The Pope: Cards of Love

by Lovell, LP

  Round and round it goes. A never-ending cycle of self-persecution.

  I leave my final lecture of the day and go to the library to pick up a book that I need for a research paper. I reach for the door, tugging it open, but it’s slammed closed in front of me. Turning my head to the side, I come face to face with Nate.

  I glance around nervously. “What are you doing here?” I hiss.

  He grabs my wrist and pulls me back down the steps and to the side of the building. “You’re back to ignoring my calls?” There’s a feral glint in his eyes, and his actions are jittery.

  “I’ve been busy,” I say cautiously.

  He shakes his head, his nostrils flaring with the action. “Summer said you were gone all day Sunday. She said you’re out every night and come home late.”

  I yank my wrist away from him. “Fuck you, Nate. You’re listening to Summer now?”

  In the blink of an eye, his hand is at my throat, and he shoves me back against the wall. Rough brick scratches over the exposed skin of my arms, and I push against his chest, my heart beating like a hummingbirds wings. “Whatever the fuck is going on with you, sort it out.”

  “I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” I say in a rush.

  He barks a laugh. “Oh, no, Lila. You’re mine. We’re done when I say we are done.” He releases my throat and takes a step back. “I told you I love you, and I meant it. You sort yourself out, and everything can go back to how it was.” He presses his lips to mine, but I twist my head to the side.

  Without another word, he turns on his heel and stalks away. I stand there, my mouth opening and closing because words have completely escaped me. Nate’s gone crazy. I slide down the wall, feeling my top catch and the threads pull, but I don’t care. My whole life feels like a ticking time bomb just waiting to implode, and when it does, I’m going to be left with nothing, not even myself.

  Shoving to my feet, I go into the library and find the book I need before leaving campus. I take the bus straight to the church and linger in front of the doors, not really wanting to go in but needing to, so badly. This is all I seem to have anymore. The only sanctuary from my festering soul.

  I push open the door on a heavy groan of the hinges. The incense instantly calms my nerves, and I exhale, letting go of the tension that has turned my shoulders to stone.

  The confessional booth sits to the side of the church as always, but today it feels so much more ominous than normal. I make my way to it, my heels clicking over the rugged stone floor. As soon as I step inside and pull the curtain, I feel like I can’t breathe.

  “Welcome,” he says, and I hold my breath, saying nothing as I cross myself. There’s a long beat of silence.

  “Forgive me, father, for I have sinned,” I whisper. “It’s been over a week since my last confession.” More silence. Then the rough timber of his voice.

  “Tell me your sins, Delilah,” Judas says, sounding more like the devil than the priest I know he is.

  “I…” My voice trails off, and my cheeks flush.

  “You can tell me anything,” he lures again. The problem is that he is now my sin, but I don’t know that I can confess that.

  “I’ve been having impure thoughts.” I hesitate, and he remains silent. “But, these thoughts distract me from my more grievous sin. I know it’s not right, but I don’t know what to do.”

  “What kind of impure thoughts?”

  “Carnal thoughts,” I breathe.

  “Then you should confess them, purge your soul.” His voice has that sensual edge to it that I don’t think he’s even aware of.

  “I’m having them about a man that I shouldn’t.”

  “Go on.”

  “He’s been a good friend to me, his intentions pure. I feel that I’ve put him in an uncomfortable position.”

  There’s another pregnant pause, and the air in the confessional becomes thick and cloying. My heart thumps erratically against my chest, and my breaths come in short, sharp pants.

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because he is bound by a vow that I know he would not wish to break. I think…I think that I am simply an unwanted temptation to him.” I wish I could see his face.

  “How do you know that his intentions are pure?”

  “He’s a good man.”

  “Is he?” he asks, the word layered in questions and implications.

  “Is he?” I ask the question back at him. And now I’m starting to wonder. The tension lingers heavily in the space between us. Unspoken words. Untold promises. Whispered possibilities, and the absolute knowledge that this is undoubtedly a sin. Here of all places.

  And the question remains unanswered. Is he?

  13

  Judas

  My dick is pressed against my fly, and my spine is ramrod straight. I force my hands to remain on my thighs, even as my fingers clench into fists. This girl…

  Of course, I could simply forgive her for her sin and send her on her way, but I won’t. I want her to break for me, to spill her dirty little secrets, to confess that which plagues her so vigilantly. I want to grasp this tiny loose thread and tug until she unravels at my feet and gives me the darkest parts of herself. I will corrupt her, one beautiful sin at a time.

  “Do you think of him when you’re alone at night?” I murmur into the darkness of the confessional, releasing the words into the world like a bullet, non-returnable and with unpredictable consequences.

  “Yes,” she whispers, that one word so perfect on her lips.

  “And what if he thinks of you too?”

  “Does he?” I smile as she teeters on that cliff edge, just waiting for me to push her because she wants to fall. I can feel it. She craves the abyss, the absolute depravity of bathing in her sins without apology. She wants the wrongness of it all. And don’t we all? The Bible would tell you that the Devil waits to tempt us into sin, but the truth is that by nature, we are all sinners. We can’t help ourselves. We’re addicted to our own mortal demise. And sweet little Delilah has no idea that I’m the biggest sinner of them all. She’s barely keeping her head above the surface of those dark waters, and I’m the monster that lurks in the deep, waiting to grab her ankle and pull her under.

  “This isn’t my confession. Delilah.”

  “What if it was?”

  “You want me to confess to you?” Well, now, this just became interesting.

  “Yes. You tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine. Do you think of me?” My muscles are bunched so tight it’s painful, and I want to spill my deepest darkest thoughts. Just for her.

  “Constantly.” One word that signals the start of our little game. “And now I know what you taste like. It’s intoxicating. I imagine what you would look like beneath me, moaning my name.” I hear her hitched breath on the other side of the divider. Yes, that’s it, Delilah. “How beautiful I know your body will be beneath those little dresses.”

  “Judas…”

  “I imagine how you would feel wrapped around me.”

  There’s another gasp from the other side of the partition and my cock twitches, becoming painful.

  “I dreamt that you fucked me last night,” she admits on a rasped whisper. I bite back a groan at her perfect confession.

  “What did I do to you?” I ask through gritted teeth, shoving my fly down and releasing myself.

  “You bent me over the altar…”

  “Fuck!” I hiss, grabbing my dick, stroking over the length of it. Such a dirty, filthy little sinner she is.

  “Then you grabbed my hair, just like you did when you kissed me.” Her words are broken by a soft moan that has every muscle in my body coiling tight.

  “I want to ruin you, Delilah.”

  “God, yes.” Her hand presses up against the partition, fingers curling into the mesh as though she could reach through it.

  Shit. I press my free hand to hers, our skin meeting through the intricate mesh . Her touch, that breathy little hitch in her voice, the image her words
have placed in my mind…it all culminates to a point until everything tightens and then explodes outward in release. Warm liquid seeps over my hand, and I grit my teeth against the low groan that tries to work up my throat. I just came all over my own hand…in the confessional. It’s perverse even by my standards.

  Our palms remain pressed to the divider for long moments before I finally allow mine to slip away. I have no way of cleaning up, so I simply zip my trousers and push to my feet.

  “Goodbye, Delilah,” I say, unable to keep the smirk off my face.

  “Goodbye, father.” That shouldn’t be hot, but it is. The girl is the devil in disguise, and oh, how I want her.

  14

  Delilah

  Stepping outside the church, the fresh air washes over my heated cheeks. Rounding the side of the building, I slip into the shadows of the graveyard. I don’t spot the figure in front of me until I’ve collided with a hard chest.

  “Sorry,” I mumble, looking up. It takes a few seconds for me to process Nate’s deep chocolate gaze focused on me. “Nate? What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same.”

  I frown, peering around him and spotting his car parked on the side of the road just behind us. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I followed you.”

  “You…” My eyes go wide, and my hands tremble slightly, so I shove them in my pockets. “I took the bus here,” I say, more to myself than him. He says nothing, leaving me to put the pieces together. He followed the bus. And then my stomach drops like a lead balloon. Is it possible that he heard my confession?

  I take in his clenched fists, the rigid set of his shoulders, and his lips pressed tightly together. Reaching out, he snatches my arm and drags me to the car. I’m so startled that I don’t react until I’m in the car and he‘s pulling away. His fingers wrap around the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turn white. He revs the engine, gunning it through the busy London traffic. Tyres screech as he tears around a corner, never letting up.

  “Nate, you’re scaring me,” I say.

  He laughs. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.”

  We stop outside his apartment complex. I’ve only been here a couple of times, but right now I’d rather be anywhere else. I try the door handle, but it won’t give. He flashes me a wicked smirk before getting out and rounding the front. I’m yanked from the car so hard that he twists my wrist, and I cry out.

  “Nate!”

  “Shut the fuck up,” he growls, pulling me towards the front of the building. My heart is racing so hard and fast that I’m practically choking on it. I fight him as he shoves me in the elevator, but it’s pointless. If I scream will anyone help me? Or will it just make him mad? I don’t have time to think about it though. We’re at his apartment door, and in the next instant we’re inside, and I’m on my own.

  Slowly, I back away from him and he stalks me.

  “You thought you could go behind my back?” he snarls, his face contorted in rage. I say nothing, terrified to set him off. “With that fucking priest?” He tilts his head to the side. “You think I don’t know what goes on at that church? You trying to cut me out, hey, Lila? Thought you’d move up in the world? Was this whole ‘I feel so guilty thing’ all just bullshit so you could fuck me over?” He sounds like a rambling madman. My silence just seems to make him angrier, and he charges at me, his hand slamming around my throat as he shoves me backwards onto the coffee table. My legs buckle, and he forces my spine to contort over the wood. Terror consumes every inch of my brain, and I gasp for breath, the sound coming out as a choked sob. “Trying to break up with me… trying to cut me out.” His fingers tighten around my throat and tears stream down my temples. Black spots dot my vision, and I know he’s going to kill me. It’s nothing less than I deserve, right? “You’re mine!” he roars, releasing me. I suck in a huge breath, just as something collides with the side of my face so hard that for a moment I can’t see. Pain explodes across my cheek, my head swims, and then everything goes black.

  When I come to, Nate is a few feet away, pacing across the room. “Fuck!” he shouts, dragging both hands through his hair. My head is spinning, my ears ringing so loudly that all I can hear is my own breaths rasping in time with the throbbing beat. The entire left side of my face feels like it’s on fire and the metallic taste of copper fills my mouth. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me. The thought repeats like an alarm and survival kicks in. Rolling over, I fall to the carpet on my hands and knees. I watch as heavy drops of blood fall to the ground in front of me. Drip, drip, drip. Leaving a trail of gruesome breadcrumbs as I crawl across the room to the window. Dragging myself to my feet, I wrap my fingers around the vase on the windowsill and lift it, bringing it down hard. The glass shatters, and I wince when it slices through my hand.

  “What the fuck…”

  I whirl around, brandishing a huge shard of shattered glass. “Stay the fuck away from me,” I cry, tears blinding me. My hand shakes and my legs feel numb and unsteady as I slowly shuffle towards the other side of the room. He mirrors me, stalks me. I back towards the front door and push the handle down. I just have to get to the other side. “Follow me, and I’ll scream,” I choke out.

  His eyes narrow, and I know with that one look that he won’t let this go. The door closes between us, and I run, as fast as my weakened legs will carry me. I run all the way to the only person I want to see right now. By the time I reach the church, I can’t breathe. Tears pour uncontrollably down my face, and my entire body trembles as a bone-deep cold settles over me. I stagger up the steps and hope to God that Judas is here.

  “Judas.” My voice cracks.

  The building welcomes me like the warm embrace of a doting mother. A safe haven, but even so, I glance over my shoulder as I make my way down the aisle, sure that Nate must have followed me. I trip, falling to my knees right in front of the Virgin. Blood drips from my face, hitting the worn stone beneath me, and I can’t help but think that it looks like some kind of twisted sacrificial offering.

  “Delilah?” Closing my eyes, I smile. Judas. His voice feels like the Lord himself whispering in my ear, soothing me. “Delilah?” He drops to a crouch in front of me, and I see his hand land among the drops of blood. I lift my head, and his eyes take in my face, slowly widening in horror. “Fuck.” He goes to touch me but hesitates, then his gaze drops to my hand. He carefully wraps his fingers around the piece of bloodied glass that I hadn’t even realised I was still clutching. “Just…let go.” I do, wincing as my fingers unfurl, opening up the deep slices across my palm. More blood hits the stone, and I wonder if the Virgin will consider it enough to forgive me of my sins now. “Who did this to you?” I open my mouth to speak but the pain radiates through my jaw, and my lip splits farther, making blood pool in my mouth. “You need to go to a hospital.”

  I shake my head and utter the word, no. If I go to a hospital like this, the police will be involved. They’ll ask questions. Nate might think I’ve turned him in. He’ll come after me. I shiver at the thought.

  Wordlessly, he scoops me up, cradling me against his chest. Pain throbs through my temples, my face, my back, my hand…but he grounds me. He makes it all a little less horrifying.

  It’s not until he places me on a desk in some kind of office that the true gravity of what just happened sets in. My muscles lock down until my entire body is trembling, and then I just cry, fat ugly tears permeated by the strangled sobs tearing from my throat. Judas simply pulls me against his chest and holds me. My fingers knot in his shirt, clinging onto him as though he were a safety net suspended over a death-defying drop. I need him. I always need him, and I know that’s wrong of me. When the tears slow and the sobs quiet, he disappears and comes back first with an ice pack, then with a first aid kit, a bowl of water and a cloth. He methodically washes my hand, his brows furrowing as he squints, inspecting my palm closely for any stray pieces of glass. Then he places little butterfly stitches along the cut and bandages i
t. I sit with the ice pressed to my face, watching his deliberate, yet gentle movements.

  When he’s done, his eyes meet mine. Gone is the panic, and now I can see something else lurking in those clear blue depths: rage. On a ragged sigh, he lifts his hand and carefully lowers the ice pack. “I need to know who did this to you, Delilah.” I close my eyes, inhaling a sharp breath. His fingers gently trail over the uninjured side of my face, and I lean into his warmth. “I don’t care what trouble you’re in. Just let me help you.”

  “You can’t help me,” I whisper, fresh tears now breaking free.

  He leans forward, touching his forehead to mine. “Give me a name. That’s it. No police, I promise.” There’s something in his voice, a barely concealed threat, the promise of retribution, and I want it. I want Nate to hurt. I want him to feel powerless. I just don’t want to stain Judas’s soul.

  “You can’t go after him.”

  He lifts his face, pressing his lips to my forehead in a feather-light kiss. “Just a name, little lamb.”

  I hesitate, but I can’t keep it from him. How can I? I would give Judas anything he asked of me. “Nate,” I breathe. “My…ex-boyfriend. He…he knows, about you.” Judas stills. “About us.”

  “Thank you.”

  He leaves the room, and when he comes back, it’s with fresh water and a clean cloth. He stands between my legs and places a gentle finger to my chin, twisting my face to the side.

  “This’ll sting,” he says before placing the cloth to my bloodied lip. It does sting, but I embrace the pain as I stare at him. My body hurts, my heart is wounded, and my soul is broken, but in his eyes, I feel lost and found all at once.

  “Do you feel sick or dizzy?”

  “A little.”

  He lifts my hand that’s clutching the dripping ice pack and presses it to my face. “Can you walk?” I nod, and he moves away, taking his coat from the back of the door. “Put this on. You’re freezing.” I don’t realise just how cold I am until he says it. I get up and slide my arms into the heavy material, pulling the over-sized coat tight around me. It smells of him: citrus and incense.