Page 31 of Deviant

Another violent shake.

Come on, Rowen.

Open your eyes and get the fuck out of there.

But instead of listening to my silent demand, the incessant girl does the unthinkable by placing her hand on his shoulder.

What unfolds next occurs so quickly that it takes me a moment to register it all. In one second, Rowen is giving a comforting squeeze to the priest’s shoulder, and the next, he has her pulled down to the ground with sharp shears placed at her neck.

“No games! No wbite! No white! No white! Only black! Always black! Black is always better!”

To her credit, she remains perfectly still as the shears dig into her tender flesh while the priest hovers over her, spewing his nonsense.

My heart stammers in my chest as I watch the priest blubber incoherently in her face. He pushes the blade into her throat, digging to the point of drawing trickles of blood that hit the cold grass. And when she doesn’t move or try to push him away, my hackles rise.

She wants this.

She wants him to cut her.

Fuck.

This is it.

This is it.

But instead of the relief I should feel that justice is finally on the horizon, a sense of dread starts seeping through my pores as panic sets in.

No.

Not like this.

Not like this.

Time is of the essence, so I look around and find a rock lying on the ground next to a vase with withered flowers. I pick it up and swing it with all my might to a tombstone beside them, causing the priest to momentarily lose his train of thought.

As predicted, the small commotion is enough to snap him out of whatever hell his mind is living in. He gets up from on top of Rowen and drops the shears beside her face, making a loud clunk as they hit the ground.

“Black is better. Black is always better,” Father O’Sullivan continues to mutter, walking away as if he didn’t just try to murder someone a minute ago.

The knot in my chest eases as he wanders deeper into the cemetery, Rowen now long gone from his mind.

However, she remains lying on the grass in frustration as tears stream down the corner of her eyes. She just lies there for what feels like forever before picking herself up, a disheartened expression plastered on her face.

I ignore the myriad of confusing emotions I’m feeling just so I can concentrate on her next move.

Unfortunately for me, her next move is to visit my sister’s grave.

“I’ll find a way, Nora. I promise I’ll find a way,” she vows with such conviction that I believe her.

Rowen wants to die.

With every cell in her body, she yearns for death.

How fortunate that it’s all I want for her, too.

Up until this very moment, I thought my sense of vengeance would be appeased if she or someone else did the deed for her.

It took one crazy priest to show me what I truly want.

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