Page 27 of Unholy Fate

I picked up my fork, stabbing a soft potato with more force than necessary. The other sisters fidgeted in their seats, sneakingfurtive glances my way when they thought I wasn’t looking. Conversations hovered at the edge of my hearing.

They all knew. Word of my conversation with Father Hudson must have spread like wildfire through the convent. How could he have told? Surely what I’d told him had been in confidence. Whether they believed his assertions that I was having some kind of mental crisis or feared I was truly possessed mattered little. They were treating me differently.

Hurt, raw and throbbing, pulsed in my chest, each beat a hammer blow against my ribs. I’d like to believe if I’d been told one of my sisters was distressed, battling demons, whether physical or emotional, I’d have offered support, prayed with them, comforted them.

Even a simple “I’m here for you” would be better than this bitter silence. I picked at the food in front of me, chewing mechanically. The food turned to ash on my tongue.

Desperate for something to calm my fraying nerves, I reached for my water glass and took a deep gulp. But instead of cool refreshment, a sharp, burning liquid seared down my throat. I sputtered, nearly choking, and pulled the glass away. The unmistakable taste of alcohol lingered on my tongue.

Bewilderment surged through me, and I frowned at the glass. The second sip confirmed rough, bitter liquor, not the smooth, cool water I expected.

I shot a furtive look at the other sisters, but no one else seemed to have noticed anything amiss. They continued to drink from the same pitcher, refilling their glasses with what appeared to be ordinary water.

Was this another test, I wondered wildly. Had someone spiked my drink? Would my sisters be so cruel to test me this way? Or worse, was this a sign that the possession was escalating, warping reality around me?

I hesitated, the glass hovering halfway to my lips. Every instinct screamed at me to put it down. My pulse pounded in my ears, that synced with the fiery throb of the burn on my forehead as more and more questions flooded my aching head. I had no answers, only a rising tide of anxiety and despair threatening to drag me under.

A fiery warmth spread through my body as the alcohol took hold, numbing the sharp edges of pain and silencing the incessant screaming in my head. Maybe this unexpected turn was a blessing, a reprieve.

Before I could second-guess myself, I tipped the glass back and drank deep. The alcohol burned going down, but left a trail of numbness in its wake. My muscles relaxed, the searing burn on my forehead subsiding to a muted throb.

I refilled the glass again from the same pitcher the others were using. But no one else reacted. It was as if I was the only one aware of the impossibility happening right in front of us.

As I continued to drink, I noticed Serena glancing at me from the corner of her eyes, her brow creased with concern. After a moment, she reached out to lay a gentle hand on my wrist.

“Sister Evelyn, are you all right?” she asked softly. “Can I do anything to help? Father Hudson told us you were having a hard time and that we weren’t to bother you about it, but if there’s anything I can do…”

I flinched away from her touch, an irrational surge of anger flaring in my chest. Ofcoursehe’d told. He’d probably told them all the details, too. As if she actually cared. As if any of them did.

“I’m fine,” I bit out, more harshly than I’d intended.

Serena withdrew her hand, hurt flickering across her face. Some of the other sisters exchanged pointed looks, but no one said a word.

The bitter resentment that had been simmering all evening boiled over. Was I right? Were they testing my faith, a cruel game, waiting to see if I’d betray my beliefs and do something unholy?

Well, let them watch, I thought savagely. Let them sit in judgment while I sought any small relief from this hell. Their opinion hardly mattered now.

By the end of the meal, my head felt like it was filled with lead, my body loose and uncoordinated as I pushed back from the table. The alcohol had dulled the incessant throbbing in my forehead, but it left me unsteady on my feet.

“I need to lie down,” I announced abruptly, gripping the edge of my chair for balance. “My head...”

Serena glanced up, sympathy warring with worry on her face. “I’ll come check on you in a bit, okay?”

I didn’t trust myself to speak around the lump in my throat. Father Hudson hadn’t even looked up from his plate.

Bile burned the back of my tongue as I turned away, anger and humiliation churning in my gut. I couldn’t get out of that room fast enough.

The stairs proved a challenge, the steps shifting and blurring under my feet. I clung to the banister, hauling myself up by sheer force of will. Distantly, I knew I should be alarmed by how much the alcohol had affected me, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

Stumbling into my room, I collapsed on the bed fully clothed, the room spinning lazily around me. The burn on my forehead throbbed, muted by the fog of intoxication.

But what did it matter now? My sisters, my mentor, the people who were supposed to support me, they’d all already written me off as lost. I could see it in their sidelong glances and careful avoidance. Even Serena, who claimed to care, had left me to fend for myself.

Bitter tears stung my eyes as I stared at the ceiling, the cracks in the plaster blurring together. God, why is this happening to me? I was too numb to even pray for an answer.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EVELYN

---