Church.

by Stylo Fantome

  “Marci!” her mother gasped. Her father looked proud. Emma was almost impressed.

  “Sounds fair to me. I won't touch you.”

  “I'm glad you and Ms. MacIntosh have come to some sort of understanding,” the dean interrupted. “I've gone over your file, Ms. Hartley. You're a bright girl and you show a lot of promise, I'd hate to see you throw it all away. For your sake, I hope the incident really was a result of being sick. We will be watching you very closely, and if there are any other problems – any – you will be expelled immediately.”

  “Understood.”

  “Good. Now, on top of a three day suspension, you'll also have to agree to counseling once a week to ...”

  Emma blanked out for a second. Counseling? As in ... therapy, basically? No. Just no. She'd dealt with therapists before, fuck that. She'd rather get kicked out of Jerry's house.

  When she went to open her mouth to argue, though, something caught her attention. Church, standing at the opposite corner of the large desk. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly. She pressed her lips together and glared at him, but that only caused him to smirk some more.

  “Do you agree?” the dean asked. Emma had no clue what he'd laid out, but declining wasn't an option, not if Church said it wasn't. She sighed and shook her head.

  “Yes, of course. Clearly, I've got some anger issues I need to work on.”

  “I think this is going to be a really good thing, Emma,” the counselor, a Ms. Cutler, finally spoke. “Admitting you have an issue is the hardest step. We're going to do great things together!”

  Emma stared at the counselor for a moment, then finally managed a lukewarm smile.

  “I'm already excited.”

  There was more chattering, more lecturing. She said all the right things in all the right places. Emma was no sociopath, but growing up exposed to Margo's lifestyle, she was no stranger to manipulation, either.

  Eventually, it was agreed upon that she could return to school the following Monday. She was not to interact with Marci or bother her in any way – to do so would result in immediate expulsion. The MacIntosh's grumbled, Marci batted her eyes at Church, and everyone got up to leave.

  They all started filing out of the room, but Ms. Cutler held Emma back. She was dying for a cigarette and she didn't want to be speaking to this cookie cutter person, but she managed to stand still and listen. Agreed to meet at the end of the day Monday to set up weekly appointments.

  When she was finally able to escape, Emma practically bolted. She was moving so fast around a corner, she didn't see the person standing there until she was ramming full force into him. She started falling backwards when strong arms brought her upright again.

  “You don't pay attention very often,” Church's voice murmured. She chuckled and shoved her hair out of her face.

  “Yeah, and you're talking. Don't you have a rule about that?” she teased. He rolled his eyes, then turned and walked away. She trotted to keep up with him. “You did all this, didn't you? Got Marci to not press charges, got everyone to meet here, talked them into keeping me. Why? It's not like I was gonna go on to become a brain surgeon or anything. Why do you care?”

  He stayed silent as they moved through the halls. She noticed people staring at them. She guessed it made sense – they were the town weirdos. She knew that look in their eyes, she'd seen it enough in her life. Embarrassment mixed with amusement mixed with disgust, or some sort of similar combination. She made direct eye contact with several people, holding their gaze until they looked away.

  “Maybe,” she picked up their conversation again, just as they reached the common area. “You like being around me, Mr. Logan. Maybe the idea of me being out of your sight for too long makes you nervous. If I'm here at school, you can keep an eye on me.”

  She glanced up at him and was pleased to see a smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. She was close to the truth, she knew. If she'd gotten kicked out of school, it would've been impossible for her to stay at home. She'd have left, been homeless, or gone to stay with other people. Out of his reach. Whatever spell he was weaving, it might get broken.

  And we couldn't have that, now could we?

  They stepped outside the main entrance, and before she could think more on the issue, Church was pulling her to a stop. Gently turning her to face him. To her surprise, he pulled her close. Her breasts pressed against his chest. When she felt his hand on her butt, she held her breath. He was going to kiss her. Church was going to kiss her, in broad daylight, in front of other people, in front of witnesses and the rain and everything and ... and ...

  And he pulled her cigarette case out of her back pocket. Stared straight at her as he opened it and pulled one out, sticking the end between her lips. He used one hand to slip the case back into its place, and with the other he flicked on her lighter.

  “You think too much,” he whispered, and she didn't respond, too shocked.

  He was right, of course. He was always right about everything.

  While Emma inhaled a deep lungful of burning smoke, Church turned away without another word. When he disappeared inside, the door closing loudly behind him, her brain finally started working again.

  She was alone, in the rain, with no ride home.

  Mother fucker.

  9

  Emma had to lower her head to her hands in order to scratch her nose. The handcuffs didn't allow for a lot of movement, even with a twelve inch chain between the actual cuffs.

  The chain was wrapped around a post connecting the headboard to the bed frame. Impossible to get free. Not that she'd tried, though. She sat on the floor with her back against the wall, humming a tune to herself. She pulled a pillow off the bed using her teeth, then laid down on the floor with it, her arms stretching up above her.

  He could've put a tv in here for me, that would've been nice. I could operate a remote like this.

  Of course, that was impractical. Church didn't watch tv, the noise would surely draw attention. Margo would come sniffing around, and that just wouldn't do.

  Emma suddenly heard the front door open and she sat upright, holding still and listening. She'd quickly become very adept at figuring out where everyone was in the house, just based on sound.

  Footsteps walked across the living room, into the kitchen. The fridge was opened and closed, then there was the sound of a bottle cap popping off. It didn't tell her enough – she knew it couldn't be Jerry, it was too early for him to be home from work, but Margo had been in and out of the house all afternoon.

  She sighed and leaned against the bed, her cheek pressed to the soft white sheet.

  That morning, Emma had woken up on her shitty pull out couch bed to the feeling of arms under her. Church picking her up, gently, and cradling her against his chest. He'd carried her to his room, then he'd sunk down and deposited her on the floor. Hadn't said a word while he'd pulled the handcuffs out of his back pocket. She hadn't spoken, either. Just watched as he'd looped them through the post and attached them to her wrists. Afterwards, he'd stared at her for a long moment. Kissed her quickly. Then he'd nodded, stood up, and left.

  That had been seven hours ago.

  I have to pee so fucking bad.

  It was Sunday afternoon, she started school again on Monday. Church had told her that just a few sweet words dripped into Marci's ear had gotten her to drop the charges. At first, Emma hadn't been quite sure she believed him – surely it would take more than that. But then she'd realized all Church ever had to do to get her cooperation was open his mouth. He could read the dictionary off to her, call her names, speak in Latin, and she'd do anything he asked her to, just to keep hearing his voice. So maybe it had worked on Marci.

  The actual days leading up to Sunday had been boring. He'd worked all day Thursday and Friday. Emma hadn't known what to do with herself. She and Margo moved around the house like wary cobras, always walking along opposite walls, glaring and snarling at each other. Thankfully, Margo was too nervous about upsetting Church to do
anything to Emma. Upsetting Church would only result in upsetting her cash cow, er – her husband – and she couldn't have that, not when she was so close to that retirement fund.

  Emma was in a similar boat. Fighting with Margo might result in another conversation between father and son. Church wouldn't be happy, and since her new goal in life was to always make him happy, she would play nice with her mother as best she could.

  Church.

  If her days were spent in boredom, then her nights were spent in worship.

  Everything always drifted away in his presence. It was like the moment Church walked through the door, the rest of the world stopped existing. She stopped existing. She was just a mannequin, holding still, waiting for him to touch her and bring her to life.

  And touch her, he did.

  That Church, he was a wily one. She wondered where he'd learned all his dirty little tricks. He knew exactly how to keep her placated; knew exactly what to do to stop her from asking too many questions. To keep her from making him talk too much.

  He tied her arms to the headboard, stuffed her panties in her mouth, and fucked her hard. Left her like that for hours, coming and going as he pleased, seemingly uncaring of the fact there was a chance – albeit a small one – that Jerry or Margo would come in the room and find her.

  He spanked her, used a paddle brush, left bruises. Choked her till she had rings around her neck, branding her. For a man who didn't speak very much, who seemingly wasn't very active, it was like he suddenly couldn't shut off. Not when he was around her. He was suddenly a fountain of sexual energy and aggression and possession, and it was all directed at her.

  It was amazing. When he was done, she was always a different person. A little less Emma, a little more him. She thanked him. Asked him for more. Begged him. Told him she'd stay forever and ever, never had to see the light of day again, if he would just please – please – keep on being the center of her very small universe.

  It turned out it was him moving around the kitchen. There were no clocks in Church's bedroom, she had no clue how long he was home before he came into his room. Long enough to make her fear she was going to have an accident. As he strode through the door, she climbed up on her knees and licked her lips, staring up at him eagerly.

  That afternoon, that whole weekend – he hadn't said it out loud, but it had all been a test. He was testing her, making sure she was worthy of him. If she could keep quite when she wanted to scream, if she could sit still when she was afraid, then she could be strong enough for him. Good enough for him.

  Surely, she'd passed his tests.

  He dropped into a crouch, just out of range for her hands to reach him. He studied her for a long moment, his eyes moving across her face and down her arms. His lip twitched when he got to the handcuffs. She hadn't struggled against her bonds, but her wrists were still red and a little raw. He traced a finger over the marks and her breath caught in her throat.

  “You look so good in these,” he murmured, standing up again.

  “Beautiful, even?” she teased. He shook his head and started undoing his belt buckle.

  “Never beautiful, Emma. You could never be anything so common.”

  Her heart soared and her wrists throbbed and his dick was hard and demanding against her lips, his fingers scratching and twisting in her hair. He braced a hand against the wall behind her and punished her mouth. Gave it a gift. Fucked it long and hard. She tried to stare up at him the whole time. Willing him to see how much love she had for him, if he would just accept it.

  Willing him to give some back to her.

  CHURCH.

  Well.

  You know when you're craving something? Like the perfect steak. So you go to a restaurant and you order a steak. Order it rare, and you know what you're expecting, and then you get it and it's just ... perfect? From first bite to last, it's succulent and explodes with flavor and is so much more than anything you even thought you were craving, you're beyond fulfilled. So amazing, you want to order it all over again, even though you couldn't possibly fit anything else inside of you.

  That's how Emma makes me feel. She's exactly what I always hoped and prayed for, yet at the same time, she's so much more. She's too much.

  I didn't know it would be like this. I thought I could just fuck someone and use them and when I was done, drop them.

  But this girl. Her mind. She can hear me even in my silences, and she's not scared of anything I say or do – her only fears concerning me are that I'll leave her.

  Yet for the first time ever, I'm scared. Scared of the thoughts I'm having, scared of the way she makes me feel. Like maybe she's not just someone else to play with. Maybe she's more. Maybe she was meant for me.

  I thought I had to do this all on my own.

  But maybe we were meant to be great together.

  I don't like that thought. Not one little bit. I don't want to care about someone. Caring about people means eventually sacrificing yourself in some way for them. Emma is a perfect example – she cared about her mother, and all it ever got her was molested and beaten. She cares about me, and all it's gotten her so far is manipulated and lied to.

  I don't want to be that person. I refuse to be that person. If I did, I think it would ruin me. I think it would tame me. I wouldn't be Church anymore, I would just be ... Paul, though and through, all the time.

  I can't let that happen.

  I know my purpose.

  I know what I want.

  And how Emma fits into that ... well, she has a role, and she'll play it. I set out to see if I could convince her to do anything I wanted, and I'm going to succeed. And when it's all over ...

  I guess we'll see.

  10

  Emma.

  She blinked to attention and glanced around. It took her a second to realize no one had said her name out loud. It was Church – he was staring at her, practically burning a hole through her with his look. His face looked impassive to the casual observer, but she knew him so much better now. He was annoyed.

  When his stare finally softened to a glance, which finally slid away from her, she looked around the room again. She was missing something, she knew it. What was different? What was he annoyed about?

  While Monday had been interesting – lots of gawking and staring on her first day back from suspension – Tuesday was plodding along in its usual fashion. Nothing exciting had happened all day, yet Church was up to something. She noticed his gaze was bouncing around the other people in the room. She craned her neck around, trying to see whatever it was he was seeing.

  “What are you doing?” Stacey hissed from next to her.

  “I don't know,” Emma was honest. “Did we get a new student or something?”

  “Yeah, a couple weeks ago, some loony from Alabama,” Stacey teased. Emma narrowed her eyes.

  “I lived in Alabama – I'm not from there.”

  Stacey rambled on, but Emma ignored her, still trying to figure out what it was Church was trying to communicate to her. He wasn't looking at her at all anymore. No, his eyes were on a row beneath her. If he was looking at Marci, she would set him on fire.

  But no, Marci was in the very first row, like always. Church's gaze was about three rows up from her, and maybe two down from Emma. A totally different girl had caught his eye.

  Another? I almost killed the last one just for talking about him. I'm not mentally stable enough to deal with this.

  Her little inner joke would've been funny if it hadn't been so true.

  Of course, she couldn't technically be positive it even was a girl – maybe Church was staring at some dude. The person had long, soft brunette hair, and a slight build. When class finally ended, Emma stayed seated while the person stood up and turned to collect a backpack from the floor. It turned out it was a girl, with pale skin and luminescent blue eyes, amazing looking even in profile. Very striking, actually.

  While Emma watched, the girl gathered her belongings. She seemed nervous, like it was her first day at sc
hool. She dropped a folder full of papers everywhere. She'd barely collected them all when she tripped over her bag's strap. Her cheeks turned bright red and she finally got herself together enough to scamper out of the room.

  Interesting.

  “Did you need help with anything, Ms. Hartley?” the teacher asked, his voice crisp.

  Jeez, you beat up one local, and suddenly everyone doesn't like you.

  “Not really, just some questions for Ch-, er, Paul,” she said, finally getting out of her seat.

  “Right. Lock up when you're done, Paul,” the teacher instructed, then he grabbed his messenger bag and headed out of the room. By the time Emma reached Church, the door had swung shut with a heavy thud.

  “Pretty girl,” she commented. He nodded, not looking up from the tests he was grading.

  “Yes, she is, isn't she.”

  She sighed and sat on the edge of his desk.

  “I'm not into threesomes, sorry to say.”

  “Sorry to hear it, but I don't want to fuck her.”

  “Oh.”

  “I have much more interesting plans for her.”

  “Oh.”

  “And you're going to help me.”

  “And what exactly am I helping you with?” she questioned.

  “You're going to prove your loyalty to me.”

  So this is what he'd been talking about the other day, in his car. When he'd said he'd be requiring her to do things. She would've thought all those days spent in his bedroom would've satisfied him. Apparently they hadn't.

  “Can I ask why that girl?” she asked. He still didn't look up at her.

  “Do you need a reason?”

  “No.”

  She could feel his smirk.

  “How about she exists. Because she's pretty, and her life is simple, and she's never known the kind of bullshit you and I have had to deal with.”

  That actually did kind of make Emma feel better.

  “So because she's privileged, she deserves your wrath,” she clarified.