Page 82 of Unholy Obsession

“Shhh,” I murmur. “Moira, what happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“No!” Her voice fractures on the word. She throws her hands up, just visible in the dim light filtering through tree branches from a streetlight. “Of course, I’m not okay! Have youmetme? I’m fucked up! Fucking screwed up inhere!”

She punctuates the words with sharp knocks against her own temple with her fist.

“Stop it.” My voice is firm. The command slips out before I can soften it. “You’re perfect.”

She laughs—a bitter sound. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve only seen what Iletyou see.”

“Fine. What don’t you want me to see?”

“This!” She screeches, spinning in a frantic circle, then jumping in place. “Fuckingthis! The fuckingantsunder my skin. The itch I can’t scratch. I almost—” She flings an arm back toward the church. “I almost lured one of your church guys tothe parking lot out back behind the church to fuck me just to stop the noise in my head!”

I absorb this information and nod, trying to keep my face non-judgmental. “Okay. Thank you for telling me that.”

“Thank you for—” Her face twists, incredulous. “What’s wrong with you? Did you hear what I just said? That’s fucked up!I’mfucked up!”

She’s luminous like this. So fragile and furious. So unfiltered. She thinks her ugly truths will make me recoil.

She couldn’t be further from the truth. Doesn’t she get it? Every time she’s so vulnerable with her rawest emotions—with her soul—she only makes me want her more.

She’s the opposite of the perfect bullshit pretender I am.

I step closer, slow and steady, like I’m approaching a wild animal. She could run if she wanted. She doesn’t.

“I don’t think you’re broken,” I whisper, closing the space between us. I finally wrap my arms around her, gentle but firm. She stiffens but doesn’t push me away. “I think you’re so, so brave.”

She stares at me, her eyes glassy and lips trembling. Finally, she manages a whispered, “Nobody thinks I’m brave.”

I squeeze her tighter to me as if that will make her believe my words. “Then nobody’s been paying attention. You live fearlessly. And you’re brutally honest. No one’s as brave as you, Moira.”

Her breath shudders out, and for a moment, she lets herself sag against me.

“I’m not brave,” she whispers. “I’m just crazy.”

I smile softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “All the bravest people were called crazy first, dove. The prophets. Saints. Revolutionaries. They were the only ones brave enough to stand up against kings and dictators.”

She snorts. “Pretty sure none of them were trying to fuck randos in church parking lots.”

I chuckle, the sound rumbling through both of us. “Who knows? Maybe they just edited that part out of the scriptures and history books.”

Her fingers spasm on the fabric of my shirt and she blinks up at me. “But those are the best parts.”

I chuckle. “If only they’d had Kindles back then. The scribes were probably writing all the dirty parts on any leftover scraps of paper.”

I finally manage to get a small smile out of her, which sobers me.

I tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my eyes. “What are you really doing out here, gorgeous?”

She swallows, her gaze flickering away. “I’m not good enough for you.”

Her words slug me in the guts.

She hiccups in a big breath, eyes landing somewhere around my Adam’s apple.

I shake my head, but she goes on.

“I mean, look at you in there. Being so holy and leading those people to like, God and stuff. And then I’m so bad and dirty?—”

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