be the fishermen, now, its something else. The prey was every living thing with blood in its veins. And the predator was an Angel.

An angel of the Lord, according to the new priest. Poor man, so affected by his latest years dementia that he could not differ what was a blessing and what was a curse. So desperate to bring salvation to the people he cared about, not knowing he was bringing their end. John Pruitt was a miracle, of course, but he also was a disease. To this Island, to himself.

He truly thinks he is saving all his parishioners. If he only knew how to pay attention to red flags. The only red he could see was the one of your blood. He came to your house that morning, but right before knocking the door, he felt you. He’s not sure how he knew it was your blood he could smell, but he knew it. He had to fight his instincts and run away from there. It worked in the morning, but know, it was harder. He watched you from behind a three, trying to gather up courage to show up. What would he say, after all? What excuse could he give you? Saying that he was just passing by in that hour of the night was ridiculous, and he felt like a stalker even though he had the best intentions. He wanted to give you something.

Paul Hill wanted to give everything he could to you, and it terrified him a bit. He was fighting all his instincts whenever he got close to you, but he couldn't help it. His body betrayed him, his mind played games and his heart screamed in agony. Maybe you were a test. He was saved by an angel of the lord, so there would obviously be tests to see if he deserved the gift. He was about to turn back and leave you, but he notices he’s not the only one watching you from the shadows.

On the top of an abandoned house, on the end of the road, the predator prepared itself to jump. Your smell caught his attention, and he was starving, unhappy with the animals he had to eat in order not to attack humans. The angel had dry blood on his claws, from his meal the night before. Paul chocked on his breath, he didn’t know what to do. Had the angel chose you to be saved? Apparently, yes.

Then why was the priest so afraid the thing would attack you? Why did he wanted to stop it?

Luckily, your cellphone rang just before the attack, and the creature was chased away.  

“Hello? Mr. Porter?” you said, answering the call.

“Y/N! So glad you got my call this time, I’ve been trying to contact you since yesterday” his voice had a tired timber.

Mr. Porter was your lawyer, a tall black man, with lots of gray hairs for someone his age. He was introduced to you by one of your college friends, who happened to be also his wife, right after Daniel ran away. His smell was always something between coffee and his daughter’s shampoo, he was often seen braiding her hair for primary school. Every time you used to visit his home office, you felt a little jealous of the little girl. She had an amazing dad and a caring mother. It was sad to think your life could’ve been like that if your parents didn’t pass away in a boat accident.

But you had Rose, so it was alright. That’s what you used to say every time you felt that way.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! The signal in this Island is often terrible. I am so sorry, really.”

“No problem. Now listen, I have some good news for you. They found Daniel, finally. He was stupid enough to post something on his Instagram. I think he thought it was alright since it’s been so long since he disappeared” there was a bit of excitement in his voice, although you know he is probably tired and working overtime. “Anyways, he got the intimation and has a week to present himself to the judge, otherwise he will be basically considered guilty.”

Your heart was beating faster, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“That’s wonderful news, I… I don’t even know what to say. Thank you!”

“I’m very confident in this case, miss l/n. I have to go now, I’ve sent you an email with further details. Have a great night, y/n.”

The air suddenly seemed fresher, you let go of the breath you didn’t know you were holding in. Daniel was found, hopefully there would be justice for you. You get up and run inside the house, hugging your aunt with enthusiasm and telling her about it. Finally, he would get what he deserved. That was the best birthday gift you could wish for. When you finished celebrating with Rose, you ran upstairs to check your computer. All the details were on Mr. Porter’s email. It felt almost unreal.

Maybe that was a sign. A sign that Riley and Erin were right. You deserve a second chance, and life is starting to give you.

 

 

Thursday afternoon was blessed with your pink colored glasses and the click of your camera. You’d dreamed about Daniel and your ex- best girlfriend, Stacy. They were crawling in dirt, trying to escape as much as they could from a grave, failing every time they reached the edge of it. They were begging you for help, begging for mercy, crying and coughing. Then, you buried them alive.

You decided it was a beautiful day to photograph before the AA meeting starts. The sun was setting in the horizon, and the weather was nice, not as hot as yesterday. A few people walked by and complimented you, maybe because you wore jeans this time, not showing your legs like the usual when your dresses got you scolding looks.

One of your favorite activities, for sure: walking and photographing what you thought it was worth it. It was one of the many things you stopped doing when depression was puncking you so hard you couldn’t get out of bed. You had even gained a bit of weight since you arrived, having Rose to cook for you and basically forcing you to eat had helped you get back to your healthier version. It was nice to have your body back after so much time without appetite. Erin was having check ups constantly with Sarah Gunning, who’d stayed in the Island even after her mother passed to take care of those who needed her. She still lived at the same house, but now with a girlfriend who worked from home, so you barely saw her except for one time in the market. You were thinking about going to her office to get yourself checked, too. It’s been long since you went to a doctor’s appointment by yourself, the last one was when you neighbor found you unconscious in your living room.

Funny how a simple call telling you your ex was lowkey fucked for you to get back on track. It made you realize that you wished for revenge more than you thought.

When it got darker and the sun was gone, it was about time to attend the meeting. The way until the recreation center was shorter than you expected, maybe because you were nervous. The building was simple, but somehow comforting even from outside. At the entering, an already well-know figure leaned against the doorframe. His dark curls kind of still wet from the shower he probably had beforehand, his sleeves curled up to his elbows.

God, if you’re listening, tell me why have you forsaken me?

As you approached, you notice someone walking by your side. Riley was empathetically smiling to you, greeting you with his hands on his pockets. He didn’t look nervous, obviously, he wasn’t the honor guest tonight. When father Paul noticed you both, he opened that usual warming smile he always does.

“Did you escort her all the way down here?” he had a tone of sarcasm in his voice you didn’t thought priests would have.

But he has already showed you he wasn’t a conventional one.

“Actually, I had to drag her” answered Riley.

“Maybe I should go back home then, since you both seem to enjoy my clear discomfort” returning sarcasm was easy for you in most of the time. I would be easier now if Paul wasn’t looking at you with a smile framing the corner of his lips.

The Pruitt Recreation Center was bigger than it looked like from the outside. A large rectangular space with wooden walls and checkered floor in black and white, like a chessboard. There were retractable tables and chairs leaned against the walls, and a small stage in the back. You’ve heard that maybe the building had been overbilled by Beverly Keane, who’d taken advantage of the old monsignor’s crescent dementia to take care of the church money herself. Typical of her, if somebody asked for you opinion.

Paul was setting three chairs in the center of the room, while Riley took three cups of water and placed it beside each one. When the priest sat, you noticed there was something different about him, like he was having the time of his life at that moment, sharing a place like that with two troubled souls. A spark lighted his eyes very often while he prayed the serenity.

“So, why don’t we skip presentations?” he suggested after finishing.

“Oh, so she’s not gonna be interviewed like I was at my first day? Unfair” Riley teases.

He was trying his best to make you feel like this was a meeting between friends, just like the one you and him had with Erin yesterday. He knew how you were feeling, and it was not hard to see your anxiety when you kept moving the ring in your index finger.

“Well, I’m not usually the egocentric type, but since you insist…” you say before Paul can speak, which was great.

            He could say that it was okay if you preferred to just observe today, that just being there was enough. But it was a lie, because he wanted to know you. He desperately wanted to hear your voice and learn about every part of your life that he missed because dementia fogged his mind, and he couldn’t remember even after he was restored. Every detail he wasn’t aware of because of the almost eight years you’ve spend outside Crockett. You took the “I´m never coming back here” very serious through all this time, paying for your aunt’s tickets so she could visit you in the mainland. He didn’t care about that before, but now it was different.

And he hated himself for knowing he had to keep his distance from you but was terrible at actually doing it.

“You already know my name, so I’ll skip that. Uhm, I came back to this Island because I kind of lost the life I’ve build outside of it. My perspectives for the future are null, and my biggest wish right now is to go back to my bed, but I admit that I feel okay here with you. It’s like a senior’s club for misfits” you say, taking a pause right after. “Well, misfits and a priest who’s willing to listen to them mourn about their lives and, just maybe, save their souls from eternally burning in hell.”

Riley chocked of the water he was drinking, laughing. “I love your animosity.”

“Well, thank you for that, y/n” Paul said between laughs. “But I’m not here to save you or something, I’m just trying to help.”

He was being honest.

            There is something else in his eyes, though. Something you were unable to read. And only now you realize how expressive his eyes are, with lower lashes so small that even make him look like he’s using an eye pencil. It’s like he is everything you like in a man, tall, charming, well spoken. With dark curly hair and dark eyes but with a smile so bright and warm that it made you forget how life could be gray. God, why making this man a saint? Why making him have so much power over you that you forget about that small voice inside your head telling you to run away.

God, if you made everything perfect, why did you let me nourish this kind of feeling for him?

            People say God has a fucked-up sense of humor, and that he’s almost sadistic at times. He plays with lives and fates like it’s his pastimes. Now, feeling the way you feel, you sort of agree with that.

            If regular humans were made of clay, you were almost sure Paul was not a regular human. Clay would not be enough to mold him. He had to be made of sacrament. To be made of bread, wine and the forbidden fruit. The last item in a greater amount.

            The rest of the meeting went on as usual, with lots of questions and just few doubts answered. As much as Father Paul tried, he wouldn’t frenetically fight Riley’s atheist beliefs, he understood that his progress would be slow and particular. He could try to convert him for hours and hours, and yet he wouldn’t make it. After all, his goal was not to convert none of you. His goal was to listen. To listen and try to help in the best way possible, he made that very clear for you.

            His hands were sweating, but he as able to hide that by keeping them on his jeans. Your hands were planted between your tights, to calm you down. There was an increasing anxiety felling inside you as time passed by and the end of the meeting arrived. When Riley got up and said he would take you home, Father Paul intervened, saying he would like to talk to you for in private for a bit longer.

The weight of his words not only makes you feel a certain shiver, but also makes him bite his tongue. He knew what he was doing, he knew it wasn’t right to allow himself to get distracted like that, to get close to you like that. He needed to focus on his mission, so you could be living in a better world soon. He knew all the risks. Yet, seeing you smile on the phone yesterday woke something even bigger on him. It was the first time he saw you smile genuinely. And the next time you did, he wanted to be the reason for it.

“So, how do you feel?” He kindly asked after Riley left.

“Fine, I guess. It was… interesting” you were trying your best not to look nervous.

He smiled and bit his lower lip.

“Interesting… What was interesting?”

“The whole thing. It was not like I thought at all. I might even come back next week if I’m feeling benevolent.”

If you couldn’t disguise your anxiety with relaxation, you knew you could do it with sarcasm. What you didn’t know was the effect the mischievous look you had in your eyes every time you did this had on the man standing before you. Paul opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but nothing came out of him but a smile.

“Miss, l/n, would you mind if I gave you something?”

The gleam in your face slowly disappeared.

“Of course, Father”

You were ready to receive a Bible, or maybe a motivational religious book. But instead, the priest took a velvet ring box from his pocket, placing it in your hands. He looked at you in expectation, waiting for you to open it. Inside, a delicate golden necklace with a cross shined in the light of the recreation center.

“Father Paul, I…”

“I will be deeply offended if you refuse it” he interrupted, smiling. “And when it’s only you and me, you can call me Paul. Just Paul.”

You were ecstatic, analyzing every detail of the golden necklace to avoid meeting his gaze.

“Turn around I’ll put it on you.” And so, he did. The slight touch on his fingers on your neck sending chills through your body. He was so close. Again.

With a boost of courage, your turned to him.

“Why are you like this with me? Especially when we’re alone?” those questions were living rent free in your mind since the confession day. You could be making a fool out of yourself right now, it doesn't matter, you can’t keep pretending nothing is happening.

But he just looked at you in silence for a moment that felt like eternity.

“I don’t know” his voice was lower than usual, like he was trying to keep that in secret even from himself. His eyes running through every corner of your face.

“Then find out, Paul” your eager voice said. “Find out soon because I can’t keep getting this close to you, I can’t go on with you torturing me like this.”

His eyes finally meet yours.

“You’re the one torturing me, dove. You have no idea how much I’m trying to contain myself right now.”

Time seems to go slower now, with his gaze intensely eating you and his mouth so close to yours. Your connection so intense it made you both get closer and closer. Paul’s hand slid through your cheek to your hair, pulling it away from your face.

He would’ve kissed you if he didn’t heard steps getting closer to the recreating center. Rapidly, he took two steps back, right before the door opened.

“Oh, I thought someone had forgot the lights on. Did I interrupt you, Father?”

Beverly fucking Keane, I condemn your soul to hell.

Switching to a composed pose, the priest smiled at her, like nothing happened.

“Absolutely not, miss Keane. We’re finish here.”

Asshole.

He wanted to say he is sorry, to tell you that was divine intervention preventing him to sin. But he couldn’t. And he would have to find a way to make it up for it, later.

But for now, you didn’t want to see him.

Notes:

Thank you for reading, did you liked the longer chapter?
Please coment what you think! I might take a while to post the next one, but I promise is worth it, If you know what I mean.
God bless you, babes!

Chapter 7: Blasphemous

Notes:

I had to stop writting this when I first began, guess I got nervous imagining it
I'm a whore, definetly

What is the flavor of betrayal? What does disappointment taste like? Is there anything that is more bitter? Well, it's a very fair question.

Is the question that has been running through your mind since the last AA meeting. It's been a week since it all happened, and you still haven't been able to process it in your head. But the almost-kiss is not the only thing that disturbs and intrigues you, since suddenly Leeza Scarborough can walk again.

It happened on the Sunday you avoided mass, making it up some flu for your aunt and staying at home, finishing some commissions. Working remotely was much more difficult than you thought, because now the only person responsible for your schedule is yourself. There was so much going on before that you put things off, and now you were seeing the results of that. All your irresponsibility's fault, of course, but it still sucked.

At least like this you managed to keep Paul off your thoughts for a while.

It was your second cup of coffee that day, wrapped in a thick robe and focused on the screen in front of you. There were some birds singing outside, the sweet sound echoed through your room thanks to the open window, which also brought a very pleasant air circulation. It was almost eleven o'clock, which means that in a few minutes the mass would be over and soon Rose would be back home.

Imagine how incredibly surprised you were when you heard the news.

At first, everyone thought the priest was delirious or doing some kind of sick joke, until the teenager got up and walked towards him, even going up some stairs. It seemed like a collective delusion, but it was really happening. You saw her walking to school on crutches on Monday morning when she and Warren passed by you on the street. You saw her smiling radiantly at everyone who looked at her in awe. You've heard Erin talk for hours and hours about how shocked she was and how it looked like Paul knew she could stand up. Unbelievable, but it was true.

Not even Sarah Gunning seemed to have a right answer to what she saw. And apparently she wouldn't have, since Leeza's parents refused to take her to a hospital on the continent.

“Let’s not doubt of God’s gift” they said.

The church began to have more visitors, people who were never religious began to seek Saint Patrick in search of their own miracles. Of course, human beings tend to be selfish even when looking for God, but you couldn't judge them. It wasn't your job, it was Beverly’s.

There was so much going on you almost forgot about the incriminating photo of her, poisoning that poor dog weeks before. You had something concrete against her, something important, animal cruelty. And yet, you were hesitant to hand over the material to the sheriff. It was a strange feeling, and you didn't know exactly why that happened. You were determined to deliver the damn photo as soon as you step foot on the Island.

Now, you were on board the boat again on your way to the island, after spending all day on the mainland, talking to your lawyer about the legalities of your case against your ex. It was almost impossible for you not to win. You weren't married yet, he took the money from your account, not a joint account.

He would be judged, he’d pay for what he did. That was the way things went, right?

Wishful thinking, that's what Mr. Porter had told you. But a part of you still got nervous thinking about it, what if it all went wrong? What if Daniel found a way to pass himself off as innocent? What if he runs away again? And Stacy, where was she?

She should have been seen with him, after all they ran away together. Then why have you not heard her name at all?

The sun was already set in the horizon when you arrived Crockett. The same yellow lights on the same streetlamps as always lit the way to the house. A two-story townhouse in light blue woodwork, with a small front porch and frosted-glass windows. It was like a photo, frozen in time. You've lived there for as long as you can remember, and now it was so familiar it made you feel a little strange. If that even makes sense.

The familiar smell of your aunt's cooking hit you before you could even enter. You had never managed to have the same aptitude as her in the kitchen, but you did your best. Rose had been like a mother to you through and through. She taught you how to write, she taught you about the different types of peppers she liked, and how to plant each one. Told you about things that US history books didn't. She even told you a little about the things she saw the one time she traveled out of the country, before you were born. About how lovely South America was and how she'd like to go back there one day.

Before going inside, however, you notice something down the street.

That part of the town, as close as it was to the market, still had a lot of empty houses. Many families had abandoned everything since no one in their right mind would buy a property in a place like that. So your street was no exception. Several neighbors had left without thinking twice, and at the end of the street, two houses remained abandoned.

In one of them, you notice a strange figure. It had long wings, but an undefined shape, perched on top of the house. The figure moved soon after, disappearing inside the loft. It must be a giant albatross or something, it was common for animals to invade places like that and make their nests. Luckily, you just ignored it and went inside.

Rose was listening to Nina Simone this time, humming along as she set the table.

It was good to be back home.

Most of the mealtime was made up of small talk and trivia. Rose looked especially happy for some reason, maybe to finally see something positive happening in Crockett. The population had lost a lot with the oil company contract, and now God seemed to be looking at the city again, as Father Paul had said in his sermon. That man was a saint in the eyes of Rose Blackwood and most citizens now, but he refused any kind of payment for what he had done. She was almost upset that he had turned down dinner tonight.

 

 

There's a big difference between your face when you're somewhere of your own free will and your face when you'd clearly prefer to evaporate into thin air. Perhaps, if reincarnation exists, you beg God to come back in the form of a cloud the next time, or maybe the smoke of a cigarette inhaled by a hooker.

Standing in front of the rec center again was like diving into a freezing lake. Every molecule in your body wanted to disconnect and turn you into just a thought, no body. But there you were, not sure what exactly made your legs move between the alleyways of the city. Jeans, a T-shirt and a thick sweater. And yet, it was as if the cold you felt inside made your teeth chatter.

Pushing the door, you enter the enclosure. A pair of eyes gaze at you, but not the ones you think would. Paul doesn’t even move, Riley is the one to greet you.

“I thought you wouldn’t come” he says.

“I’m late, I know. Sorry about that.”

“Well, luckily we saved your seat. Imagine if someone came in and you had to stand.”

“You know, Riley…You’re only funny when Erin is around. I wonder why is that?”

Paul chuckled when Riley told you to fuck off.

“Why don’t we get started, both of you?” he looked at you for the first time in a week, what was terrible because he was clearly not ready for it. He shook it off since you didn’t return his gaze. The air between you and him was heavy.

“So, Riley. We were talking about the fourth step, right?”

“No, we were talking about not ignoring the elephant in the room, which is what happened to Leeza. Maybe you’ll get a call from a reporter in the mainland, wanting to know about her and the priest who healed her, of course.”

“I’d turn that down” he smiled, reciting some bible quote about not letting your left hand know what the right hand does.

He is so stupidly predictable and yet so hard to read. That’s what gets on your nerves.

He is so good in being admirable it almost looks staged. Deeply, you hope it’s not.

You stare at the chessboard floor while they talk, hands picking a loose sweater thread. The knot on your stomach is still freezing, but your ears are hot for some reason. Riley’s voice is skeptical, saying how much of a rational guy he is. Oh, God, here we go. And he goes on about how he is able to list many logical aspects about Leeza’s recover.

Except one. “You had to know. You had to know she could walk again.”

He was right, and for the first time you look up. It was great that he was talking about that because you were curious too. But you didn’t take the time to actually think about the situation, mostly because you were avowing thinking about anything involving the priest. Just the warmth of him on your left side was enough to put you off. The ghost feeling of his hand touching your neck, your face and hair. The memory of his breathing close to you.

Stop. Focus.

“I don’t have an answer that will satisfy you. I just… felt. As she passed through me that morning, I had the feeling it was time for her to receive a blessing, a miracle.”

“What if she didn’t stand up? Have you even thought about how people would look at you now? What your reputation would be?”

“But she did. That’s what matters. I really wanted to explain better, I wish I could give you more. But I can’t.” Paul said. “And I suppose that’s not enough for you, right, Riley Flynn?”

“No… I think I’d need more.”

The silence that followed those lines was interpreted in three ways for each one of you. For Paul, it was like relaxing after a long day. For Riley, it was unsatisfying. For you, it was something like a disturbing numbness.

“What about you, miss l/n? Is this enough or you?” The priest asked, trying to hide the second intentions in his words.

You gaze at him, collecting every detail of his image.

“I do believe in miracles, Father” your voice echoes in his heart. “But no, that’s not enough for me either. I think I’d need more.”

Its fair to want more from him.

This time, Paul doesn’t ask you to stay after the meeting.

 

 

The next Sunday mass came quicker than you wished for, and this time Rose was not convinced by your excuses. Your reflection on your rooms mirror was better than usual, in a long pearly white dress in a soft silk. It had a small and modest v-neckline and flare short sleeves, with a sort of ribbon attached to your waist, marking the curves of your body. The white dress for the wedding dinner that never happened. You thought that using it like it was a regular piece of clothing was going to help you get rid of the feeling inside you every time you looked at it standing inside the closet. 

Looks like I was wrong again.

Then, you change, putting on a black linen dress with a denim jacket over it. Good enough.

The way to Saint Patrick was filled with your aunt’s small talk. As you arrived, most of the seats were taken, what fortunately made you sit in the last bench. People were excitedly chatting, especially those who had witnessed the miracle happen. It was like everyone's hearts were filled with hope again, which on one hand was great, but on the other it made you think about life more than you would like.

When some atheists talk about how the Christian God is selective about who to bless, they often use extreme examples like the holocaust. But when some Christians talk about the same selectivity, they say that only those really deserving are able to receive it. Now why would some be more deserving than others? Why does God allow so many to suffer relentlessly while so many enjoy the good and the best? That doesn’t seem fair, so how does divine justice work?

You wonder if Paul is one of those Christians who thinks salvation is relative. If he believes that being queer is a sin, if he thinks he's better than others for having managed to work on a miracle. Would he be arrogant and boastful like that? Was he like Beverly and that’s why he acted the way he did when she walked on you on the rec center? Completely ignoring you.  

Does he think you are a sin?

As much as you know that getting involved with him is wrong, it's horrible to deal with that kind of thinking. With the thought that he in fact found you dirty, sinful, blasphemous.

When he finally walks past you into the church, wearing a purple chasuble, it's like you can sense something is wrong. Although at the beginning of the sermon he was as good as ever, his voice sounded out of tune with his body. Yet, he kept going.

Eternity.

It was the word of the day, apparently. “When you wait for something, it takes forever”. He was giving examples, but none of them applied to you. When thinking about eternity, what comes to your mind is the time it took you to wake up after your attempt to end your own life. An infinite void, a state of consciousness that oscillated between hearing the voices of the nurses around you and feeling the uncontrollable cold that raged in your chest from time to time.

Infinity also meant something different to you. The amount of time Paul's fingers brushed lightly across your face that day at the rec center. Every time he smiled or looked deep into your eyes, every time you needed to be alone together, feeling each other's electricity. The icy touch the necklace he gave you had on your neck when you thought of him. Each time you found yourself playing with its little cross around your neck. Whenever you thought about how the light from the confessional reflected on his face.

All of that was infinity.

Feeling whatever you felt for him was an eternity of suffering, knowing you could never have him all to yourself. Seeing that damned white collar around his neck was a reminder of such eternity.

And most of all, looking at him seemed endless. Just as the panic that surged through you when you saw him lying on the floor at the altar became endless. He was unconscious. Pale.

You didn't have to listen twice when someone asked you to call Dr. Gunning.

 

 

“It looks like your body it’s trying to fight a virus” Sarah was checking on him with the stethoscope. “I doesn’t look too serious now, but I would recommend rest and a lot of water. You seem dehydrated.”

He looked at her with kindness, listening to what her carefully. You and Beverly were watching, concerned. Never in your life you thought you could run that fast, and it was a long way until Sarah’s house. For some unknown reason, Keane allowed you to stay in the rectory while he was being analyzed. The cabin was as simple as you thought it would be, with little furniture and many religious paintings.

You were leaning at the wall watching Paul manspread and sigh as Sarah finished. His wide legs relaxing on the small couch and his head tilted back. When you looked away, trying not to blush, you noticed Monsignor’s Pruitt painting starring at you.  It’s like the old man knew what was going on inside your heart and head. The kind of thoughts you were having.

“Do you hear me, miss l/n?” Beverly snapped her fingers in the air. “Stay here while I make Father Paul a soup, he barely has anything on the fridge. I might take a bit of your time, but I think it will be okay since you’re doing the church a favor, right?”

She left before you could realize she was talking to you, Sarah was also gone.

The air just ran out of your lungs. Staying alone with the priest again was not on your plans and still everything seemed to push you to it. You looked over at him, feeling your mouth run dry. He gestured for you, tapping the sit by his side on the couch.

“Come on, I won’t bite” his voice softly said when you hesitated.

Reluctantly, you settled down next to him, crossing your legs as you leaned back. “How are you feeling? You scared everyone back there.”

“I’m… fine. Better, I guess. I’ll have to remind myself to apologize later.”

“You don’t have to apologize. We were just, worrying for your health” you frowned.

The silence inside the rectory was unsettling for both of you. Two idiots avoiding the other’s glance, yearning for each other’s touch.

“I want to apologize” Paul raised his eyes to you. “I feel like I have to, you know?”

“Apologize for fainting? That doesn’t seem-

“To you” he interrupted, grabbing your hand, the sudden touch sending shivers down your spine. “I am sorry for what happened at the meeting.”

You swallowed dry.

“I should be apologizing, Paul” the sound of your bitter voice hit him hard. “Forgive me, Father, for I have blasphemed through God’s divine speaker. Is that how I should confess?”

Standing up, you walk away from his touch, slightly bewildered. Grabbing a glass of water in the sink and drinking it up until that taste of disturbance is washed away, leaning on the counter afterwards.

He took a long pause, staring at you from his seat.

“I don't think you want to confess anything. I think you want to crumble. I think you carried so much and for so long that confession is just an excuse for you to be able to genuinely talk about something.”

“Go ahead. Tell me everything, tell me how you truly see me” There's a sharpness in your tone, which makes him hesitate a little. You get ready to listen to him say how disgusting you are, how shameful it is that you can’t even hide how much you want him.

Instead, he stands, slowly walking to you.

“I think you are the most beautiful thing I have seen in these last miserable years of my life. And I say ‘thing’ not because I don't see you as a person, but because you seem to be so much more than that… you go beyond the limits of what is human. Sometimes I wonder if you're an angel sent from God to test me, some kind of trial I must go through for my vows to a godly life to be tested.”

A shock wave runs through your body, which doesn't go unnoticed by him. Before you know, you’re leaning more and more against the counter, trying to avoid him as he moves closer. His gaze is so intense it makes you drop yours to the floor.

“So you do think I’m a sin, then.”

He stops, sighing. “I used to, yes. But know I know what true sin is and it’s staying away from you. An unforgivable sin, I must say. Seeing you on the rec center and not being capable of feeling your hair through my hands again… That’s like a penitence from hell, y/n.”

Now you are looking at his shirt, still avoiding his eyes like a terrified prey running from its hunter.

“You avoid me so much. What are you afraid of?" He's so close that one measly movement would have him touching his forehead to yours. “Is it me you run from or is it the feeling we share every time I touch you?”

"What are you talking about?" is the only thing you answer, fully focused on the white collar around his neck. He pulls away briefly, as if noticing something for the first time.

“Is this what makes you step away?” says, pointing to the symbol of his chastity. Without any hesitation, he rips off the collar, throwing it on the counter where your body rests.

Your gaze finally meets his.

“Does it feel better this way? Seeing me like this?” he says. His fingers cup your face gently, as if you'll evaporate into thin air if he doesn't hold onto you. “Now we are equals… No vow I've made is worth more than the one I'm about to do."

And without hesitation, he kisses you. Hunger, eager and desperate. Slowly desperate.

Your hands betray you and go straight to his curls, stroking them as they always wanted. Paul’s mouth is hot but refreshing. As if he was the last glass of water on earth. And you drink from each other, drop by drop. Thirstily.

He glues your bodies together, pulling you in by the waist. His lips intensify the kiss, without asking for permission. It's when you notice how much more eager he looks, like he's been waiting for this for an eternity. That thought makes you smile, opening space between his kisses. He stops, looking at you confused. You notice how slightly smudged his lips are from your lipstick and sincerely wish you’d never seen that scene, knowing it will haunt you.

With a quick move, he grabs you by your tights, putting you against the closest wall.

“You think this is funny, huh? Teasing me like that” His eyes flick between yours and your open mouth. A smirk escapes his lips when he notices your nervousness having him between your legs. When did he learn to do these things so naturally?

“I'm starting to suspect that you're not a priest. Where did you learn these tricks?”

His crooked smile grows. A mischievous glint crosses his gaze.

You are trying hard not to show how weak he makes you.

"Doubting a clergyman... How many times do you think you'll have to pray to show penance?"

How did things scale so fast? Were you both so anxious for this? You end up biting your lips involuntarily, which seems to have a certain power over him.

“Hopefully enough to keep you close to me for hours. If need be, I shall sin more.” You answer, not knowing where all that shyness hid.

That seems to trigger something in him as he puts you down and kiss you again. This time there is more voracity. He stops, holding your jaw firmly in place. The other hand brushes your hair back, leaving the skin on your neck and collarbone exposed. He sticks his face in there, trying to get all your scent for himself, while placing kisses all over. His hand slides down the sleeve of your jacket, revealing more and more skin. You gasp under his touch, grabbing his arm and digging your nails into it.

“You should measure your words better around me, young lady” his voice whispers in your ear as he pulls your jacket off.

Everything seems to go slower, even though you were both pretty anxious, sloppily entering the rectory’s bedroom as he guided you in. He held your hips gently, pulling you closer as he kissed you again, breathless. The touch of his skin on yours was like an intense burn, but strangely pleasurable. It was like sin itself was being written all upon you when he started to bite your lower lip. Again, you smiled between the kiss, caressing his curls.

“I can’t do this right now, I-

He stopped abruptly, closing his eyes tightly. A wave of migraine spread from his forehead to his neck, making him dizzy and bewildered as a murmur of lamentation escaped his lips. An annoying buzzing forming in his ears.

You were so wrapped up in each other that he forgot about the fainting during mass, and how weak his body was getting. Paul knew what he needed, he knew it would happen sooner or later. Still, he was in denial. He needed the angel, he needed more of the sacrament before he lost control of himself. Mainly because he couldn't lose control around you, putting you at risk.

“I think we should stop for today” he said, leaning on the side table by his bed. Disoriented.

“I’m so sorry, I completely forgot you were sick. Lay down for a minute, I will get you some water.”

He did as you asked as you walked into the kitchen, filling up a glass and picking up the white collar from the top of the granite countertop. Before returning to the bedroom, you notice something hanging on a clothes rack by the door, a long overcoat. The same one you forgot in church the day you confessed to him.

After he drank the water again, disguising his restlessness, he smiled at you. It’s so strange to see him fragile like this, looking like an abandoned kitten. You wanted to cuddle him, to kiss the top of his head and tell him he was going to be okay soon. And you would’ve don it if Beverly didn’t open the front door and started chattering about how you could go now, since she was going to take care of him.

Before leaving, although, he called out your name.

“Don’t forget to come to the confessionary tomorrow, as we agreed” Paul’s eyes looked at you anxiously, hoping you would get the message.

To that, you just smiled and agreed, taking the overcoat on the rack with you and closing the door.

Notes:

Father Paul sits like a SLUT and good god, blessed be
Please leave a comment if you enjoyed the chapter, see you in the next one! Hope you're all ready for it bc I've been fantasizing about it for a while...

Chapter 8: Sinner

Notes:

Just a friendly reminder that I have no beta readers or editors so... don't come for my neck please!
also, super hard to writte smut in my natal language, guess I'm used to read it in english, sorry for any writting mistakes

I want to be exorcised by holy water from that endless look

How good it is to be photographed through the retinas of those beautiful eyes

Leave me hypnotized for good to end this dysrhythmia – Martinho da Vila.

 

John has always been a simple man. He didn't have big ambitions or wild ideas for the future. He just wanted to do his part in the world and, if he was lucky, change a few lives here and there. Helping others, doing charity, giving up even from himself for the good of others. Living as far away from selfishness as possible was one of his main goals in his mid-twenties.

Until he saw Millie, at the very first mass he gave in Crockett.

Of course, the Almighty's plans are mysterious, but it had never crossed his mind that something like this would be among them. John was strong, he had a lot of self-control. But he was human above all else, and like everyone else on that island, he was a sinner.

But Millie wasn't a sin, she could never be. Their relationship was never like that, on the contrary, it was a blessing. John didn't understand yet, but he was sure that the very high one had big plans for the two, otherwise he wouldn't have allowed them to meet. He would not have allowed them to love each other, to lie down together.

But then her husband came home after the war. And she got pregnant.

It took some time for the priest to realize that the child he was holding in his arms and baptizing that blissful Sunday was, in fact, his daughter. He couldn't say how, but he was sure of it. And as he stared into those expressive eyes of the woman he loved, he knew he was right.

Perhaps the lesson that God wanted to give him was different from what he thought. The lesson of unconditional love wasn't falling in love with Millie, it was watching her build a family that could have been his but wasn't. It never would. Because she wasn't selfish in asking him to give up his life as a priest after he spent so many years studying for it. Because she would never do that to her husband after he suffered so much in the war.

So he lived like that, watching Sarah grow up from a distance, learning to walk, to talk, to call another man her dad. He was content to see the woman he loved only at daily masses and, with time, only on Sundays. He prayed his rosary more than a thousand times on the nights he dreamed he was in Mr. Gunning, arriving home after a hard day at work and holding his daughter and wife in his arms. He felt the guilt every time he woke up, kneeling beside the bed and letting his tears be noticed by God.

He prayed every day to forget her, but even when dementia started to overtake his mind, he didn't. It was impossible. Needless to say, when Millie passed away, he was just babbling at the funeral, unable to form half a sentence without his voice giving away how much that loss meant to him. She was the love of John's life.

But now, he was someone else. He was Paul, like the prophet who lost his sight and, when he regained it, changed his name. He was a new man, but he would never forget everything he’d learned in his past life. He would never forget his own daughter, never forget the island he'd lived on most of his life. He had a mission, and nothing would stop him from fulfilling it.

Or at least he thought so.

Unfortunately, Paul still had a lot to learn about God's plans. Fortunately, there were many years to accomplish this task, many years to learn how to deal with his new condition.

And there was you, who had no idea you were all that man needed to come to his senses. Even Paul himself wouldn't know it until it happened. And it was better that way, it was how it should be.

The sun was unusually bright that Monday morning, but the typical cold wind from the sea air was still present. The sun, one of the most beautiful divine creations, would soon become the worst enemy of the inhabitants of that place. For one of them, it was already becoming. The priest's trembling hands could barely raise the chasuble to his head to get ready for the bloody mass.

Gathering the small strength he lacked, he opened the last drawer of his dresser, taking out the canteen with the angel's blood that he knew would quench his thirst. Eager and still shivering, he poured the viscous liquid into his mouth, drinking every last drop. Gasping, he fell to the floor, slightly embarrassed by his outburst. It was better to drink a little than to drink it all at once, at least. There would still be enough for the mass mixed in the wine on the church.

Sweating, he got up slowly, going to the phone in the living room to call the chapel. He wouldn't be able to give mass today, he needed to stay at home, he needed to stay away from everyone.

Well, almost everyone.

When you received the news that the daily Mass would be cancelled, some doubts arose. The first one was if he was as good as Bev said he was, if he really just needed to rest. The second one was if he regretted the moment you shared. The man was a mystery from the moment you saw him, you knew there was something else about him, something compelling. After yesterday's kiss, you were sure.

You spent a good few minutes walking around the surroundings of the church until you were sure that all the regulars had already left. Luckily, Rose believed you excuse of needing to go for a walk alone to clear your mind, as it was commonplace for you.

Making sure no one else was around the rectory, you approached it slowly, praying that Beverly wasn't inside. Your stomach fluttered slightly with nervousness, after all the priest might have changed his mind about wanting to see you... Even so, you knocked twice on the door, receiving a muffled answer from inside telling you to come in.

The inside of the cabin was a little dark, with all the curtains blocking out the sunlight. The sound of running water coming from inside the room showed that the bathroom faucet was probably open. Your shoes made the wooden floor squeak slightly as you crossed the small space to the bedroom, trying your best not to look at the wall where Paul had kissed you the day before.

And there he was, one button of his black shirt undone, with his face and hair wet, looking at his reflection in the mirror until he realized who had entered the cabin. The man's brown eyes seemed to darken slightly as they met yours, completely glazed over your bared neck and reddened lips. It was like burning in hell and being resurrected at the same time.

“I just came to check on you… Bev said you didn't want to see anyone, but I… I'm sorry” your voice caressed the silence of the rectory. “I shouldn't-

“I'm glad you came” he turns to you, smiling slightly. “I should be the one to apologize for making you come to church and then canceling Mass like that.”

There was more he wanted to say, so much more. He should tell you to go away, to stay away until his hunger was finally satisfied. But there wasn't much rationality left in the man at that moment, there was only thirst. Not for blood, but for the woman who looked at him with a worried expression. Her hair framing her angelical face.

Woman, said by many as the first sinner, as an object of the devil's craft, used to tempt men. Today he saw how all those preaching’s that his former congregation colleagues did were wrong. Now, looking at her curves and her hair, smelling her scent, Paul could understand.

Woman, not the initial sin, but the blessing of infinite life.

“Do you believe in sin, Miss l/n? Do you believe in the devil?”

His question catches you off guard; “Well, I believe in sin but not the devil. I actually think men are the devil… the humankind, you see. And you, Father?”

He walks a few paces closer. “Well, I share the same thought. But I think my concepts of sin have changed a little since I arrived at Crockett. Tell me, y/n, which of the seven deadly sins have you been committing the most lately?”

Mesmerized, that's how you both are, completely immersed in each other's gaze. His tall figure making you lift your face so you can reach his eyes. His hands unconsciously going to the ends of your hair.

“Gluttony” you say, without thinking too much, focused on his mouth.

He smirks. “Don't lie to me, darling. You know it doesn't work.”

That sends a shiver down your spine, which makes him show his sharp teeth a little more.

“You’re enjoying this, right? You like to play with me, that's why you always act so different when we're alone” you punch him lightly in the arm. What got into him today? Why does he look more... devilish?

“Well, I tend to be a man with a lot of self-control, but I think I’ve put that behind me from the moment I smudged your lipstick… Or maybe the first time you came into church soaking wet so prettily. And honestly, dove, I don't regret it one bit."

There is a shimmer of malice that is unknown to his eyes, a shimmer that makes you want to run away and hide because you feel like there is more to his sharp smile than what he shows.

"What about you?" you ask, disarming him. “What sin have you committed the most?”

He stares at you for a moment that seems to last forever, which leaves you slightly disoriented. He looks different from yesterday. Cold and even a little sadistic by the way he checks on you, seeing how affected you are by his words.

“Lust” his voice seems thicker, filling you up completely. "But there's no sin I wouldn't commit for you, y/n."

Slowly, he unbuttons his shirt a bit more without breaking eye contact. Your legs tremble as you cut the distance between you, grabbing him. The kiss is slow but passionate, with his hands going softly to the back of your neck. You wrap your arms around him, feeling his fingers slide to your waist, holding tight. His body is stronger than you thought, his muscles contracting every time you break contact to catch your breath.

Paul is trying his best not to rush, he wants to enjoy this part by part. Savor the kiss little by little. He lowers his hand further, squeezing your thigh and wrapping it around his body, wishing to claim your body entirely. Desiring you.

Panting, you break contact again, gasping for air. This doesn't please him, who whimpers in response. God, how you wanted to see him beg. But you weren't in that position today, too stimulated to even think of anything that would put you in that position.

“Are you in a hurry for something?”

“Yes” his gaze hardening as he pins you to the wall. "Now take that fucking dress off"

A smile escaped your lips as he kissed your jaw, trailing down to your collarbone as his hands hurriedly fumbled for the zipper on your clothing. You simply let him undress you, feeling the fabric fall to the floor while your breasts were on display for him, who admired open-mouthed and panting. You pulled him back, kissing him passionately as you tried to unbutton the shirt he was wearing. He grabbed your wrists, bringing them up above your head.

“It's not fair that only you get to have fun” you mutter between kisses and sighs.

“Oh, I'm not the only one having fun now,” he whispers against your skin, eliciting a small moan from you.

Paul places kisses all over your torso until he goes down the path between your breasts, stroking the side of your body with his nails, making you gasp. He continues with the kisses to your belly and navel when he kneels on one leg and places one of your legs over his shoulder.

"May I?" he asks, looking at you with pleading eyes.

You nod, completely unresponsive to the man in front of you. He grips your waist tightly, leaving small scratches here and there as he slides your last piece of clothing down, leaving you completely naked. After throwing your panties to any corner of the room, he looks up again at your figure, adoringly.

“You know what I like about this, my dear?”

He kisses the space between your legs, gently licking your thighs and nibbling. You mumble in response, unable to properly answer. You contain a moan as he slowly inserts a finger into your wet entrance, never breaking eye contact for a minute.

“Is how easy you are to take.”

The one unable to hold his gaze, though, is you when he finally starts kissing you down there, licking you until you're just a tangle of moans and cries begging for more. Panting and unable to keep still, which explains why he holds your waist so tightly.

He does everything willingly and hungry, savoring every part of you as if it were his last meal; you arch your back as he moves his finger inside you, massaging your sensitive spot while his tongue does the rest of the work. His dick bothers him, hard inside his pants, almost hurting as he hears you moan over and over, gasping under his touch.

“Paul, I…” you try to formulate a sentence when you start to feel the signs of the climax appear, but you let out a cry from your throat when he stops.

“No, no… Not yet, honey. Don't think I forgot when you challenged me yesterday,” he says, cupping your jaw as he lets you taste him in his mouth, smeared with his sin.

He throws you onto the bed in a quick move you don't notice because you're too busy feeling his cock brush against your entrance through his pants. His hungry eyes watch your fragile, aroused body curl into the mattress as he removes his shirt to reveal his sweaty body and messy hair.

He spreads your legs when he sees you trying to hide in embarrassment, gently kissing them adoringly and caressing it. “No, honey, I want you wide open for me, yes?”

You groan but obey, watching as he unbuckles his belt and finally takes off his pants, revealing his hard cock smeared with precum. He's a little bigger than you'd expect, and Paul's eyes meet yours as he positions himself at your entrance.

“Tell me, do you want this? If you want to stop now, that's fine” he looks slightly worried, yet eager for your answer.

You smile at him, placing your foot on one of his shoulders. “Bless me, Father”

His bared teeth smile back as he slowly enters you, watching you lose the pose of seconds ago and arch your back as you receive him, inch by inch. He starts slowly, waiting for you to get used to it, closing his eyes tightly every time he fully enters you and groaning. It's like being blessed a thousand times.

He continues to increase the pace as you pull him closer, panting. Because you're already overstimulated by the oral he gave you, you're twice as sensitive to everything. He caresses your breast while kissing your leg against his shoulder, panting and calling for your name. When the pace becomes faster and the thrusts stronger, you lose control of your voice, making a little more noise than usual. He then covers your mouth, leaning in closer and keeping his pace steady as his figure leans against you, going deeper.

“You better watch out for that, hm? I don't want to have to discipline you in front of the whole church so keep your voice down. Only I can hear you begging like that, do you understand?”

You nod, looking at him with the same intensity.

Then, he releases your jaw and positions himself better on the bed, so that you are even closer together and your breaths mix in the air. He picks up the pace, making the only sound in the room your moans in each other’s ear and the impact of your bodies. His smell now seems even stronger, intoxicating you and making you even more sensitive. He nibbles your ear and places kisses on your neck. When he looks you in the eyes again, something grows back inside you.

“Oh, God… Fuck” he groans.

He's panting and sweaty, moaning your name and rolling his eyes like an animal when you finally climax, feeling him pour inside you.

 

 

Paul was cuddling you in his arms for the past minutes until you decided to get up and clean yourself. You decided to take a bath together to spare time, but it was an excuse for more kisses and making out. The shower was great and calmed down your skin a little, so as the small trade of kisses he left on your shoulder. You decided not to wet you hair, it would be too much work to dry it out afterwards. When you were both dressed, Paul sneaked to the kitchen to grab you a glass of water. Everything felt lighter, except for the room, with its windows covered by the blinds.

You were about to open one of them when he pulled you by your waist, pressing your back on his chest. “Not now, darling. I still have a little headache, remember?” he said against your ear, giving you the filled cup.

You nodded as you drank it. “Aren’t you thirsty?”

“A little” he kissed your temple. “I’ll be fine as long as I have you.”

You turned to kiss him again. It was all you wanted to do all day, every day, for the rest of your days. Yet, you had no idea what this was. A situationship with the local priest? An affair?

It doesn't matter much to you, as long as he keeps holding you like this. As long as his pretty eyes keep smiling at you the way they do now.

“You said ‘bless me, father’ back there. Do you fell blessed enough now, dove?” he asks as he strokes your hair, your face in his hands. You chuckle.

“Yes. And also, fuck you.”

“Ladies first.”

Then you kiss again and again, until it’s time you go home, promising to return whenever you can.

Now, you’re both washed in the holy waters of the primordial sin. Wishing to drown in each other, for now you’ve tasted the forbidden fruit.

Notes:

Please coment on what you think and what could be better! I'd love to know if you liked the way he acted in this bc it tends to get a bit kinky... anyways, I really hope you enjoyed, I was my first time writting smut

Chapter 9: Addiction

Notes:

If i take longer to upload it's bc Uni is kicking my ass :(

The day after you left the rectory was like any other, except that everyone seemed to know what you’ve done. Being with Paul was amazing, and the moment you shared was like no other you've had in your life, everything seemed to happen more slowly when he was around. You used to hate that, because it meant you had to hold on for an eternity before he pulled away again and let you finally breathe. Now, it was great that the seconds with him took forever, that the clock on the wall itself stopped working if necessary so that the two of you could be together.

However, your paranoid mind would not let you have peace when you are apart. You felt that even the neighbor's "good morning" or the sheriff's friendly nod meant they knew what you were doing, and who you were doing with. Like they knew the reason why needed to go for a walk after Mass was cancelled. A part of you knows it is just anxiety mixed with a terrible amount of Catholic guilt over committing an unforgivable sin. Another part didn't feel the least bit guilty, on the contrary, it felt almost relieved that you didn't have to be around him anymore without jumping into his arms. You just needed to make sure no one was around to witness.

God, no one could even dream that this happened.

In the evening, just before the meeting, you decide to dress up a little more. Vanity was always present in your personality, but you didn't make a point of putting on something cute for meetings. It would have to be something subtle, or it would look obvious that you did it on purpose and Riley would surely ask questions about it. A different perfume and a little more jewelry around the face will do.

The AA meeting had an extra guest that night. Joe Collie apparently had an experience that could change his life, now it was time to know if he had the will to move on. He certainly wasn't who you expected to find when you arrived at the rec center earlier, trying to get some alone time with Paul. But there he was, with his usual messy hair and chubby hands clenched in anxiety. He clearly felt a bit self-conscious, his body language didn't lie. The priest, however, was as ridiculously charming as ever.

You’re suspicious he's noticed that you like his hair a little messier, because he's always looking like that now, except for church. He smiles sweetly as he sees you walk through the door, his chocolate eyes lighting up slightly. Every time he looked at you, it was like seeing a piece of heaven.

“We have a new member” he nods at Joe, who waves at you.

Riley arrives a few minutes later, and the rec center looks slightly smaller, perhaps because you want the attention of the man sitting to your left all to yourself. Ignoring this, the meeting proceeds as usual until Joe starts talking about Leeza and the incident that paralyzed her years ago, and how everything was different now because she had decided to forgive him. His voice was shaky and slightly breathless, it was visible how much the subject stirred him.

“And after she left, I didn't even want to drink anymore. I mean, I wanted to, but I didn't want to... you know?”

I know. It's like the wish to disappear that depression made you acquire. It’s there, but you don't acknowledge it anymore. As if all that was a lifetime away. Rebirth is a common word in any religious sermon, but on this island, it seemed to have taken on even more meaning.

"So if Leeza and God have already forgiven you... who's left?" Paul says, friendly. This leaves Joe a little disconcerted, it's not easy to forgive yourself. Everyone in the room knows this, and it's a truth that strangles them from within. Forgiving yourself is extremely difficult.

"Riley, Y/N... You've been here longer, don't you have anything to say about this to our friend?"

Silence. And then, an awkward Riley trying to dodge an answer. You remain silent too, but because you're still trying to think of what to say.

“Bullshit,” the tall man's gruff voice says. “No, I'm sorry. That’s bullshit. You two come here every week, we're making progress with this, and now you tell me you can't lead by example, Riley? Of course you can, so don't bullshit me.”

There's a tone of authority in his voice that makes you cross your legs quickly.

God, I want to..

He looks slightly irritated, didn't know I'd enjoy seeing this so much.

“I think it's great that you're ignoring that part of you that still wants to drink. What shapes us is our actions, not our wills,” you say after Riley speaks up. “And now, you are choosing to change. Actively doing something for it. I think that's pretty brave.”

The sweet eyes of the soon-to-be ex-drunk in front of you fill with hope. “Didn't know you came here too, young lady…” he says playfully.

“Well I came because… I thought Riley needed some company” you stare at the checkered floor. “And also because I… needed emotional support somewhere.”

“We are all here for a reason. God doesn't make mistakes when he puts something on our heart,” Paul says, avoiding looking directly at you, but touching your knee without realizing.

When the meeting was over, you volunteered to help set up the chairs before you left, hoping to spend time with the man who disturbed your dreams. But he strangely hustled the three misfits out, saying he'd take care of everything and just looking into your eyes when he closed the door. Excellent. You should have known, even if he was a priest and a role model for the community, Paul had his secrets. And now you were one of them.

Also, after all, he is a man. At the end of the day, he will remain just a man. What if you weren't the only one he's slept with since he arrived on the island? He was great at hiding his intentions when there were more people around you, so he could have easily hidden things from you as well. Things and people. If that was the case, this would be a great lesson for you. You should have learned enough about how men lie from what Daniel did, trusting another man should be out of the question for you.

And yet, you trust him. Almost entirely. And enough to let him have you the way he did yesterday.

When you feel the back pocket of your pants, you realize your cell phone is no longer there, and you are sure it was when you left the house. Muttering a curse word and apologizing to the boys walking at your right, you assured them you'd be go home alone after you picked up the damn device from the rec center, and that it would be just fine. A fine drizzle began to fall halfway there, which made you quicken your pace. The bright sign to the left making you have a weird gut feeling after reading it.

JOHN MICHAEL PRUIT’S RECREATION CENTER

The lights inside the building were still on, so you wouldn’t have to rush to the rectory to ask for keys if the door was locked. Lucky enough, I guess.

But as soon as you open the door, your stomach hurts. Paul is kneeling on the floor, trembling and clearly not well. He surely wasn’t expecting you, judging by the way he looks up when you enter the room.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t want you to see me like this” his hand is on his stomach and he is frowning.

“What is going on? Are you in pain?” you knee by his side. “Hold on just for a minute, I will call Dr. Gunning.”

“No” he grabs your arm, shaking. “Please no, just… stay here. I just need some rest, please” his eyes plead to you, and he almost looks like he’s pouting.

Grabbing your phone by one of the chairs, you take him slowly to the cabin after the church, shutting down the rec center’s lights behind you. The drizzle would definitely not be good for him, so you make sure he changes his clothes as soon as you’re inside the rectory, while you stay in the kitchen to avoid contact and to make him some tea.

As soon as the kettle whistles, announcing the water is hot enough for it, you open the cabinets below the sink, looking for a cup. There was only junk and old things in it, so you decide to open the ones above the sink, looking for crockery. To your surprise, there were at least two empty decanters, with what you assumed it was wine lying in the bottom. Upon seeing this scene, some gears start working inside your head. Everything you felt about Paul was right, he really was an unusual priest, and not just because of the fact that you two had fucked yesterday morning. He was hiding something, but you didn’t think it would be this.

“It´s not what it looks like” his voice whispers, dangerously close to your neck. You can feel his body heat taking control over you, and you can tell by the windows reflex he is not wearing that tight black shirt anymore.

“Then tell me, what is it?”

Don’t look at him, don’t lose focus. How did he come so close without alarming me?

“Is that why you wanted to start AA in the Island? Is this why you never talk about your life before Crockett?”

“There is no life for me before Crockett, love. The man I was before I came is gone, he is a lifetime away, I’ve let it all behind without thinking twi-

“Are you an alcoholic, Paul?” You let yourself be carried away by him, staring into those deep eyes once more. Instead of the usual black orbs, you find yourself face to face with two silver circles, what makes you take a step back, startled.

“No, I'm not”. He looks like he’s about to break down right there, falling into despair.

“Stop lying to me!” you snap. “You think you’re the only one that can sense it when someone else is lying? I’m not stupid, Paul.”

His eyes turn back to the usual black coffee tone, making you feel a little weird for being scared of the effect the lights had on it minutes ago. He seems crushed, or maybe regretful.

“I’m sorry. Its just so hard to admit it out loud. I’m not an alcoholic, but… I’m going through some hard times right now. I wish I could tell you everything but its not as simple as I’d like”

His tanned skin was paler now, and his dark brown strands fell lightly over his puppy eyes. Its totally unfair that he looks this adorable when you feel like shaking him by the shoulders. He just stands there, analyzing your face.

“I wanna apologize for the way I acted yesterday when we… I don’t know what came over me, I wasn’t able to contain myself… I’m sorry.”

You laugh, uncapable to digest what’s going on. Are you really having this conversation with the priest that fucked you and now is admitting to have drinking problems? Unbelievable. If a year ago someone told you this would be happening, you’d think they were just messing with you with a sick joke. Maybe fate is, after all, exactly this, a joke.

Gently holding his face in the dim light of the room, you bring him closer to a kiss. “You don’t have to worry about that. You’ve already asked me a thousand times if I was okay yesterday, and I said yes. I was a bit surprised, but It was great.”

“I will try to be less flustered next time” he has his eyes closed, enjoying the cuddle your fingers make on his face.

“You don’t really have to. If you feel like being more carrying, be it. If you feel like being a bit rough, be it. You wont hurt me, and you don’t have to hide from me, baby.”

He looks so serene it's like he could purr at any moment. “Right now I feel like biting you, entirely. And then kiss every fraction of skin I’ve marked. But I don’t think I am in condition for it, I don’t want to hurt you, dear.”

“You could never hurt me,” he opens his dark eyes, like he wants to answer it, but remains silent. It’s not the time, he can feel it. When it comes to the day you must learn the truth, it will be natural.

So instead of saying anything useless, he kisses you, enveloping you in a warm and gentle embrace. As you feel his hands run through your body, every inch of your bodies start to combust. Sooner it would be hot enough to burn the house and the church down, and you suppress a moan when he puts you on top of the kitchen counter.

You intensify the kiss, touching each other in any way you can until the air is out of your lungs. He caresses your body so naturally, as if those hands which for so long gave you the sacrament were being misused. You lightly scratch Paul's back, which causes him to arch and gasp.

“I didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth, father” you tease, remembering everything he said as he went deep into your soul in his bed and the curse word he used in the rec center.

He smiles, running his nose through the skin of your neck. “It’s not like you’re an example by playing the moralist with me, hm?”

“I can guarantee I’m not as incisive as you with words, that was hot. I didn’t think you were so…” you can feel his erection forming as you look into his eyes. “Authoritative.”

“You liked that?” He asks, a little intrigued. Your answer is grabbing his cock over his pants, slightly caressing it. He hisses and pulls you to another kiss, sinking his fingers into your waist.

You bite his lip, trying to open his pants to relieve him. Paul stops, looking at your open lips for a while. He hesitates, going slow at first, nibbling you between the kiss. The next thing you feel is a tiny sharp pain in your lower lip, followed by the ironing taste of blood coming from it. Your hearts race at the same pace, feeling the urge to drink it. He bites you again, opening the wound a bit more and liking it. Everything feels more interesting and you savor the blood together as you keep masturbating him over his underwear now. He leans closer and closer, taking you in his arms, biting, drinking, and kissing. Biting, drinking, and kissing again and again. You star to loose strength, but decide to ignore it and enjoy the moment. Suddenly the blood stops and the wound is not there anymore.

Paul takes a step back, looking a bit confused and flustered. He stares into your chin, were a fillet of blood is going down. He licks it, taking the chance to kiss your neck and collarbone.

“I want you” you whisper. He wants you too, he is desperate to throw you in the couch and bite your tights. He wants to bite you and lick you until he is satisfied. But he can’t.

He can’t risk hurting you more than he did, but he also can’t hurt your feelings.

“How about this, dove. If you leave now and promise me you won’t touch yourself in your bed before you rest your pretty eyes, I will do whatever you want tomorrow. And I will do it properly, just like you deserve” he holds your face, looking deep into your eyes. “Remember when I said I would help you pray again, how about that?”

You groan and object, almost begging him to end this tension at once, but he holds his ground. When he talks about feeling dizzy, you remember how you found him at the rec center, and then you understand why he wants to stop. You both say goodbye with a kiss, and you make the damn promise not to touch yourself, knowing that you won't keep it.

But he also knows it, and knows very well what he's going to do about it.

Notes:

Hey babes! Sorry fo the short chapter, the next one is going to be longer. I have a question, how do you guys feel about period sex?

Chapter 10: Daily Prayers

Notes:

I AM SO SORRY
I know it's been so long... Uni was kicking my ass, I was having panick attacks... anyways. Sorry if This one hs less details but it was my best due to the circuntances. See you at the final notes.

It was hard to say how long you stared at the picture in your hand, freshly printed at a mainland press on this random weekday. The boat back to Crockett made you nauseous, but not as much as the cold-blooded woman in the photograph, giving food to a dog that minutes later would die of poison. It was too much of a coincidence. An understatement not to say that it was, in fact, no coincidence. The freckles on her face would almost be pretty if it weren't for the petulant tone of her voice and the arrogance in her gaze. Her hair would almost look soft if it weren't full of human vanity and selfishness. She was the perfect portrait of a modern Christian.

Judgmental, ignorant, bigoted, and persecuting. Everything Jesus condemned.

If the son of God himself walked the streets of Crockett, she would call him a drunkard. Or maybe a lunatic of some kind.

But you were the one walking those alleys now, with some photos printed inside an envelope and a small bag at your side. The cool air made your nose run a little cold and your hair flutter in the wind, but you were determined to do whatever it took to give those photos to the Sheriff. But first, you’d pay a visit to the church.

It was around noon when the smell of polished wood from the interior of Saint Patrick invaded your nose, and a faint smell of incense was also filled your lungs. However, there was no sign of Paul, neither in the confessional nor in the corridor behind the altar. An agonizing feeling starts to build in your chest, but it doesn't feel like anxiety. It's something like a feeling that something is going to happen, but not necessarily something bad. Ignoring this, you try to open the back door of the church, which leads to a path to the rectory, but it is locked. Strange.

It sucks having to go around the church to get to your destination, but it makes you see an unusual commotion in the recreation center: Dolly and Wade entering through the back door and Sturge following close behind, all of them chatting about something you couldn’t hear. Before you can think to follow them and see what happened, an angry Beverly Keane comes out of the cabin where the priest lives. She appears to be wringing her hands frantically and muttering a few words under her breath, and her gaze hardens as she notices you. If looks could kill, you're pretty sure you'd be getting shot.

As you open your mouth to speak, she slaps you across the face. Of all the things that could happen, getting hit by the town hag was the one you least expected today.

“You filthy, promiscuous rat!” she was frantically spitting insults. Keane appeared to have slightly redder eyes and excessively bitten fingernails. “You can fool everyone, even him, but you cannot fool me! I knew your returning would only bring us disgrace.”

You try to retort but you are mute with shock over what just happened, clutching the side of your face where she hit you. What the hell was going on with that woman?

“I knew something was wrong when I saw your stuff thrown around the rectory, but I didn't think you were perverted enough for that! Seducing a priest? And someone as good as Monsignor? Your aunt should have sent you to a convent when like my mother said, I knew someone like you would end up like this. People will know the truth about who you are, mark my words!”

She goes on talking about how he turned down a dinner honoring him and how she and the others found a large pool of vomited blood next to Paul's bed. Apparently, he had refused Bev's or Dr. Gunning’s help, saying he would only accept talking to you for today with the excuse that you helped him last night after the meeting. He had asked for you. Only you. And so she knew that her suspicions were right. Instead of answering, you opened the envelope with the damn photo, shoving it to her face. She chokes on her words, snatching the image from you.

“Say a word about this to anyone and not only the sheriff but the whole town will have copies and copies of this lying around. And God forbid Joe Collie gets back on drinking and decides to test the shotgun on you.”

It's a bluff, but it's exactly what she's afraid of, and you know it. Joe wouldn't do that out of meanness like she did it by being cruel to a defenseless animal. But Beverly Keane wasn't a helpless lady anymore, she was a criminal and would have her reputation ruined, she would be exposed in the only place where she can be and where people still put up with her bullshit. She would lose her morals, her position in the church and community. Everything she cherished most was now in your hands. And you could do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted.

“There are copies in my files and on the cloud, so you better not bother tearing this one up. If you want, you can even hang it on the wall at home, how about that? An eternal reminder of the day you decided to play God and send a helpless creature to a place you won't even get near, because I’m pretty sure you’ll be dancing in the Devil’s lap when you are finally gone from this world.”

A thin tear began to run down her face. Please. You can be a bitch but can’t take bitchiness?

“You wouldn't dare,” she whispers.

Smiling, you take the photo back, bumping into her shoulder as you pass. “Tell me, what made you so sure that I was the one to seduce the priest? You really trust him this much you forgot he is a grown man with desires?”

She turns around, mouth still gaping and shocked. Ridiculously, she makes a sign of the cross over herself and starts to shake her head. “He wouldn't… he wouldn't choose you… Why would he choose you? You live in sin, I have given everything to this place I don-”

Oh.

.......

Oh!

"Jealousy? Wow, I think this is the first time I've seen you express anything other than disgust or arrogance, Beverly. Congrats! But between you and me, the real question here is who in their right mind could put up with a bitter woman like you? I don’t even think God likes you anymore, after all, he gave me the weapons to tear you down, right? I was in the right place, ate the right time.”

She staggers back, eyes filled with rage.

“And don't forget…if my secret with him is kept, yours will be too. Be good to me, will you? Now, if you'll excuse me, I must do my… daily prayers. Amen?"

And so, you enter the small hut behind the church.

The air was somehow dry inside the rectory, like life itself was being dragged way by the sea or maybe the tension that was silently building up in that small Island. The furniture was placed as usual but something was missing, you were not sure what. It was not something physical, something that could be moved with hands. Something empirical, perhaps? The adrenaline of the fight was still on your veins when you found Paul sat by the bed, facing the sun that came through the open window. He was in the shadows again, trying to deny the fact that he was reaching the point of no return. Hiding the burn in his left arm as you reached for him.

As you called for his name, his eyes looked for you by the door. Frowning when facing the redness of your face, he didn’t have to ask what happened outside, he’d heard everything. He was scared, but not for him, for you. For the way people would treat you if things got you of hand. At the same time, he was a bit scared of his new powers given by the almighty.

“Things got heated outside?” he forced a smile, to which you couldn’t correspond, too busy looking at the dry blood on the floor. “She was bluffing, you do know that, right?”

“You are not well, are you?” you ignore him.

“Don’t worry about me, love.”

“You know I do, and you know I can’t ignore something like this from now on. Why don’t you tell me what is going on, Paul? Why don’t you let me help you?”

Why don’t he? Why not asking you to rip open your jugular for him? He could. He knows he could. But it’s not what he wants to. Too scared to lose the minimal control he still holds.

Instead, he gestures for you to sit by his side. The sunlight hits your eyes gently, making it look like a piece of heaven on earth, making him want to pray and thank God for it. You look so beautiful in the sun. Secretly, the priest wish things could be different so that he could always see you at daylight. It’s almost like you are both from different worlds now.

When your scent hits his nostrils, he grabs the edge of the bed, ignoring his hunger.

“Remember when I asked you if you aimed for salvation?”

You nod, captivated by his lips. He continues, focused on your eyes.

“Sometimes this salvation, this… eternal life, comes with a price. When I came to Crockett, I wanted to save everyone, I wanted to… make a difference. Now, I’m not sure if I can even save myself. Something is happening inside of me, and I think it’s a matter of faith, you know? It is not like anything I have ever experienced.”

You made a pause, trying to understand. As much as you like him, sometimes you feel like you’re both miles apart.

“I guess we’ve both had quite a few new experiences, huh?”

For a moment, he just looked at you, chuckling right after. “What?”

“I’m just trying to lighten the mood, honey. Sorry” you say.

He passes his arm around you, kissing your cheek. “I liked that, call me that again, please.”

You laughed. “Well, it doesn't matter what it is, it doesn’t matter if Keane is being a cunt or threatening us… I will be by your side. You saved me, remember? You said you wanted to make a difference, you did. I don’t feel like dying anymore. It that alright for now on your mission?”

He kissed you, gently caressing your face. “That is all I need, love.”

“Now, how about we forget a bit about being selfless and I teach you a bit of selfishness by giving you a bath and some cuddles for the rest of the day?”

Getting off the bed, you close the curtains after he complains of the usual headache, as he makes his way to the bathroom. When you reach the door, he is already taking off the gray pajama shirt he was wearing, the skin on display makes you look away for a moment, making you forget that you had seen much more than that. Glaring at your figure, Paul smiles sideways, pulling you into the bathroom and putting you in front of the mirror. Behind you, he carefully pulls your hair back, exposing your neck more and caressing the side of your face where Beverly hit, kissing it.

“Remind me of making her less important in church, please” he says, unbuttoning your shirt slowly. The touch of his fingers never fails to make you shiver.

“What are you doing?” you mumble while he keeps kissing your skin wherever he can.

“I thought we were taking a bath” he grins to your neck. “Besides, didn’t you tell her it was time for your daily prayers?”

He passes your shirt over your shoulders, throwing it to the floor. “I didn’t know you were this noisy, father.”

To that, he only smiles, taking your mouth and claiming you. It was hard to keep is composure and even harder for the hunger he felt today, so he did everything in a calm pace. Still, his hands never lost the firm grip on your waist as he pulled you closer to him, making you feel his forming erection from behind.

“Did you touched yourself last night?” he mumbles between the kiss, panting.

“Why? Are you going to punish me if I did?”

If you only knew.

He kisses your neck again and again, his intoxicant scent making the bathroom somehow hotter. Another whole week could go by, you wouldn’t notice. Not when he is this close to you, not when your lips move and proclaim the most unholy words you could say to a man of the cloth like him.

This time, everything happens slower. It’s like he is trying not to hold you so tight, otherwise you’d break. Even so, when he lifts you and press your body against the shower wall, it takes you a lot not to moan loudly. The hot water starts to run down, making you both wet as he kisses your neckline, and you desperately try to take off more of your clothes.

When you’re both finally naked, he sits inside the bathtub, halfway full. His eyes run down your body like they are looking at a renaissance painting, and you can’t help but blush.

“What is it, darling?” he says, while running his fingers through your tights. “Do you want to stop?”

You smile at him, denying it. Gently placing your hands on his wide shoulders, you take a breath in while you take him inside you. Every inch makes you melt a little bit, and he seems to notice because he smiles at you and kiss your forehead when you’re fully sit. From there, everything flows like an unchoreographed waltz. He holds the back of your neck firmly, kissing you every time you do something that makes him want to moan too loudly. Maybe it was the effect of years of monotony and abuse, but you never got to feel anything close to this with your ex. As holy as Paul looked, there was something extremely demonic about the way his dark eyes stared at you now, so hungry it's like he could eat you whole.

“Tell me, did you touch yourself last night even tough I told you not to? You didn’t answer my question, baby” he whispered into your ear.

His eyes were so intense you could feel your face blushing but couldn’t stop yourself from moaning when he started pounding into you, holding you in place by the hips and neck. He seemed to enjoy seeing how you had trouble taking him in this position, liking your neckline and smiling at your sounds. You could feel his sharp teeth nibbling your skin almost like he wanted to hurt you. Honestly, you think you would like it.

“Why do you do this to me?” you quietly complained against his ear.

At this point, you’d turned the shower off just so you could also hear how good he was fucking you. The water inside the bathtub making a mess in the whole bathroom. And the priest making a mess out of your guts, reaching places you didn’t know he could, in ways you didn’t know he knew how to. There was so much going on, you felt like he could get inside yours skin at any moment and you would thank him. You feel like you could bite his lip off and he’d moan.

It was when he groaned in your ear that you felt.

“Paul, I-’’ you tried to say, but he kisses you.

“No, no, angel… today all I want to hear is your pretty voice screaming.”

That was enough for the both of you to climax, heavily breathing into each other’s skin.

Notes:

Just a friendly reminder that comments really give me a lot of inspiration to write, so.... Also, I have a new plot in mind and I am quite exited to show you! What did you guys think of the chapter? Shoul I kill Bev? Should I burn her at the stake? anyways...... sorry if there was any mistakes, see you <3

Notes:

If you identify with the main character's thoughts, please seek professional help and talk to your beloved ones. Life it's much more than what we see. If you liked the chapter, please coment below, sorry for any mistakes. Writting in english is harder than i thought!
See you!