Page 2 of Unholy Obsession

I roll the mallet again, the sound dissipating into the vaulted rafters.

I open my eyes, my hands lifting as I prepare for the next prayer. The congregation waits expectantly.

And then I see her.

Her.

Oh, fuck. All the air in my lungs freezes as she slips in through the heavy arched doors at the back of the church, hesitance in every line of her body.

The woman who’s haunted me for forty-eight agonizing hours.

The woman whose body I used like an altar, whose voice still echoes in my mind, wrecked and desperate and gasping my name.

TWO

MOIRA

I kick at the floorboards,still sitting in the pew long after the service has finished.

The sexy priest stands at the back of the church, shaking hands and murmuring blessings like he actually means them, his deep voice steady and calm. There’s a line of folks slowly working their way out of the sanctuary, thanking him for his sermon and making small talk.

I didn’t think priests were allowed to be that young and hot.

Fuck, what am I even doing here?

I slump against the hard wooden pew and tilt my head back, looking up at the beautiful light spilling in through the stained-glass windows. The church smells like candle wax and polished wood and old people. It’s… nice. Different.

Clean.

I clearly do not belong here.

The last time I stepped foot inside a church was… God… back when I was a kid, and the nuns from school would drag us in for weekly chapel on Wednesdays. The boys would always snap mybra straps when the nuns weren’t looking. But when I punched them for it?Iwas the one who got in trouble. Sister Agatha would just sigh, shake her head, and mutter under her breath about me turning out just like my mother.

I tighten my coat around me like armor, curling my fingers into the sleeves. My palms are damp, and my breathing’s uneven.

I should not be here.

But my brain’s been doing the Electric Slide into the deep end of the crazy pool ever since Friday night, and if I don’t do something drastic, I’m gonna start climbing the walls like a rabid raccoon.

Breathe, Moira. Act normal. Blend in.

Ha. Normal. God, it’s not like I don’t fucking try. I should win a goddamn Oscar because I spend my whole life acting.

Why can’t you just be normal, Moira?

That was my mother’s favorite line.

Everyone in our little village outside of Donegal said I was just like Mam, and then there was Mam, saying I should be acting normal like everyone else in town.

As if she was one to talk. She was the town slag, a drink in her hand if she was awake and breathing, and there was barely a day of my life when there wasn’t some man or other in our one-room flat. Domhn and I would hide in the closet, but it wasn’t like that was soundproof or anything.

When Domhn and I moved to the States right as I became a teenager, I eventually lost my accent, and he raised me the best he could, but?—

Somewhere in all that mess, I was supposed to come out knowing how to be normal?

The line waiting to talk to Father Sexy is finally dwindling, so I stand up and tiptoe toward the end of the pew. Head down, shoulders hunched, trying to look devout instead of deranged.The few other people scattered throughout the sanctuary don’t even glance at me. Good.

I just need to get clean.

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