Page 173 of Priest and his Anarchist

I tried. I tried for the longest time, to the very end. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be anyone but myself, and if being myself gets me killed, I’ll do it myself.

“45” from Shinedown plays and my world stops. Whoever is behind the playlist is playing a sick joke.

His shadow towers over me like it has so many times before, and I hold my breath. I never knew what it would be like when this day finally came. Part of me hoped I’d go old. Happy. Loved.

I should have known better.

My cheeks burn from the tears and blood as sadness vibrates through my body so hard my shoulders jerk when my sobs break out.

He didn’t know you were a twin until after you were dead.

No one could love the way he did her! And he still killed her with his bare hands.

It wasn’t just his first love. She made him feel for the first time.

We can’t have him know about you. It’ll risk him killing you and hunting her down.

“Do it,” I whisper, but the music suffocates my words. I don’t bother opening my eyes. If he has to take my final breath, I’d rather he does it without seeing the truth.

That I’ve been in love with him since the day he saved me. Since he wrapped me in his jacket and carried me back to the house where I met my parents for the first time. From the very first moment, I had to pretend. I didn’t know how to say any other words except please, no, yes, okay. I was mute. They thought I was dumb.

“Priest. Just do it! Kill me!” My eyes fly open onto him, my vocal cords torn to shreds.

He lowers to my level, bringing me face to face with his mask and lips far too soft to be on a man made for destruction.

Unclipping the side of his mask, it slips off his face. His wrath is carefully trained to simmer below the surface, but right now, you wouldn’t know it. Like a brewing storm, the beat of his heart flutters between us.

Tears continue to roll down my face because as much as I didn’t want to give him this final part of myself, the part where he takes this from me too, I realize it’s no use. Every part of myself is his. Even knowing I’d die at his hand one day. It doesn’t matter because dying at his hand would still hurt less than loving him a lifetime.

His touch stings when he takes me by the chin, drawing me in close. I stop breathing. When his lips brush mine, I burn to ash. It’s a simple kiss. One you’d use as a goodbye. My tears don’t stop. Not when he stops kissing me, resting his head against mine, and not when he pulls back, searching my eyes. His hands disappear behind my head, but I’m too busy lost in him that I don’t realize what he’s done.

My fingers touch the silk in my hair, tied to a loose pony.

The ground tilts beneath me.

In the reflection and through the splatter of blood, the familiar yellow ribbon glows like a halo of light.

My breathing deepens as my panic rolls off me.

He rests his forearms on his thighs. “I know who you are, Madness.”

My throat dries. “And who’s that?” The words feel like acid when they travel up my throat. I need him to say it. To say who I am even though the ribbon should be clarification.

He doesn’t move. “Mine.”

I blink. “But—what?”

He shakes his head the same way a parent would their disappointment of a teen. “You should have trusted me over everyone.” He leans down, catching my chin once more and forcing my lips back onto his. “Even the Fathers.”

Guilt weighs heavy on my chest.

“Why do you think I gave you my name, Madness? Think.”

My mouth opens and closes. I try not to think too hard into it because I find that anytime I do, I end up in a tighter knot than I had before I started.

“I don’t know.” I exhale, deflated from it all.

His head tilts to the side as if he’s going to kiss me, but he doesn’t. “I made you a Hayes because I wanted to keep you safe. Because if there was one thing on this earth that was guaranteed to keep you alive, it was my name.”

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