Page 62 of The Preacher's Pet

I let out a cry of shock and stumble back from the mirror. No, no, no. I press my hands over my ears, trying to block out his voice.

Fornicator! You will suffer for all of eternity for what you’ve done.

“Please, no,” I cry out loud. “Leave me alone.”

How is this possible? I thought I’d been freed.

A river of fire is awaiting your immortal soul. Dirty little whore…

I bark out a sob. My legs give way, and I crumble to the bathroom floor. I draw my knees to my chest and keep my hands over my ears. It didn’t work. Everything we did last night was for nothing. I’m a cursed being, doomed to live this way forever.

I can’t do it, I realize. I can’t keep living like this. What’s the point? If each time I do something that brings me joy, I’m then punished by hearing his voice, I’ll never have a moment’s happiness in my life.

Tears fill my eyes and spill down my cheeks. My chin wobbles and my chest heaves, my shoulders shaking. I’m utterly devastated. Crushed. I want to wail and scream and claw my hands in my hair, but what is the use? Nothing will make it stop.

In a daze, I dry myself roughly then pull my dress back on, not caring that it’s dirty. I’m not focusing on that. Instead, I’m thinking of ways to make this end.

I remember the bottle of sleeping pills my psychiatrist prescribed when I’d been suffering nightmares so badly I’d been unable to sleep. She’d had to do a thorough assessment of my mental state before she gave them to me, and she concluded I wasn’t likely to harm myself. I only used a couple, which means I have quite a few left, and I brought them with me.

My mental state has changed since then, thanks to this haunting voice I can’t shake off.

I just want it to end.

I’ll go to hell if I kill myself, but I’m already trapped in hell. It doesn’t matter what I do now, I’ve committed enough sin last night to ensure I’m heading that direction anyway.

Right now, those pills are calling to me and feel like my only escape. I’m not sure if I want to end it all, or if I want to just sleep and sleep for the longest time so I don’t have to deal with this anymore.

Either way, the pills offer me the out I want. The Preachers’ magic didn’t work—I was a fool for ever believing it might—so I will turn to science to drown him out.

The pills will silence the Prophet’s voice.

It’s the only thing I can think about—the only thing I care about—just making it stop.

33

MALACHI

After waking superlate to find Ophelia already gone, I’d headed back to my room. It had been a happy surprise to find I still had her panties, and I smiled to myself at the understanding that she hasn’t taken them back. Instead of her hair to wrap around my cock, I’ll definitely use these instead.

To get my mind off masturbating with her dirty panties, I’d gone for a run, then sat in my dorm trying out a new song I’d composed. It’s for Ophelia, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever show her, or the other Preachers, but it’s cathartic to write as it puts all my complicated feelings down onto the page.

I’ve missed all my classes, but I don’t care. The only reason I’d had for going was the possibility of seeing Ophelia, but we don’t share any today.

I glance at my watch and see it’s past six in the evening. I’ve had a message from Rome to say he’s going to be at the tower, working on some new incantations, and he needs the place to himself.

So, basically, a ‘fuck you’ to me and Cain.

I message Cain to see if he wants to go grab a drink. He messages me back after a few minutes.

Just the thought of seeing her again has my cock begging in my pants. I want to touch her and taste her so fucking much the next time we get together. I really hope there will be a next time. I live in fear of her calling it all off.

If we can persuade her that we’re her friends, as well as the guys who want to dick her down at every opportunity, then perhaps it will keep her invested.

I message Cain back to say I’ll meet him at seven, and that I’ll stop in at Ophelia’s dorm along the way.

Needing to clean up, I set the shower running and step under the hot water as I wash last night from me. I don’t want to. Part of me wants to keep the smell of Ophelia on me forever.

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