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“You don’t think that’s the truth?”
She shrugs, the action raising the edge of her cropped hoodie showing off another ball busting swell of under boob. “What’s truth? Everything is perception or speculation until it’s proven beyond a doubt and some things can’t be proven. But, doesn’t matter. I’m here.” She looks out the window, running her tongue along her teeth. “Well, almost here. There.” She fusses with the bottle, squeezing it as the plastic makes crinkling sounds then releasing it, squeezing again. “Wherever it is I’m going. Doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Nothing matters.”
In that second, I vow to bury that sorrow in her voice under the stone mortar of the foundation in the rectory.
“It will matter. You matter. It will be my job to make you understand that. I’ll prove it to you.”
Doubtful eyes turn my way, spearing my pounding heart. “Is that what I’m here for? To have a priest give me self-care classes? Boost my woeful self-esteem? Make me see how I’ve been hurting myself with my actions? Teach me that my body is a vessel of purity and I should treat it as such? Just so we’re clear, I don’t believe in God, so…yeah.”
Her tone hardens, her shoulders back, head up. She’s soft and hard. Lustful and innocent. Whip smart and yet oblivious. She’s dressed like a woman but with the heart of a scared little girl.
“I want you to figure out what you are here for. I’ll be your guide, your sounding board. I want what’s best for you, with or without God. I’ll keep you safe while we navigate it together.”
That last part leaves silence hanging between us. I’ve never spoken to a girl that way since college. Caring. Nurturing. Sincerity dripping from every word.
Only, back then there was a dark twist that ended with me losing my post graduate lab and got me ousted from the university.
Her caramel-colored hair flows over her shoulders in unbrushed tendrils like she was rushed out of her bed this morning. Which, knowing my father, is no surprise.
Once a Marine always a Marine.
Her pulse ticks at the juncture of her neck and jaw, and I bite back a groan at the thought of my lips there, feeling thethump thump thumpof her blood moving through her body, knowing that it’s touched hereverywhere.
I haven’t masturbated since I took my vows. I’ve metaphorically flagellated myself for any feelings of attraction and lust for so many years, I wasn’t sure I would ever feel anything again.
Not because the bible or the church—or my grandmother, but that’s a conversation for another time—tells me that’s what I should do, but because I wanted nothing to do with any of it.
Love. Women. Sex. Romance.
It was my downfall more than once, and re-building myself has become a battle of will I refuse to concede.
She is the trebuchet. I am the wall. No matter what she throws at me, I will not waver.
A wall with a hard-on that’s about to make a fucking mess inside my pants while a vision of my stepsister on all fours barrels through me with the devil riding shotgun on my shoulder.
“You know I’m eighteen. Icanjust leave.”
“Yes. Such a big girl.” The words burn my lips.
“It’s just…” Her bravado slumps along with her shoulders. “…my new stepfather…” She inhales and exhales before finishing. “I don’t think he wants me around. So, here I am, lucky you.”
Yes, sweet girl, he’s an asshole. I know too well his fathering skills are that of a carnivorous plant. And yes, lucky, lucky me.
I would get a unanimous yes from the rest of my brothers on that count, step or otherwise, and for a moment, I wonder if she’s met any of them. If she knows how many wives there have been. How many of my brothers even know about her? I barely knew. If I hadn’t talked to Darius, my youngest stepbrother, when heneeded advice on whether or not to dump his girlfriend after he found her profile on Tinder, I wouldn’t have known.
“In life, there will be people that test us. Some of those tests seem…useless, but I assure you, there is an invisible path leading you where you belong, Kitty.” I taste her name on my tongue for the first time and it makes my balls ache.
“I’ve always done well on tests.” She pushes a smile to her pink lips. “I just guess I didn’t know how to study for this one.”
I reach over and rest my hand on her forearm, the smooth warmth of her skin on my palm making blood flow into my erection as shame hollows in my belly.
“You’re in good hands.” I offer a soft squeeze for emphasis, then bite the inside of my cheek. The tang of blood spreads over my tongue as I swallow it down, along with the lustful words barreling up my throat.
My father is pushing into his late sixties and having an eighteen-year-old at his house would be unpleasant for her at best. The last time I was there, I moved a pen on his desk and you would have thought I torched his fucking balls.
“There will be rules here. With me.” I revert back to my customary introduction to Saint Margaret’s. “They will be clear and when you break them, there will be consequences of my choosing. But, I assure you, everything I do, everything I say, has a purpose. I think only of your well-being, current and future. If I seem harsh, understand, it is for your benefit. I will praise you and reward you when you do well, but I will correct and punish you when you do not.”
A blush creeps over her cheeks as the words I’ve said dozens of times take on new meaning. Bringing back old demons as Iwithdraw my hand from her sin-inspiring flesh to grip my face, my hand covering my lips as the car takes a left onto the bumps of the brick driveway of the church compound.
