The Pope: Cards of Love

by Lovell, LP

  Dropping my head forward, I let out a sigh. “Angela.” I scrub a hand over my jaw. “Please just go.”

  “Why?” she snaps.

  “Because it’s for the best. You are married. You simply need to seek forgiveness and live a pure life.”

  I look at her, and her lips press tightly together. “You are far from pure, Judas.”

  “I know, and to my shame. I broke my vows and betrayed God himself. I was tempted, much as Adam was with the apple.” I allow my eyes to roam over her body. “I cannot allow it to happen again. So please, do not place yourself in my path. I will not stray again, and I do not wish to hurt you.”

  I see the indecision, the faltering of her movement. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

  I nod. “I’m sorry. I should have been stronger. It was wrong of me.”

  She buys it, and because I know how women like Angela work, I know she’s preening that she managed to tempt a man of God to stray. Good. Let her have her moment and leave with her ego intact and her mouth firmly shut.

  She takes a tentative step forward and then hesitates. Just turn around. She finally turns on her heel, lingering in the doorway for a second. “Goodbye, Judas.”

  “Goodbye, Angela.”

  Thank fuck for that. The only saving grace here is that my Ma didn’t turn up for mass this week.

  When I walk back into the main church, I spot Delilah sitting in the front pew, a copy of the bible in her hands and a frown on her face as she reads the pages. She stayed.

  “That bad, huh?”

  Her head snaps up, and a blush creeps over her cheeks. “I was just…”

  “Reading up?”

  “Something like that.” She pushes to her feet and smooths the bright yellow fabric of her dress over her thighs. “Walk with me?” she asks, her expression so expectant.

  I almost smile. Tsk tsk, sweet Delilah. Crossing lines. But I don’t want to walk with her, or do dinner, or play the nice priest. I want her sin, and the more I put that smile on her pretty face, the further she gets from it.

  “I have work to do. Sorry.” The smile falls.

  Her head tilts to the side, stormy grey eyes staring into me in a way that’s nothing short of unnerving. I wonder if she sees all the dark parts of herself there. “It’s Sunday. Isn’t it supposed to be the day of rest?” She’s got me there. “Come on. I’ll even buy you an ice cream in the park.”

  My eyes stray to her lips, and now all I can think about is her eating ice cream, licking it. Shit. “Okay,” I agree. Not like I didn’t believe it before, but I’m definitely going to hell. Here I am, playing the good preacher, acting like I want to help this girl, when in fact I just want to expose all the darkness in her. I want to see her on her knees for me. I want to fuck her and ruin her. She has no idea, like a lamb standing in front of a lion just begging him to eat her. And how is she to know, when the lion looks like a kind shepherd?

  She heads towards the church doors, and I walk beside her. As soon as I step outside, the bright sunshine plays over my skin, warm and inviting. I close my eyes for a second and a luminescent glow forms behind my lids. The scent of fresh cut grass and bonfire catches on the wind, and I inhale it deep into my lungs. The hum of London traffic intermingles with the sound of birds chirping and children playing.

  I descend the steps, and she leads the way around the side of the church, through the graveyard and out the little side gate that leads into the park. Flowerbeds bloom with colourful flowers and little daisies pop through the cut grass. Delilah bends down and picks one, twirling it through her fingers as she walks.

  “I liked your service,” she says.

  “You did?” I honestly can barely remember what it was about now. Temptation? God testing us? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was testing me right now.

  “It was…enlightening.”

  “No, it wasn’t. You were bored most of the time.”

  Amusement pulls at her features. “I used to go to a Church of England. My grandma dragged me when I was a kid. Honestly, I don’t remember their service ever being so long.”

  I laugh. “Catholics like to make a song and dance about everything. You should see a Catholic funeral. It’s shit.”

  We walk across the park to where a little ice cream van sits tucked beneath the branches of a willow tree. A small stream lies just beyond, and a couple of kids are perched on the edge with fishing nets.

  Dropping to the grass, I wait while Delilah buys a couple of ice cream cones and comes back, handing me one. She sits next to me, her legs folded to one side and the skirt of her dress fanning over the grass.

  And so we sit, and eat ice cream, and watch the world pass on by. People walk dogs, children play, couples walk hand in hand. It’s so…normal. And I have to wonder if this is what people do with their time.

  I glance at her in time to watch her reach out and catch an errant drip of ice cream with the tip of her finger. She brings it to her mouth and my cock leaps in my trousers. I inhale a deep breath, willing myself to look away from her mouth.

  I’m pretty sure she could tempt a saint, and I’m no saint.

  10

  Delilah

  The sunlight seems to soak into his exposed skin, giving it a golden hue. He glances down at the ice cream in his hand, his lashes shadowing across defined cheekbones. My heart thuds awkwardly as I force myself not to stare at him. He’s beautiful. I often think Judas looks more like art than reality, one of Michelangelo’s sculptures come to life. An angel barely disguised, put here to lure silly girls like me into temptation. Never has he fit that mould more than when he was standing up on that pulpit, preaching the word of God to his congregation. I could have heard a pin drop, so rapt were they by the words spilling from his perfect lips. I find myself wanting to know him, wanting him to gift me little pieces of his life. There’s something about him, a mysterious edge that leads me to believe there’s so much more to him than that dog collar.

  A fat drop of ice cream melts and trickles down the side of my cone. I catch it with my finger and bring it to my mouth, sucking the sugary goodness from it. I glance at Judas, but pause, my finger still between my lips. In a heartbeat, everything changes. His eyes darken, fixing on my mouth like a predator would with wounded prey. My chest tightens, and my breath hitches as something twisted and forbidden unfurls between us, whispering sordid promises in my ear. We stare at each other for a beat, before I slowly pull my finger from my mouth.

  “Judas?” I ask because I don’t know what is happening. He’s gone very still, and his nostrils flare as his jaw ticks.

  “You should stay away from me, Delilah.”

  I frown, an unexpected stab of pain taking up residence behind my ribs. “What?” I whisper.

  “I will only say this once, so hear me when I say that I’m not the man to save you from your sins.”

  I tense. “You’re wrong. You’re saving me right now.”

  Our eyes crash, and suddenly there’s not enough air in the world to fill my lungs. He shifts closer, and I lean in, seeking him out like a homing beacon. He’s like an open fire on the coldest of days, and I want him to burn me. We get close, so close. I can feel the heat of his breath on my face, and smell the citrus scent of his cologne, with just an undertone of incense.

  “Damn it, Delilah,” he says under his breath. His fists clench and the corded muscles in his neck strain.

  My heart hammers, breaths coming in rapid pants. Everything in me locks down in trembling anticipation because I want to feel his lips on mine. I want him to make me feel safe and warm, and like maybe I’m not truly a horrible person because Judas wouldn’t kiss a horrible person, would he?

  He doesn’t move any closer.

  Or maybe I have this all wrong. Perhaps he does think I’m awful. He didn’t really want to walk with me, but he’s a good man. A kind man. He’s a priest. He took a vow. Like a slap around the face, that cold dose of reality pulls me back from the brink. Straightening, I pull away and
clear my throat.

  “I uh…I have to go.” Pushing to my feet, I drop the remainder of my ice cream into a nearby bin before braving a look at him. “But thank you. For walking with me.”

  He watches me through narrowed eyes, offering me a brief nod before I turn and walk away. What was I thinking?

  I step into the house, and my spine stiffens the second I hear the sound of Nate’s voice. What is he doing here? I round the hallway into the kitchen and Summer cuts off her awful giggle and looks at me like she’s just been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Her hand is on his arm, but he’s making no effort to touch her. She retracts her hand and steps back, causing me to roll my eyes.

  “Lila,” Nate says.

  “Nate.”

  His eyes take a slow cruise down the length of my body the same way they always do: arrogant, lazy, and completely sensual. It was that same look that first made me want to tumble headfirst into his bed without a care for the consequences. Now, it just makes me uncomfortable.

  “You look good,” he says, his teeth scraping over his bottom lip.

  Nodding awkwardly, I jerk my head towards the front door and leave the room. Stepping outside, I wait for him to follow and pull the door closed. He shifts closer, and the scent of his leather jacket with a hint of smoke wraps around me, but for once I don’t find it settling. I want citrus and incense. I crave something pure and untainted.

  “Where have you been, Lila?”

  “I…”

  “You don’t answer my calls. I’ve been patient, but I don’t like having to chase you down.” He pulls back, his gaze meeting mine. I can see the anger swirling in his irises. “You know I don’t chase, baby.”

  Placing a hand on his chest, I try to push him away and force a little more space between us. There’s something about him, and an alarm is ringing in my head, telling me to tread carefully.

  “I told you. I need time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “Time to fucking grieve! Time to…deal with this,” I hiss.

  His jaw tenses, and I watch the muscles flutter and pulse beneath the surface. “You can’t talk to anyone about this.”

  “I know.”

  “Summer said you’ve been going to a church.”

  “Summer needs to mind her own business,” I snap. “And so do you.”

  He rakes a hand through his hair. The fading sunlight peeks over the top of the house across the street, painting him in a warm glow. Everything about Nate screams bad, and for the first time in my life of questionable men, I don’t want it.

  “Talk to me, Lila,” he says quietly. When his eyes meet mine, they’re surprisingly earnest. “You can talk to me.”

  “No, I can’t, Nate because you don’t care.” He says nothing, and I huff a humourless laugh. “I have to live in that house every day.” I jab a finger towards the door. “With people who loved her. I loved her. She was the probably the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  “You don’t have friends, Lila.”

  Without thought, I pull my arm back and slap him. “Fuck you, Nate.” His head whips to the side.

  There’s a pause, and I take a slow step back because I’m not sure what he’ll do now. He tilts his face towards the sky and closes his eyes, clenching and releasing his fists. “You’re upset, so I’ll let that go,” he grates out.

  I wrap my arms around myself. “You were being a dick,” I mumble.

  “Okay, I’m sorry. I get it. You feel bad.”

  “No, I don’t ‘feel bad’. I feel like my life has been going to shit, and where have you been?” God, I hate him. He reminds me of everything that’s wrong, but he’s also my only solace because he knows. When I’m with Nate, it’s the only time I’m not alone with this nasty ugly secret.

  He cups my face in both hands, but there’s a roughness to his touch. A sick feeling settles in my gut. “I have tried with you, Lila. Don’t blame me because you’ve pushed me out. I’m worried about you, okay? I love you.”

  It takes a second for the words to sink in, and then I frown, slowly looking at him. “You… Now, Nate? You’re going to say that to me now?” I slap his chest and anger bubbles until I feel like I’m brimming with it.

  A smug smirk works over his lips, and I want to punch him. “I can feel you slipping, baby. But you’re mine. I need you to know it.”

  Insane. This is insane. I can’t do this. I squeeze my eyes shut and count to ten, but it doesn’t work. Tears slip past my closed lids, and my chest tightens to the point that I’m waiting for it just to crack open and let all this ugly dark ooze spill out of me. My life is a joke. I’ve lost all sight of whoever I might have once been, and she was lost to begin with. I feel like an imposter just going through the motions.

  “You should go.”

  Nate’s fingers trail over my cheek. “Lila…”

  “Go, Nate!” He stills, and his hand falls, his expression morphing from the caring boyfriend to pure anger.

  His jaw clenches and his pulse leaps at his throat. I take a wary step back, but he simply jerks his chin in a nod and walks away. I release a long breath and fall back against the front door. I don’t need this. Opening the door, I go straight upstairs and collapse on my bed. Exhaustion creeps up on me the same way it always does these days because I can never sleep anymore. My eyelids grow heavy, and I close them for a moment.

  I’m in the confessional box. I know it from the distinctive scent of wood polish and old moth-eaten material that’s hoarding a lifetime’s worth of dust. Slowly, my eyes adjust to the darkness, and I realise I’m not alone in the tiny space. I can feel the heat of another body. The subtle smell of citrus and incense slowly filter through until it dominates everything else. Stark blue eyes become visible in the darkness, so beautiful that they steal my breath.

  “Judas.”

  The confessional is cramped, but he stands with his back pressed to the farthest wall, leaving a foot of space between us. Without even permitting my legs to move, I find myself closing that gap. He looks down at me but says nothing. Then slowly, he reaches up, stroking one knuckle over my cheek.

  “So pretty,” he whispers. “So steeped in sin.” His soft touch becomes a bruising grip around my jaw, and he twists my head violently to the side, forcing me to face the intricate mesh partition. I can see nothing but darkness, yet my heartbeat ratchets higher and higher because it knows something is coming.

  Something slams against the divider like a caged animal trying to escape. All I see is red hair, long and tangled, and then she lifts her head, and I see Isabelle’s pale, blue-tinged face. Her eyes are completely black. Her lips pulled into a sneer.

  “You,” she hisses.

  A scream slips from my throat, and I clutch at Judas, but he pushes me away. “You,” he repeats.

  I jolt awake and sit bolt upright, trying to suck much-needed air into my lungs. Sweat clings to my skin, and as the cool air meets it, I shiver.

  Crawling from my bed, I find a hoody and tug it on. I manage to find a bottle of wine in the kitchen, so I pour a glass, and then I go to the couch in the living room, turning the TV on to some awful late night show that nobody watches.

  It’s at this time, between night and morning, where you can truly feel as though you are the only person in the world. The silence, the utter absence of life; it’s almost unsettling, and yet I always used to find a certain peace within it. Izzy always said it was the best time of day, that lingering moment where one day is over but another hasn’t quite begun. The number of times we’ve left a party drunk and instead of going home, we’ve gone somewhere, just to watch the night turn into the first grey tones of dawn.

  But now, it feels as though the entire world is buried in sleep, while I sit here, wide-awake, plagued my conscience. There’s no peace in my solitude because it feels like I’m always alone now. I’m imprisoned within my own personal cage, yet to the outside world, I look perfectly free. I glance down at my own hands wrapped around the wine glass, and I wonde
r how they aren’t stained red, tinged with blood.

  Round and round the thoughts go until I’m two and a half glasses of wine into the bottle, and they start to quiet.

  Taking my phone, I scroll through my contacts and call my Mum. I know it’s late, or early…I’m not sure. She barely answers the phone at sociable hours, so I’m not surprised when I get her voicemail.

  “Hi, this is Lydia Thomas. Please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you.”

  There’s a beep, and for a second I just clutch the phone in my hand. “Hey, Mum. It’s me. I uh…call me.”

  I hang up and press my forehead to my knees. Yes, completely alone.

  11

  Judas

  I should be focused on my ailing business, but instead, I sit here thinking of nothing but her. I scowl at the walls of the depressing church office, my phone in hand. It’s been four days since I’ve seen her. Since she ran away from me in the park. Since I let her run. She hasn’t been to the church, hasn’t come to confession. What if she’s in another church, confessing to another priest? What if she’s telling someone else all her dirty sins?

  No. I fire off a text to Jase.

  Me: I need you to find someone for me. Name: Delilah. Attends King’s College. Philosophy student.

  Jase may work for my brother, but he’s not averse to a little cash on the side. He can find anyone, anywhere, mainly because Saint has bought him into almost any government network. But he can also hack cameras, phones, computers…

  Not even five minutes later my phone pings.

  Jase: Delilah Thomas. Address: 39 Elizabeth Road, Hammersmith. No known employment. Usual fee.

  I send him the money and push to my feet, a little thrill of excitement lighting my veins. Removing the dog collar, I slip my black coat on before picking up my car keys.

  Delilah’s house is a five-minute drive, but as I turn into her street, I spot a familiar figure on the pavement. I pull over and cut the engine, plunging the car into darkness. She makes her way down the road, the streetlights illuminating her form. Dark hair spills around her face, making her skin look even paler than it already is. A trench coat covers her body, the belt cinched tight at the waist and accentuating her petite curves. Even from this distance, there’s something tragic and forlorn about her, a sadness that seems to penetrate the very air that surrounds her.