Church.

by Stylo Fantome

  There was a soft creak behind them and it caused Church to pull away so fast, she actually fell over into her open doorway. She rammed into a bookshelf just as her mother's bedroom door opened. Church walked through his door at the same time, for once shutting it behind him.

  “Emma?” her mom whispered, blinking in the bright hall light.

  “Yeah, Margo, who else would it be?” Emma grumbled, rubbing her elbow. It had made hard contact with the shelf.

  “How was the party?” her mother asked through a yawn.

  “Fine.”

  “How was Paul?”

  “Who?”

  “Jesus, Emma, Paul,” Margo growled. “The guy who drove you to the party? Your step-brother? He sleeps ten feet away?”

  I don't know anyone named Paul and I don't have a step-brother, but I am pretty sure I just joined a very interesting cult.

  “Oh, yeah, step-brother Paul. He was fine.”

  “Did it look like he had fun? We're hoping he'll ... normalize a little, while he's here.”

  Emma had to work hard not to burst out laughing.

  “I think he had a good time, yeah.”

  Margo narrowed her eyes.

  “Remember what I said – don't mess with him. No drugs.”

  “I haven't done any since we moved here.”

  “No alcohol.”

  “You get a choice, Margo. Either no drugs, or no alcohol. If it's both, I'll really go insane,” she warned her mother. She was speaking fast and talking loose because she was giddy. She didn't want to be in this brightly lit hallway, talking to the woman who gave birth to her.

  No, she wanted to be in the darkness in Church's room, learning every secret he ever had.

  “Just stay away from him,” Margo groaned. “He's a smart kid and you're just ... you're just ...”

  “Just what? A carbon copy of you at my age?” Emma suggested.

  “Shut up and go to bed. In fact, just stay in your room tomorrow, I don't want you fucking everything up for us.”

  “Don't worry, Margo. I'm sure you'll fuck it up all on your own just fine.”

  She didn't wait to hear what else her mom had to say. She stepped back into her room and slammed the door shut.

  She glared at the cheap hollow core door. If she tried really hard, she was pretty sure she could put her fist through it. Or her head.

  Instead, though, she stripped out of her still wet clothing, then climbed between her blankets. The sheets clung to her damp skin, molding to her. She settled in high up on her pillows, then relaxed. Stared up at the wall behind her. Then she reached up and pressed her left hand against the wood paneling. Against the wall she shared with him.

  “I see you, Church Logan,” she whispered as her right hand found its way between her legs. “Now I just need you to see me.”

  EMMA.

  I like sex. A lot. It's fun, it's an escape, it feels good, it keeps you healthy. It makes you feel powerful. It gives you power. Especially over stupid boys. Boys with their hard dicks and their bad decisions. So easy. You can fuck them and then you can leave them, and they think they're so bad ass because they got to nail the chick – alright, high five, hoo-rah! And they don't want you contradicting anything they say, so they leave you alone.

  I just want to feel good and I want to get lost in someone else's fantasy for a while. Mine are all shit, so why not borrow theirs? Through a boy I can be a princess. A whore. A dirty secret. A sublime moment in time. So many different parts to play, all leading up to the same story. The same act. The same glorious moment. And why shouldn't I want that?

  This is different. I swear it is. I don't want to fuck Church. I want to become a part of him. I want to get so close to him, he'll never have to speak again, because I'll just be able to read his thoughts. I'll just be inside of him.

  I always thought in order for someone to fix me, they'd have to be whole to start with. So every boy I ever chased after, every boyfriend who ever used me and left me, they were always normal in some way. Average. Boring. But safe. They were arms to gently hold me and hands to delicately touch me and lips to softly lie to me.

  Church's arms crush me and his hands bruise and his lips barely move.

  But when they do, it's not to lie.

  Maybe this whole time, I should've been looking for someone as fucked up as me. Maybe two broken pieces can be glued together to make a whole.

  It's too much. It's too fast. Everything I've always done is too fast. I speed along like a car with its headlights off, bound to crash into something at some point. And I always crash.

  I don't want to crash with him.

  If I do, I don't think I'll survive.

  4

  Emma avoided Church. He avoided her. She wasn't sure of her reasons, and of course his were a mystery. He spent more and more time away from the house. She tried to sort of casually bring it up to Jerry, asking him where his son went, but he just grumbled into his meatloaf. Margo glared at her and gave her the kill sign.

  How could these people not care? It was like since he didn't talk, Church didn't really exist. It was the opposite for her, though, because that quiet, taciturn man had become her whole world.

  And they'd only spoken a handful of words to each other.

  She felt like was going crazy. She was dead inside about ninety percent of the time, but that pesky other ten percent. It was brimming with life and impossible to control. It demanded. It commanded. And what it wanted this time was to know everything about Church. Hard to find out when the object of her obsession didn't speak to her or anyone else. Figuring him out would be difficult.

  So the first math class after the party, the following Tuesday, Emma came to school a little late. Not enough to interrupt the teacher, but enough that everyone else had already taken their seats. Stacey gave her a strange look when she finally strolled in, but she just smiled back, then took a seat in the front row.

  Right next to Marci MacIntosh.

  “Hi,” Emma said brightly, dumping her backpack on the floor by their feet. Marci smiled brightly. She was pretty, in a plain sort of way. Small mouth and eyes, round cheeks. Decent, thick brown hair, but nothing to get excited over.

  No, the excitement happened when you looked south of her neck. She had phenomenal breasts. Outstanding. She was maybe five-foot-four, barely, but was easily rocking some double Ds. Possibly triples. What was above that? The boob alphabet was so confusing, especially to someone like Emma, who had a couple of mid-size Bs. No excitement there.

  Marci's butt was nice and her hips round, her legs short and stocky. She'd probably been a cheerleader in high school. Not captain, but the other one, the one who screwed everyone. She had that dumb, innocent, slutty vibe going on. Super sweet, easy to talk into doing things.

  Hopefully easy to talk into saying things, too.

  “Hi, Emma, right?” Marci chirped. “I saw you at that rugby party this weekend, wasn't it a blast?”

  “It was great. Did you go in the lake?”

  “Oh, no, I lost at strip beer pong and wound up half naked in the Jacuzzi.”

  “Sounds like a blast,” Emma managed a laugh. “I was wondering, I heard -”

  The professor started talking right then, so Marci gave an apologetic little smile and turned to face the front.

  Emma lost her smile and tried to pay attention. It was hard, though, what with Church sitting so close to her. Looking at her. Not all the time, his gaze often drifted around the room, stopping at different points. But it always came back to her. She could almost feel it on her, like a weight. Like hands. Running all over her body. She stared back at him for a long second and felt her pulse start to gain speed.

  He looked like he wasn't feeling anything at all.

  The class was mostly boring, they went over equations and formulas. The teacher was desperate to be “hip” though, so he told them to break into pairs and go over some of the problems in the textbook, kick around ideas together. A guy in their row was leaning forward,
tapping his pencil on Marci's desk, but Emma ignored him and spun her whole desk to face the other girl.

  “Gosh, this stuff is hard!” she burst out. Marci looked a little shocked, then shrugged at the guy and turned to Emma.

  “I know. Math kills me.”

  “Me, too. I'd rather be doing something fun. I'm still so new, so aside from that party last weekend, my life is dullsville,” she sighed dramatically.

  “Yeah, there's not a lot to do here,” Marci agreed. “But the parties are fun, and there are a lot of guys. I heard somewhere that it's like four men to every one woman here. Good odds.”

  Perfect. Like sheep to the slaughter.

  “That's good to know. I haven't gone on a date in forever.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yeah. Not since I moved here. And it's been even longer since I got laid.”

  Her blunt approach seemed to tickle Marci. The girl giggled and turned a little pink, then scooted her desk closer.

  “Not me. Let's just say that jacuzzi got extra fun,” she said sotto voce.

  “Really? Please tell me it was with someone hot,” Emma groaned.

  “This guy, Colin Halbert. We've done it before, but never like that. Like we could've gotten caught at any moment, so hot.”

  Emma's mind started to race. If Marci had really slept with Church, it certainly hadn't been at his house. He'd never bring a girl back there, she just knew it somehow. And judging by the tiny crucifix hanging around Marci's neck and the “WWJD” sticker on her notebook, Emma assumed her parents wouldn't approve of her bringing weird kids back to their home for a boink fest.

  No, it had to have been somewhere outside of both their houses. They'd been in high school, so they wouldn't have been able to rent a hotel room, not unless they drove far outside of town. Maybe there at the school? Or in Church's shitty car?

  She's a sexy cheerleader cliché. Where do cheerleader clichés have sex?

  “That's my favorite,” Emma sighed, biting into her bottom lip for emphasis. “So where's the most exposed place you've ever done it? Mine was when I was in high school, after a huge rally. We got it on in the dug out box at the back baseball field.”

  It was a leap. Marci was easy to lead, but she also wasn't very bright. She might not take the bait.

  But then, while Emma watched, the giggling girl cast a glance over her shoulder, right at Church. He was looking down at his desk, grading some papers.

  Gotcha.

  “Twinsies,” Marci tittered. “Under the bleachers, during a football game. I swear to god, it's still – to this day – the hottest sex I've ever had, and I was only sixteen.”

  “Wait,” Emma feigned surprise. “You just looked at ... you can't mean ... you and Church?”

  “Mmm hmmm.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “It was sort of like a game to a bunch of us, trying to get him to talk. He was a senior, I was a sophomore, but I wanted to win. So I'd flirt with him, wear short skirts around him, even flashed my boobs at him once. Then we had this game, and it was like over-time or something, and I saw him going under the bleachers. So I sneaked away and went after him, and we were down there, and I kept teasing him, and then I didn't even think about it, I just started kissing him.”

  Emma had literally asked for this, but now that she was hearing it all, she didn't like it. She felt herself growing mad. She wanted to punch Marci in her stupid fucking face. How dare this girl think she was worthy of touching those lips, that body. How dare she. Only Emma was worthy.

  “And what, you just stripped him down and tackled him?” Emma questioned after Marci had gone off into a moony stare.

  “Oh, no. He wasn't kissing me back, so I started to walk away, and then he grabbed me. He started pulling my skirt up, my underwear down, and he's so hot, you know, how could I stop him? He was sitting on one of the railings, so I got on top of him and lost my mind. He was pulling my hair and biting and scratching, it was nuts. But you know, we didn't kiss again, which was kind of a bummer. I've always sort of hoped to get a second chance. I'm a lot better now, maybe he'd want to stick around afterwards,” Marci said in a hopeful voice, looking back at Church again.

  Emma followed her gaze. Church was looking right back, but not at Emma for once. He was looking at Marci. Or more correctly, at Marci's body. Emma glared.

  They didn't get one bit of work done. Marci made eyes at Church and gave him naughty, flirty smiles. He stared at her tits and legs, for all the world looking like he was staring at a blank wall. Emma stewed in her seat, wondering what was wrong with her. He hadn't tried to peel her clothing off.

  But he did keep kissing you ...

  Class let out and Emma scurried out of the room, not saying goodbye to anyone. She knew Church needed at least another hour to go over coursework and stuff about grades with the teacher. Normally, she went into the dining hall or the common area to wait for him.

  This time, she immediately left the school and caught a bus home.

  IT WAS WEIRD, NOT TALKING to him. Which actually was doubly weird, because how could she miss talking to someone who'd barely ever spoken to her?

  He was bad news. On her own, Emma was just short of crazy. If she were to delve into his personal brand of psychosis, they might not come out the other side. She might break him. Ruin him. She did tend to ruin things. She was bad luck.

  She didn't want him to get hurt.

  So she took the mature route of ignoring him. She left earlier in the mornings, catching the bus, and she no longer waited after any of her classes. She caught rides home with Stacey when she could, or on the bus if the timing was right.

  Jerry's house wasn't very big, though, so running into Church was bound to happen. The first time was the same day she'd spoken to Marci. He hadn't come home that afternoon and Emma had figured he'd disappeared to wherever else it was he went.

  She'd been out for a run, but then it had started to rain, so she'd high tailed it home, just barely beating a down pour. Still wearing her ear buds, she'd gone into her room to strip off her sweaty clothes and get ready for a shower. With a large fluffy towel wrapped around her, she'd gone back into the hall only to run smack dab into a soaking wet wall.

  Apparently, Church hadn't beaten the down pour. The short walk from the driveway to the front door had soaked him. She hadn't heard him come in because she'd still been listening to her music. Upon impact, though, she dropped her phone. It fell to the floor, yanking the buds out of her ears as it went.

  They stared at each other for a second. Church with all his clothes plastered to his body. Emma wearing nothing but a towel, her hair all piled on top of her head.

  Then he took a step forward. And another. More, until he was touching her, but that didn't stop him. He kept moving until she was pressed against the bathroom door and he was leaning all his weight against her.

  Please. Please, I need this. I need to be a part of something greater than myself.

  “You said I wasn't beautiful,” she whispered. He nodded his head, then lifted a finger and traced it down her sternum.

  “I know.”

  The front door opened and noise invaded their quiet moment. Jerry and Margo spilled into the house, infecting it with their stupidity and apathy.

  Church slid away from her, leaving her damp and shivering and alone. When he went into his bedroom, he closed the door behind him.

  Their next interaction was eight days later. Eight long nights of touching herself when she heard him come home late. Eight endless days of Margo bitching at her.

  “When are you going to get a job?” she shouted for what felt like the millionth time. Jerry was out of the house. Margo only ever raised her voice – i.e. acted like herself – when Jerry was out of the house.

  “I've been trying,” Emma spoke calmly. “You know I've been. It's not easy in a place like this. You moved us here.”

  “I moved here,” Margo countered. “You didn't have to come.”

  “We have a
deal,” Emma said. Her mother's face soured at that statement. She didn't like to be reminded.

  “I know, I know, but you should be contributing something,” she stressed.

  “I've put in applications. What else do you want me to do?”

  Emma had, literally everywhere. It was a small town, though, there just weren't a lot of options. Also, between her lack of experience and class schedule, she herself wasn't a good option. She didn't foresee any sort of job on her horizon, not in this shitty place, and without money, she couldn't move out. If she'd had her own car at least, she would've gladly lived in it. But she didn't. The only one she'd ever owned, Margo had stolen the title and sold it for cash.

  “I want you to stop being a constant reminder of the past!” Margo barked, throwing her hands up. “You look like him, and you act like I never did anything for you, like I'm the worst mother ever. It could've been worse.”

  “Not by much.”

  Oh, her mom really wanted to hit her again, Emma could tell.

  “Yeah? Well, I wish I could've had a better daughter. How does that feel? Not some weirdo idiot who was impossible to deal with. Not some embarrassment,” Margo hissed back.

  She would've gone on, Emma knew. She'd heard this particular sermon before – it was usually quickly followed by the “what did I do to deserve this” lecture, and eventually the “you know deep down I really love you, could you go to the store and get me smokes?” speech.

  Thank god there was an interruption. Church walked out of the hallway, startling both of them. They hadn't known he was home. He was like a ghost, half the time Emma wondered if he was imaginary.

  Because only I would create an imaginary friend who wouldn't speak to me.

  “Oh, Paul, honey!” Margo prattled, nervously fingering her necklace. “I didn't know you were home. Your father is working late tonight. Would you like me to fix you some dinner?”

  He didn't say a word, of course, but he did acknowledge Margo. Possibly for the first time ever. He stared at her as he walked by so close, his chest brushed her elbow. Emma wanted to laugh as all the color drained out of Margo's face. Church stared down at her, making eye contact in that eerie way he had, not blinking, all his movements slow. Like he was thinking about what her insides looked like. Just when she was sure Margo was going to swallow her own tongue, Church moved past her and went into the kitchen.