Page 11 of Priest

I start to fantasize about what it would look like… coming back from the dead. It’s been all over the news. In fact, I had to lay low for weeks until the media speculation died down. Nobody is looking for me now. They all think I’m dead.

I sit in the back, my hood pulled up as I make myself as small as possible. I haven’t seen Priest, thank God. I made a fool of myself last time, and I don’t need it rubbed in my face. The same two women as last time are here, and another man — he’s flamboyant and uses his hands a lot when he talks. He’s nice to everyone, even me. He tries to talk to me but I just smile politely and skitter as fast as I can to the back of the room.

I just need food. And somehow… somehow I need money. But I’m not willing to do some of the things that girls have to do in the bad shelters around New Orleans. I’m not selling my body for money. That is completely out of the question.

I eat the stew, not caring what it is. It tastes good and that’s all that matters.

I drink my water, grateful that it’s clean and I sit and wonder how my life became like this. Anytime I start to feel sorry for myself, I shut it down.

This is better than what my father had planned for me.

A forced marriage to a brute who forced himself on me more than once. He didn’t get what he wanted, because I was to remain a virgin until our wedding night, but that didn’t mean he didn’t try. I swallow hard when I think about how I told my father what he did, and instead of beating him and throwing him out of our home, it seemed to have the opposite effect. My father took him under his wing, blowing off his actions toward me as sexual frustration. I know Leo indulged in other women, and that my father knew about it. Hell, he encouraged it, as long as I was kept pure until our nuptials. The thought makes me sick to this day. Somehow, over years of being indoctrinated into the family traditions — none of which are worth saving — I broke away, leaving my old life behind and I never looked back. The few hundred dollars I had was supposed to buy my bus ticket so I could get the hell outta dodge, but I was mugged one night and my belongings stolen along with my wallet and phone. The cap I wear is really my only disguise, but it isn’t as if anyone’s looking for me. Everything went to shit. It was as if the universe was punishing me for being bad, telling me I should go back and face the consequences. Also, did I have no heart?

Other people were killed that night, people I should care about. But all I feel is that weight being lifted because those men were bad. They did terrible, unspeakable things and I don’t have it in my heart to forgive them.

I close my eyes.

I need to go to confession. Father Dan is away, and his parish is the only one that I would go to where I know I won’t be recognized. My family church is in Houston, but locally, St. Louis cathedral has become their newly found place of worship. I clearly can’t go there.

Going to church is the only way. But I can’t tell Dan the real truth; I can only brush over it. However, if I feel the truth in my heart, and tell a few white lies to protect the identities of my family, is that still considered a sin?My cousins may have been spoiled and mean, but they don’t deserve to die. Other people in my family, however, they deserve to go to Hell. That and the fact I don’t want them to ever find me.

Either way, I need to seek absolution.

“Hello, Bella.” A deep, rumbling voice speaks my name as I stop dead in my tracks. My spoon halfway to my mouth as I glance up.

It’s him. I know it’s him without even meeting his gaze. I slowly lift my eyes, and when our eyes do meet, I’m met with the same friendly face and smile — albeit a little tentative.

I squirm in my seat, even though this man gives off no mean vibes whatsoever. “Hello,” I say, my voice quiet.

“I didn’t see you in the back,” he goes on. “Or I would’ve come and said hi earlier.”

Why is he talking to me? Why can’t he just go away?

I smile politely, and hope he’ll take the hint. He doesn’t.

“I wanted to check that you were okay,” he explains. “I really didn’t mean to scare you last week.”

I shake my head. The fastest way to get rid of him is to pretend all is okay. Then he’ll leave me alone.

“It’s my fault,” I say. “I was having a bad day. I’m sorry.”

His eyebrows pinch together in that adorable way of his and I can’t help but stare. Nobody — not even my own family — has ever looked at me with such concern as this complete stranger.

I should be afraid of him. He’s larger than life. Covered in tattoos. Gives off ex-con vibes and is completely sure of himself. He doesn’t break my gaze for a second, confident in his approach, when here I am trying to work out how quick it’ll take me to bolt to the front door.

You’re cute, but please fuck off.

“Don’t be sorry. Do you have a place to stay right now?”

No. “Yes.”

“Where?”

Lies have become second nature for me now. I haven’t progressed yet to stealing, and the idea of doing such an act makes me feel queasy, but maybe if I befriended this man, he might lend me some money. Then again, if he volunteers here, he’ll think I want the money for drugs. Or if he’s a creep, he’ll want sexual favors, just like the men in the shelter.

He can’t know the truth.

Lie!

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