I slid the bowl across the table with a spoon stuck in it. He caught the bowl, but kept his eyes on me. I sat down and waited for him to take a bite. His eyes melted into a flurry of desperate remorse. I already knew what he was going to say before he said it. “Lenore...”
“Shut up.” I said not wanting to hear the apology. It was written on his face the minute he did it, that meant more to me than any words. “Take a bite.” He looked down at the unappetizing mush and dug the spoon in for a big bite. “Not like that you heathen.” I smirked. “Slowly. Let the texture be forgiven by the milk, and let the cinnamon just whisper over the sugar.”
He offered me a thin hard smile. He was trying to match my mood, but he still looked dejected. He took the bite closing his eyes like he taught me with the strawberries. I smiled watching him. It was probably a running joke among priests that if you can’t have sex, at least you can have food. When he opened his eyes I could see a little of his agony had been eased.
“There,” I said proudly. “Aren’t you at least glad for that little Earthly delight?”
“Lenore…”
“Shush. Just eat. You need your strength. August doesn’t let me keep strays.” I winked. He narrowed his eyes, dubious of either my comment or my wink, I wasn’t sure which. “I’m going upstairs to shower. Someone has kept me too busy to shave my legs and you know how women hate to miss shaving.” His lip twisted in a smirk, but he didn’t speak. “I trust I don’t need to hide the steak knives.” I said it like a joke but I raised my brow and waited for an answer.
“Thank you for the…breakfast.” He said stumbling over the definition of the sludge I was making him eat.
“It’s cream of wheat, and if you don’t like it—you lie to me and eat it anyway because I don’t waste my favorite food on just anyone.” I noted that he hadn’t answered my question. “Priest…”
“I’m fine. I love the cream of wheat. I’m honored to be among the few you would offer it to. Go shave your legs.” He nodded dismissively and I felt a tinge of guilt. I wondered if he really did want to die. Maybe he was right about God’s will. Maybe God just forgot him, and had planned to pick him up later. Conversely though, I couldn’t help but notice that his suicidal overdose, landed on the night after August came back. Any night before that and I wouldn’t have been there. Wasn’t that God’s will too?
-The Act of Appreciation-
Since strays were not welcome, I did my best to feed my rehabilitated pooch in the hopes that he might make it on his own in the wild. Unfortunately, his days without drugs were making his stomach reject anything that didn’t make him high. The shakes that were setting in were a little scary, but August assured me it was a good thing. It meant everything was officially out of his system. Being sober wasn’t something that Priest was good at anymore, and the mood swings were enough to make August demand that he finish his recovery at his church.
I jumped out of the driver’s side of the truck and swung around to the passenger’s side to help him out, but he waved me off with a shaking hand. “I’m not a cripple just a drug addict.”
“I know. That’s why I’m trying to help. A cripple would be able to function on their own.” He glared at me, but the smile I offered left him helpless. It was funny and he knew it.
“Will you walk me in?” He said reaching out his hand. I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it, so when I didn’t respond to it, he let it drop. “I’m so sorry, Lenore.”
“Oh, please don’t start apologizing for that now.”
“I wasn’t. I will and I am, but I’m apologizing now for not being thankful for your rescue. You are a good person. I shouldn’t have made you feel bad about saving me.”
“I don’t feel bad about saving you.” I corrected immediately. “You are a good person too.”
He looked down at his shaking hands and shook his head. “I’m fallen, Lenore. I have disgraced God. I have degraded my title.”
“Okay, first off, I think fallen only gets to be used for people in love, or angels—and…” I looked behind him for wings. “I don’t think you’re one of those. Second, you haven’t done anything new. It may be new to you, but guess what sex, drugs, and strawberry fields have been around long before you discovered them.”
“But my thoughts, my anger, you have no idea the things I have done to ridicule my creator.”
I smiled. “I’m sure I’ve accidentally walked in on some of them. Kudos for your stamina by the way, pent up celibacy apparently works better than Viagra.” He flushed at the comment. “My point is, none of that matters, because you’re not a priest anymore.” I flicked his freshly laundered black shirt that he insisted on buttoning to the strangulation level.
His eyes narrowed, and I thought for a moment he was mad, but he smirked at me. “Have I seriously been too stoned to remember your sharp tongue or has your training changed you that much.”
I shrugged taking on the blush this time. “It’s all me…and maybe a little of the training. At any rate, I’m just more of me than I was before. A better version of me.”
Priest nodded. “I like it.” He paused looking me over. “I wish I could be a better version of myself.” I took his hand in mine, and he looked down at it like I had stuck a snake in his hand.
“Come on, cripple man. Let’s get you situated.” I drug him inside the church.
-The Act of Depreciation-
There was a small moment of awkwardness when it was time to let go of his hand. I didn’t quite know how to do it, since I was the one who had instigated it. Priest must have sensed my discomfort and squeezed my hand before releasing me.
The candles had since snubbed out leaving the Church dimly lit by the stained glass windows. It smelled like a mixture of sex, Christmas, and vomit. I cringed and looked at him. “Are you sure you can’t just stay in the rectory?”
He shook his head. I didn’t bother arguing. I knew he liked to stay in the church to wallow in his misery. I had hoped his sober mind, might see things differently, but apparently not.
“You’ve seriously got to give this place up, Priest. It’s killing you, obviously. You’re not…this anymore.” I motioned to the room.
“Yes, you mentioned that I’m not a priest anymore, but what you fail to understand is that I can’t just take off my collar and magically become a different man. Speaking of my collar, where is it?” He lanced me with an accusing gaze.
“I have it, but you aren’t going to wear it anymore.” I pulled the collar from my cleavage under my shirt. I didn’t want it to crease it in my pocket. He eyed the sudden appearance and grabbed for it. I pulled it behind my back and to my surprise he continued to press the issue. “Back off!” He stopped reaching for it, but the glare he offered me made me wonder if he might actually get violent with me again.
“Give it to me, now!” He seethed. “It’s the only one I have left.”
“I’ll keep it safe for you, but you aren’t wearing it anymore.”
“How dare you!”
“How dare you!” I screeched. “You stopped being a priest the minute you sidled up next to the seven deadly sins. Wearing this isn’t a statement, it’s just another addiction.”
He lunged for the collar grabbing my arm to hold it while he reached around me to grab it. I grabbed his reaching arm with my free hand, leaving me in a pinned back embrace with him. “Priest, I don’t doubt you’ll be able to get it from me, but rest assured the last three months have given me the skills to take it back.”
He must have been surprised by the confidence in my voice, because he stopped to see if I was bluffing or not. I wasn’t. And to prove it…
“I’ve developed quite a pain tolerance during that time as well.” I raised my knee slowly up his leg and rested it in his groin. He glanced down at the movement, which was no doubt intriguing in the slow version. “Shall we find out how your tolerance is?”
His face was inches from mine, but we couldn’t have been farther apart. I was the mean parent tak
ing away his security blanket. He was past the anger and released my arm, but his face pinched in a pout as he walked away from me.
“I have something else for you to wear.” He stopped and looked back. “If you want? I made it myself, so it’s a little kindergarten pasta art-ish, but I think it might fill the space without being a complete blasphemy to your new hobbies.”
“Since when do you care about that?” He said sitting in a front pew like he was sore everywhere, which he may well have been. Almost dying takes a lot out of a person.
“I’m not sure I do, but everybody has to draw a line in the sand and this is mine.”
“A collar is your line in the sand?” He rubbed his eyes.
“No, you torturing yourself is my line. I just can’t take it anymore.” I joined him in the pew.
“Then why do you keep coming here then?”
I looked away from him. I couldn’t help but feel a little sting from that statement after everything I’d done. “Well someone led me to believe we were friends.” I said as acridly as I could to hide my hurt. I may have taken it too far in the opposite direction because he stared at me waiting for me to look back at him. When I did he offered me a paternal glare.
“We are friends. I didn’t mean now. I meant before. I understand why you came here in the first place, but why did you keep coming back. There are easier ways to deal with the grim.” I wanted to mention our code of ethics concerning the home owners, but I knew that was only part of the truth. I wasn’t sure I had any other reason though. “Or were you just content to watch one of God’s own defile himself repeatedly when you didn’t consider him a friend.” His snappish tone was starting to grate, but I decided the best defense with his mood swings, would be a good offense.
“I’m pretty sure you weren’t the only one being defiled in here.” I nodded to the altar. “But if it makes you feel any better I stopped viewing you as one of God’s own the minute I walked into this church the first time and saw you still here.”
His eyes widened and his upper lip nearly lifted into a snarl.
“I could do this all day, Priest.” I continued when he didn’t offer a retort. “Your vices are broadcasted in Technicolor. I guarantee I can rip you off that high horse you keep climbing back on.” I waved his collar at him. “You didn’t fall, you pretentious bastard, you tripped. We all did. Welcome to how the other half lives. The only difference between you and me is I’m strong enough to get off the fucking ground.”
“Do you really want to compare a man of faith being left behind, verses…” his voice trailed off.
“Verses what?! What were you about to say? Say it! No reason to start holding punches now.”
“I was going to say an atheist.” He grumbled.
I scoffed and laughed a little. “Oh, I thought you were going to call me a whore or something, which by the way I’m not.” I paused wondering what his definition of a whore would be, but let it go since my definition should have been all that mattered. “Anyway I’m not an atheist either.”
His eyes darted to mine. “Not now you mean?”
“No, not then either. I don’t believe in the principles guiding religion as a political purpose rather than an individual prerogative, but yes, I am and always have been part of the mustard seed club.”
Priest came at me so fast I almost defended myself. At the last second, I surmised that he was going to kiss me and stopped, which was a little surprising to me. However, he did neither. His hands cupped my face and he pressed his forehead to mine and whispered some fandangled Latin crap. I relaxed and let him do his blessing as he saw fit.
When he moved away, I couldn’t help but smile. “What’s so funny? I can still bless you. I told you I can’t just hang up who I am.” I smirked wondering if I should tell him I might have preferred the kiss over the blessing, but decided that I didn’t even want to admit that to myself.
“I know Priest.” I rubbed my face where he had touched me to try and rid any thoughts about him before they manifested into something more. As I pulled my hands through my hair, my near skull crack must have revealed itself. I really needed to start parting my hair differently.
“How did you…” His eyes ballooned as if he suddenly understood what I meant about being resistant to pain. His mouth dropped and I think if Garrett had been there at that moment, he would have added murder to his list of broken commandments. As it was, his hands balled into fists making the knuckles go white.
Then all at once he was calm again. He reached over to me again, and I rolled my eyes at the impending blessing. Instead, this time he kissed my cheek. “I’m so sorry, Lenore.” He whispered while my ear was still near his lips. He pulled back and caressed my cheek with his thumb. “Please forgive me. I’m so…no, there is no excuse. I will never raise my hand to you again, and God forbid that I do, I will cut off my hand.”
It should have been a beautiful sentiment, but it made me smile. “It’s okay, Priest. I should have known better than to sully the Lord’s name to a sobering priest. Apocalypse or no, you have to draw a line somewhere.”
His face turned ashen and he took in a deep breath. “I didn’t slap you for the vanity, Lenore. I slapped you for calling me nuts.” His eyes danced over mine and I could sense a certain shame in what he was saying, but at the same time, his resolve to defend his sanity was just barely beaten by his determination not to hurt me again.
I took in a deep breath and touched his cheek the way he had touched mine. “Okay, Priest, I won’t ever call you crazy again, if…” I dug in my pocket and pulled out a small box that might have held earrings at one time. “If you wear my ugly noddle art instead of your white trim.” To my relief he smiled.
-The act of Submission-
I negotiated his clergy collar back in my bra, which he watched with mild amusement. I shrugged. “It’s safe in there.”
“Yes, I would feel safe…” He let his sentence trail off and shook his head. He didn’t want to finish that statement any more than I wanted to joke about him kissing me. It was just best to keep the below the belt stuff for our arguments. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t seen my crude attempt at jewelry crafting.” I slid over to him to show him the necklace I made for him while he was recovering. “I took some liberties with the crucifixion theme. I hope that isn’t insulting to you.”
I raised the brown bootlace out of the box a little embarrassed. I was certain a silver necklace from one of the local jewelry stores would have been less prosaic, but I didn’t have the time, and I was already on the theme of shabby crappy.
The pendant was a folded nail that latched onto the lace by the bent nail head. I dulled the end so it didn’t scratch. The horizontal line to my cross was another nail, bent and hammered into oblivion. With Devin’s help, I had managed to solder a piece of barbed wire across it. Again, I dulled the points so I wasn’t offering tetanus on a platter, but they were still pretty sharp. I debated on spray paint, but the rusted barb and silver nails, looked rather good together.
I explained my creation and offered credit to Devin for his help. Priest stared at the necklace without a single word to say, or any expression of noteworthy translation. I chuckled and dropped my hand to my lap along with the necklace. “It’s okay. You don’t really have to wear it. It was a lame attempt at pacification.”
Before I could deposit it back in the box, he grabbed my hand and took it from me, all the while watching me. I furrowed my brow when he offered nothing in return. Not a thank you, or a smile or even a scowl. His eyes skirted my head like I might have a brain sucker attached to it. “Priest you don’t have to.” I reached for it but he drew his hand away.
“Why do you still call me Priest if you insist that I’m not one?” He held up the necklace. “Why do you deny me my collar and yet offer me a beautiful necklace signifying Christ’s sacrifice to us?”
I coughed trying not to laugh. “I think you’re taking liberties with that adjective. I onl
y meant for you to wear it as a reminder that…you’re not the only believer to have a bad day.” I rubbed each of my wrists and hung my hands to mime hanging from a cross. I hissed and mouthed “ouch” to him.
His brow furrowed as he laughed at me. He drew his arm behind me on the pew but didn’t necessary touch me, he just wanted a better angle. “I feel like I’m meeting you for the very first time. I know I was drugged up, but I don’t remember this side of you.”
“Perhaps it was because you were drugged up that I wasn’t so jovial.” He smirked at me and under the scrutiny of a sober Priest I couldn’t quite hold his eyes. “Give me that.” I reached for the necklace again, but he tucked it behind his back. “I feel stupid asking you to wear it, now.”
“I would sooner wear this prouder than my own skin.”
I stopped trying to grab the necklace and looked at him with the same befuddlement he had been offering me. “Is that good?”
He nodded somberly letting his eyes close as he did. “It means,” he pinned me with his eyes when he opened them again. “I am prouder wearing this necklace from you, than I am of the body my creator gave me.” He paused and took in a sudden inhalation of epiphany. “However, I suppose I still have to give him credit for creating the woman that created the necklace.”
“Do you mind if we stop talking about Him?” I asked even as his hand started to brush back my hair. He stopped and nodded letting his hand fall away.
“Sorry, occupational hazard.”
“I know, but you need to refocus your attention on you, not Him. Your thoughts. Your feelings. I hate to bring this up, but I need to ask you to do one more thing for me.”
“What’s that?”
“I need you to not kill yourself.” I said blankly. He raised his brow, but didn’t say anything. “I know you’re hurting and I don’t mean to prolong a life that is in such agony, but you told me we were friends.”
Corn, Cows, and the Apocalypse (Part 1) Page 12
