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CHAPTER SIX
“Morning Sweetheart,” Mom groans as she zombie walks to the coffee pot and pours herself a cup, taking a deep drink before lifting a sassy eyebrow. “How’d you sleep? Still alone?”
“Fuck sake, Mom,” I drop my head into my hands and groan, turning it to a growl when Sil walks in and smacks me on the ass. She then snags Mom’s mug and takes a sip before making her own.
“Oh get over it. We’re just trying to help speed things up.”
“I couldn’t tell,” I respond dryly. “Anyway, we talked last night over ice cream and I think we worked things out.”
“Do tell!” Sil pulls her chair up next to Mom’s and they both stare at me in anticipation.
“I think you were both right that he can be a good ally. He’s not happy, he hates his dad, and he doesn’t believe in his dad’s god.”
“Then why is he a Cleric?”
“Mrs. Addamson asked him to before she died. He’s been taking night classes in IT, though, and said he’ll be ready to leave if I decide to. He won’t leave before you’re better because he doesn’t want the Reverant to take it out on you while you’re sick.”
They exchange a look, but Mom breaks first. “You owe me twenty bucks!” Sil groans and walks over to her wallet to pull out money and slap it in Mom’s hand.
“What the fuck? What did you bet on?”
“I predicted you’d get back together within the first week. Sylvia said you’d last two purely out of spite. Shows what she knows! I knew you would take one look at that sad, handsome boy and fold like a cheap house of cards.”
“Wow, thanks guys. I’m glad to learn my love life is fodder for your betting habits. Do you have nothing better to do?”
Mom is still able to work, so she decided to go in for a few hours today and help out while she can. I have a few projects in progress so my laptop and paperwork are laid out covering the table in the kitchen, and I too am getting as much done as I can before Mom’s treatments start. I’ll be taking time away from my job to help her, so my plan is to buckle down as much as possible over the next few days to get ahead. As long as I deliver things by their deadline, what does it matter when they were actually completed?
She lasted about five hours at work before calling me to ask if I wanted anything from the grocery store. It’s been about an hour since she called, so I’ve been listening for the sound of her car on the gravel driveway. Mom can’t go to the grocery store without coming home with a full trunk, so when she gets here I’ll head out to help her.
Eventually, the sound of tires on gravel reaches me and I head to the laundry room to slip my shoes on. I'm standing on foot when a heavy knock startles me enough that I almost fall over, forcing me to brace myself against the wall to stay vertical. Our driveway wraps around the back of the house to create a small parking area just large enough for our three cars so visitors never come to the back door. I pause, waiting to see if the person will stay or go if I don’t answer. When the knock comes again I take a deep breath and swing the door open, ready to ask whoever it is if they’ve ever heard of a front door. To my shock, the Reverant is in front of me, raising his hand once more to knock. Impatient much?
My brow furrows in confusion as I try to figure out why he's here. I can’t remember a time he has ever been to our home. When I glance over his shoulder, I notice that he’s pulled his car as far in and close to the house as possible. Hiding the car and coming to the back door? Looks like someone is trying to hide his presence here.
“Reverant, hi,” I finally say, holding my position in the threshold and leaving my hand on the door so I can close it at any time. “Is everything ok? How can I help you?”
“Hello Laurel, may I come in?”
I really don’t want to let this man in, but again, I have to worry about the end goal. Stepping back with a forced smile, I reluctantly wave him in past me and towards the kitchen. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, thanks.”
I close my laptop and stack my documents off to the side so he can take a seat at the table without seeing my work and start working on his coffee. When everything is clear he takes a seat, back straight and shoulders stiff as always. “How can I help you, Reverant? Is everything ok?”
My back is turned to him, so when the chair scrapes across the floor my assumption is he’s simply shifting in his seat. The coffee cup is under the spout and the pod is snapped into place while I try to think of a way to make this disgusting man leave without offending him. When his shoe slides against the tile I spin around to find him standing directly behind me, hand reaching out towards my head. Was this fucker trying to pet my hair?
“Sir?” I step back until I hit the edge of the counter, trying to keep some space between us.
His hand doesn’t drop when he’s caught, he just keeps moving forward until he grabs a lock of my hair and rolls it between his fingers. “Your coloring is so unique. It’s almost as if you were descended from the Bright God himself,” he mumbles, as if he didn’t mean to speak out loud. He finally lets the strand go and meets my eyes. “It’s not how you can help me, child. What you should be asking is how I can help you?”
Is this where I'm supposed to say, “Oh professor, I’ll do anything to pass your class?” Goddess, this man is fucking gross.
“I don’t understand what you mean, Reverant,” I respond innocently, tilting my head and giving him doe eyes. “What can you do for me? Is this about counseling? Because I don’t think I’m ready for that yet, to be honest with you.”
The violence of his scoff makes me jump and I press back harder against the cabinet, my back bowing as he reaches up to touch my face. “We both know you won’t take me up on that, child. You may have returned to the flock, but you do not fully believe. Yet. You will though.”
I’m boxed in, unable to move away from him so I can only turn my head and lean back further when he touches the tip of his finger to my cheek and slowly drags it down my skin until he reaches my breast. There are knives on the counter next to me and though all I can think about is stabbing him I remain perfectly still.
“What do you mean I will believe?” I ask, voice quivering in what sounds like fear but is actually rage.
