Page 10 of Priest

It feels nice in here. Like I don’t want to leave. It’s dry, warm and safe, and people are kind. Not like in some of the shelters; some were worse than others and didn’t feel safe. I don’t want to go back there. As I’m new to this city — only having been here a few months — I haven’t yet made any friends. My whole life revolved around Leo and him moving up the ranks with my father and uncle. That’s why we moved here, so he could take over and we could live happily ever after. The only thing that brings a smile to my face is imagining his world without me in it. He didn’t love me, but without me, he has no future within the intricate walls of the family business. And that at least makes me smile.

I make my way toward the serving area, unsure if I’m to take the dishes all the way into the kitchen. Hesitating, I hear the same deep voice as before. “You need a hand with that, little one?”

I look all the way up to meet the cute guy's gaze; he’s smiling and gives me a chin lift. I shake my head. “I’m good.”

“Lookin’ for the kitchen?”

I nod.

He thumbs behind me. “Right in there.”

I keep my eyes on my shoes. “I’m happy to wash them.”

“Don’t say that, you’d end up with a permanent job here.” I hear the humor in his tone.

Suddenly, that doesn’t sound so bad.

“I’m happy to help.”

“What’s your name?”

“Isabella, but people call me Bella.”

“Which do you prefer?”

Nobody has ever asked me that question. “Just Bella is fine.”

“Okay, just Bella, I’m Priest.” Suddenly his hand is reaching out to me.

I swallow hard, tugging on my hoodie as I tamper down my need to run. It’s rude to not reciprocate, and he’s waiting. If I anger him, he may not invite me back.

I dump the dishes on the counter. Reluctantly, I slide my hand into his. I don’t want to appear rude, but I don’t want him to remember me. It’s easier if I’m just a shadow.

When my eyes lift again, there’s a crease between his brows. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Bella. This is a safe place. Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”

Oh, my God. He thinks I’m homeless — well, technically I am — but knowing that he’s judging me right now, makes me feel uneasy. Even though he’s telling me not to be afraid.

“I have a place to stay,” I say. “I’m really sorry, but I just remembered I have somewhere to be.”

“Please, I didn’t mean to pry.” His face falls and I feel guilty for a second.

I practically run to the door. “The food was really nice,” I add, so he doesn’t think I’m rude.

“Bella…”

“I’m sorry.” My feet move before my brain has a chance to catch up and I dash out into the street as fast as my legs will carry me.

I can’t have people caring about me. If that happens, I’ll never get out of here and that’s my main goal.

I curse myself under my breath as I make my way back to the shelter. How could I have been so stupid to draw attention to myself? I know better than that. I was taught to be seen and not heard, and yet here I am tonight, doing exactly the opposite.

I can’t let it happen again. Even if I have suffered trauma because of my family name, that’s no excuse.

Next time, I need to do better.

A week goes by and I start to get desperate. I have to move around shelters before I start to draw attention to myself; before someone will offer to help, and then I’ll have no choice but to run. This time, my luck may just run out.

I have no choice but to go back to the Soup Kitchen because I slept rough last night, and there was no room at the shelter. I’m hungry, tired and almost ready to walk back to my previous life.

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