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On Eve…
Flick.
His wall of crosses didn’t survive my redecorating, either. I turned them all upside down for no other reason than it’ll piss my prick of a father off to no end.
I really considered destroying the old portrait of Jesus, but he’s too fucking creepy to touch as he looks down from the wall, his eyes seeming to follow my every move. It's such a stark juxtaposition to the man who claims to represent him, a cruel mockery of the love and forgiveness that figure embodies.
Not that I believe it either way.
I’ve always questioned my faith, the teachings preached and forced down my throat from the time I could taste them. And in questioning my faith, I’ve questioned my life, my death. There is no Jesus or Hell after death for being a bad human. Nothing but the purgatory I’ve existed in since the day I was born.
Though I don’t believe in Hell, there have been times when I’ve questioned the existence of Heaven.
I found it over the years, in fleeting moments filled with golden sunshine and sugary peach pie. In soft, warm humming and smooth, freckled skin. I’ve found Heaven once or twice and it exists in her eyes. The blues so blue, they make me feel like I’m floating in the very paradise my father swears I’ll never see.
But I’ve seen it. I’ve touched it, held in my hands, in my soul.
I’ve found a Heaven that he can never hope to explore because no matter what I may believe, no matter what happens from here on out–Evelyn Jean Meyer was made for me.
Her Heaven exists to brighten my Hell and the flames surrounding my soul, born from the tattered, ugly cloth they cut me from, are meant to heal her broken edges.
Flick. Flick. Flick.
The room seems to close in around me, the walls echoing with the ghosts of the sermons he delivered from this very church. The church from which he preached love and salvation, while he practiced cruelty and manipulation. His voice mixes with my own, the ugly taunting inside me grows louder and louder with every fucking heartbeat.
You don’t deserve her.
You’re tainted.
You’re dirty.
You’ll wreck her.
I swallow and catch the sound of much quieter words, whispers in the back of my mind.
You love her.
You need her.
She’s yours.
But she’s not.
Not anymore. Fuck, maybe she never was. If she were, then she would have—
Everything inside me stops as a blood-curdling scream echoes throughout the church. I blink, wondering if I imagined it, but it’s immediately followed by the sound of something falling to the ground, the old floor creaking. Then the unmistakable screech of a pew being shoved.
My breath comes fast and shallow, heart pounding like a relentless drum in my chest. Panic grips me as I spin away from the bookshelf, the room now a blur of frenetic motion.
The scream cuts through me like a blade, replaying again and again. My mind races, struggling to process the impossible. This place was supposed to be empty, the church cloaked in the silence of sacred solitude. But there is absolutely no doubt in my fucked up mind that the voice is one I’ll recognize to my grave.
What the fuck?
I’m moving before I even realize it, tripping, stumbling over the shitshow I created in Isaac’s office when I ran here early this morning, escaping from the very woman I’m desperate to get to.
My booted foot comes up, slamming through the hall door as my eyes frantically scan the church for Eve. The door reverberates off the wall and echoes against the rafters.
The church, once a sanctuary, now feels like a cavernous chamber of shadows, but I still find her almost immediately. The sight that greets me shakes every ounce of numbness I’d worked so hard to find in Isaac’s office, replacing it with a fury I’ve never felt before.
