Page 16 of Blood and Penance
Then it hits me. He’s not angry about my confession, he’s angry about me getting married. And it only pisses me off.
“You have some nerve, Gianni! You have no right to be mad at me for moving on with my life! You became a priest instead of fighting for us. So don’t you fucking dare.”
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a few moments of silence, I decide that it’s time for me to go. I’ll figure shit out on my own.
“This was a mistake.”
When l turn to leave, he grabs my arm, stopping me. “Don’t go. You’re right. I have no reason to be upset about that. It was just surprising.” He sighs. “Please come in, so I can help you,” he says when I don’t say anything.
He motions to the open door, and I walk by him, stepping into his home. I don’t know where this is going to go, but I hope if he can’t help me, he’ll at least help our son once I tell him he exists.
Chapter Eleven
Gianni
After she steps inside the rectory, I take a deep breath then close the door behind us. I need to calm down because she’s right. I have no right to be angry that she married someone else, but it’s something I won't get over or be able to control my anger about. The kind of love we share will never go away, and even though I’m bound by my vow to God, I’m human. I’m a man in love with a married woman.
Sometimes life can be so cruel.
Did I expect her to move on with her life? Yes. Phoenix is a very beautiful, intelligent, and accomplished woman. I wouldn’t expect her to waste away because of me. But for it to be in front of my face and the wordsmy husbandslipping from the samelips I’ve kissed a million times and had wrapped around me—the same lips that whispered I love you, just hit me in a way I didn't expect.
Envy moves through my veins like molten fire, creeping through my bloodstream with a slow, agonizing burn. It wraps around my heart, causing me to ache with resentment. It simmers, growing heavy with every thought of them together in the same way we used to share. Does she fuck him like she did me? Does she make him groan in ecstasy when her tight cunt tightens around him when she comes? Does she confess her love for him like she used to do me?
I envy a dead man. God, help me.
It wasn’t easy making the decision to leave her even though she may believe it had been, but it had been necessary. If anything happened to her or her family, I wouldn’t be able to live myself.
Of course, we both dealt with the consequences of our breakup differently. Apparently, she got married, and I married my faith after I tried to drown my sorrows in the ways of the world. But she’ll always be the love of my life. Regardless of whose ring she wears and regardless of the vow I made to God. The only person above Phoenix is God himself.
“God, grant me the strength to see past my anger and envy that’s marring my soul so I can help the woman I love.”
I whisper this silent prayer to myself, hoping to gain the strength I need to get through this conversation without acting like the person I was before I gave my life to serve God.
I face her as she looks around the small living room of the rectory. It’s nothing special. Once I received my assignment at this parish, I removed all the lavish furniture, and other items the previous priest had. For me, it was too much. In my life before becoming a priest, I had fancy cars, took expensive trips, had nothing but a closet full of designer clothes and shoes. When I left the old me behind, I left all the extravagant stuff too. For me, simple is better, and the rectory reflects the man I am now.
A simple man living for God.
“Make yourself at home,” I say. “I’ll make us some tea. Or would you prefer water?”
She sits on the worn plaid couch that sits facing the fireplace. “I'm fine. But I didn’t take you for a tea person, Gianni,” she chuckles, the sound nervous.
But her smile slips off her face when she sees that I’m not smiling.
As a former alcoholic and someone who attends meetings every week and still talks to my sponsor at least once a week, I don’t keep any alcohol around me, especially where I live. I don’t even drink wine during Eucharist.
I took the seat next to her. “I don’t drink anymore.”
She looks at me strangely, and I understand her confusion. When we were together, my drink of choice had always been whiskey. I never bypassed any offered glass, and I always had a glass of wine with dinner. I was a very social drinker, while also keeping a wine cellar at my home.
“Because of the collar?”
I chuckle. I wish it was just because of the collar, that would be simpler.
“No, I'm sorry to say the collar has nothing to do with it. I’m a recovering alcoholic. Four years sober.”
Along with her audible gasp, her eyes widen. It’s not a conversation I’m ready to have with her. Maybe someday we can sit and talk about our lives after our breakup but today is not the day.
“A lot of things happened when we ended things.”
