Church.

by Stylo Fantome

  “If I had known you'd be like this,” she managed a chuckle. “I would've visited you at work before.”

  He snorted and she felt his fingers against the backs of her thighs, lightly tickling up and down.

  “I wish you had.”

  There was another long silence. She traced her fingers up and down his back, sliding across his sweat slicked skin. He caught his breath on top of her, his face between her breasts.

  “I'm happy in these moments,” he suddenly whispered, catching her off guard. She stopped her fingers.

  “You're what?”

  “These moments with you. They almost feel ... happy. When I'm inside you and I know even after we separate, I'll still be inside you. I always want to be there, always inside you.”

  Emma held her breath. If she'd thought he'd been candid before, she didn't know what to call this. It was beyond her wildest dreams.

  If I pray very, very hard, maybe St. Church will grant my greatest wish and finally love me back.

  “And you always will be,” she whispered back, hugging his head tightly to her and kissing his soft brown hair. “Forever.”

  She'd only been trying to reassure him, but it seemed to break the moment. He went still in her arms, then slowly pushed himself upright. He stared down at her for a second. Brushed an errant lock of hair away from her face. Then he glanced around them.

  “Shit,” he grumbled. “This is gonna be a bitch to clean up.”

  She looked around, as well, and started laughing again. Papers were scattered all over the place, along with bloody hand prints marking the top of the wooden desk.

  “Yes, but at least it was a really fun mess to make.”

  He helped her up and they both put their pants back on. Church found her a first aid kit, and while she bandaged up her stomach, he started cleaning the room. The desk washed up fairly easily, but they had to throw away a large desktop calendar and several ungraded tests.

  When they were done with everything, they looked at each other. A window was open to the courtyard outside, letting pale moonlight spill into the room. Red lines and fingerprints and palms marks and scratches covered both their chests, and Church had one long swipe down his right cheek. He looked wild and dangerous, like he'd just done something bad. It caused her to pause and blink up at him. He looked like ... himself. Like how he should always look.

  She liked it. Liked seeing him stained in her. Liked seeing it all swirl down the drain later on when they showered in the gymnasium locker room.

  “You were made for me, Emma,” he whispered under the roar of the shower, so softly she barely heard him.

  “I think I was,” she agreed.

  “Alright then. We'll plan this. You'll help me. We'll be ... partners.”

  He said the word like it was foreign to him. Like it was the first time he'd ever used it.

  “Yes.”

  “There's no going back from something like this, Emma. You help me kill someone, you'll belong to me forever,” his voice was almost a hiss. She shuddered, then leaned into his body.

  “Too late, Church. I already do.”

  JUST BECAUSE THE EVENING had been going too perfectly, the universe decide to throw in a tiny monkey wrench. Church's car wouldn't start. She thought maybe he would call for a taxi, but he didn't even try. Just locked the vehicle up and started walking away. Emma skipped along next to him.

  “You're quiet,” she pointed out. He glanced down at her and she laughed. “Well, quieter than normal.”

  “Lots to think about. It was a heavy night,” he replied, surprising her a little. This was a man who casually talked about murdering people and then ate breakfast with his father. Then fucked her silly on top of his boss's desk.

  “Are you mad I caught you?” she asked. “I'm sorry, but you told me to watch her. So I watched her. You had to know I was bound to catch sight of you.”

  “No, I'm not mad at you, Emma.”

  Then he did the most shocking thing she'd ever witnessed from him.

  He reached out and grabbed her hand. Gently squeezed it, then held on to it.

  “What's going on?” she whispered, starting to shiver. It was freezing out, but it wasn't the cold making her shake.

  “Do you ever wonder ...” he started to speak, then seemed to lose himself to his thoughts. His stared off into the distance for a moment, but didn't let go of her hand. “I'm always right. Every test, every paper, every grade.”

  “Yes, yes, you're a genius, we're all beneath you. I've heard this speech,” she teased him.

  “You're wrong a lot of the time,” his voice kept dropping lower and lower. “How does it feel? When you do something, and then later realize it wasn't the right thing to do?”

  Emma almost laughed, but then she realized he was serious. He was actually asking her opinion about something he was struggling with; her honest opinion. She was touched.

  “I guess I think about it,” she answered. “Like how exactly was I wrong? Was it because I wasn't paying attention? Or was it just happenstance? Was anyone else affected by whatever I got wrong?”

  “Any of it. All of it,” his words were clipped. She frowned.

  “I don't know. I mean, I feel bad, but sometimes shit happens, so I don't let it get me down too much. I try to learn from it. Where did I go wrong, and how can I keep it from happening again. That's the best anyone can do when they're wrong about something – just try not to be wrong again, I guess.”

  Silence again for a long moment. She shivered once more and glanced at her watch. They were about three miles from home. It was going to be a long walk.

  “Thank you, Emma. For talking to me.”

  She looked up at him, and was surprised to find him staring down at her. The air was cold and crisp, making his pale skin look almost luminescent.

  He is so beautiful.

  “Of course, always. So what is it you think you're wrong about?” she asked.

  He frowned and stopped walking, forcing her to stop, as well. He pulled her around so she was standing in front of him, then raised his free hand. His finger traced down the side of her face, and by the time it reached her chin, snow began to flutter down all around them.

  “What if I'm wrong about you?”

  Emma was pretty sure her heart stopped beating.

  “No, no, no,” she spoke fast. “You're not wrong, Church. You're not. We're perfect for each other, you got that right. You're perfect for me, I know it, and I know I can be perfect for you, if you'll just -”

  He silenced her with a kiss. A soft one. Gentle. Completely unlike him.

  “You are perfect for me,” he whispered. “I promise. I'm just babbling. Don't worry about it, okay?”

  She nodded, but she was lying. It wasn't okay.

  And she was worried.

  CHURCH.

  Wrong.

  As an adjective - “Not correct or true.”

  As an adverb - “in an unsuitable or undesirable manner or direction.”

  Of course I've been wrong before; it would be impossible to get through life without being wrong at least once in a while.

  It's just that usually, I have everything planned so carefully. Everything I do is a little house of cards, one little piece stacked perfectly on the next. It's hard work, but it can be done, with enough time and concentration and patience.

  The problem, I'm discovering, is what if you've been stacking them all wrong?

  What if you think you want something. You've wanted it your whole life, wanted it more than anything. And it's right in front of you, so close you could touch it.

  But suddenly now, getting it means losing something else. Something new and scary and wonderful.

  Something you're not sure you can live without.

  If it all went wrong ...

  Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I just haven't thought of everything from every angle. Maybe there's a way to get what I want, and to keep her. Maybe if I can just get through this, I won't want her anymore.


  Though I don't believe that.

  Emma's got me all figured out. I do know all the right words to say to her.

  I guess I just didn't realize that somewhere along the way, they started becoming the right words for me, too.

  13

  “Emma?”

  At the sound of her name, Emma lifted her head. She was sitting cross-legged on the pull out couch in the office. She had a textbook opened on her lap and she quickly shut it. It wasn't one from any of her current classes.

  “What do you want?” she snapped as her mother wandered into the room.

  “Can't I just check on my only daughter?” Margo sighed. “I barely ever see you anymore.”

  “I thought that would make you happy.”

  “It would, if I didn't see you at all.”

  “I'll love these little pep talks, Mom,” she said.

  “Look, we don't like each other,” Margo got to the point. “Never really have, and probably never really will.”

  “Why are you coming in here to state the obvious to me?” Emma asked, glancing around. Margo frowned, but didn't leave. She moved and sat on the arm of the couch.

  “Can I give you a little advice?”

  “No.”

  “I know you hate me and think I'm the worst thing on the planet, but I haven't gotten as far as I have in life by being stupid. I'm smart about some things, and one of those things are men. Whatever you're doing with Church, whatever is going on between you, stop it.”

  Emma groaned and rolled her eyes.

  “I know you don't like it, but don't worry, I'm not planning on breaking up your happy home. Church and I are just -”

  “That's not what I'm worried about,” Margo snapped. “I'm worried because this boy is going to use you and break you and leave you without looking back, and I don't think you can handle something like that.”

  Emma blinked up at her mom. What the fuck was going on with everyone? First Church gets all emotional on her the night before, now this!? She cleared her throat and moved to sit on the edge of the mattress.

  “Why would you say that? What makes you think he's going to do those things?” she asked. Margo sighed again and rubbed her fingers against her forehead.

  “Because as much as you hate to admit it, we're more alike than you think. I know what's in that stupid brain of yours, and I know how you get around boys. That's why ... that's why I left your daddy.”

  Emma went completely still.

  “Bullshit. You left Dad because he started beating you.”

  “No, I left because you were becoming obsessed with him. It was ... unhealthy. Sick. I had to stop it. That's how you are, Emma. How you've always been. Some people get addicted to alcohol or drugs, you've always had issues with people. That's why it's so easy to take advantage of you. Church, he's a very smart man, he's figured that out. Don't be an idiot,” Margo urged.

  Emma was so angry, she felt herself starting to vibrate with the tension from it.

  “Is this real life?” she hissed. “I was sick? I was unhealthy? Because I loved my dad? Yeah, that's fucked up, and he was fucked up, but I was the sick one!? I was a little girl! I didn't know any better, and you allowed it to happen! And what about all the other men? Huh? Whose fault was that?”

  “Shhh!” Margo hissed, waving her hands in the air. “Watch your mouth, Jerry is in the living room!”

  “Do you think I give a shit?” Emma climbed to her feet and loomed over her mother. “You allowed grown men to touch me and fuck me and beat me, and you have the audacity to sit here and tell me I'm sick? Well, mother dear, if I'm sick, it's because I caught this disease from you!”

  She was really yelling now. Margo stood up, and normally that would mean she was looking for a fight, but this time seemed different. Maybe it was because Emma was more unhinged than normal now. Margo actually looked scared.

  “Emma! Stop!” she begged. “I'm just trying to help!”

  “You want to help me? Then stay out of my goddamn way,” Emma swore. “Don't talk to me. Don't even think about me. If you ever talk about Church and me again, I swear to god, I'll ... I'll ... I'll kill you.”

  She was breathing heavy, almost panting. Margo had turned pale.

  And there, standing in the doorway behind them, was Church. Watching both of them with a bored expression on his face.

  “I just ...” Margo glanced over her shoulder and then her gaze bounced between the two of them. “I wanted to help. She's my only daughter, Church. Please don't -”

  He abruptly grabbed her by the arm, startling a shriek out of her. He yanked her into the hallway while at the same time stepping fully into the room. By the time Margo turned to face them, he was slamming the door in her face.

  “God, I hate her,” Emma really was panting now. “I hate her so much. Can you believe that?”

  “Yes,” he responded, cupping his hands around her neck. “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah. Jesus, I really meant it, Church. I'm gonna fucking kill her some day,” she breathed. He frowned, then smoothed her hair away from her face.

  “Okay,” he finally said. “But me first. We take care of Lizzie. Then I'll help you with your mom.”

  “Is this real life?” Emma laughed, staring up at him. “We just kill everyone who bothers us? Are you gonna wake me up tomorrow and tell me this has all been a joke?”

  He stared at her for so long, she almost wondered if she was right. Then a shadow fell over his eyes, like he was trying to block out the moment, and he smirked at her.

  “No, I don't think that'll be happening,” he chuckled, taking a step back.

  “Pity. I've been following this chick so much, I almost like her.”

  “Seriously?” he asked, quirking up an eyebrow.

  “She's ... nice, Church. She never does anything to anybody. I think she had a really sheltered upbringing. She mentions her mom a lot, I think the woman kinda smothers her,” Emma explained.

  He was suddenly frowning again. Almost grimacing. He was annoyed.

  “Are you saying you can't do this?” he snapped. “Because she's nice? Because she had the upbringing you and I were denied? Tell me now if you can't do this, I don't want to waste my time.”

  “Jesus, calm down, I didn't say I wouldn't do it. I told you I'd do anything you ask, and I will. I'm just saying I think there are more deserving people out there,” she tried to explain. He narrowed his gaze.

  “And I think you shouldn't talk about things you don't know anything about. You need to think about whether or not this is something you can do – not everyone was meant for greatness, Emma.”

  Greatness. That special word.

  “You think murdering someone equals greatness?”

  “Do I think having power over life and death is equal to greatness? Yes. Yes, I do.”

  Okay, that was a stupid question.

  “Well, yeah, I get that. I guess I just don't understand why -”

  “Killing the bad guy is easy,” Church sneered. “The guy coming at you with the gun, the bad man who's hurting other people, that's the easy way out. Anyone can do that.

  “But does a hurricane ask for a background check on all the people it kills? Does a tornado? Does an earthquake? No, because they're forces of nature. They don't have to. So you need to decide how you want to live life, Emma. You can either take the easy way out, or you can be a force of nature.”

  Emma stared at him. God, it was really perfect. A force of nature, that's exactly what Church was. Just swooping into her life and destroying everything and leaving a freshly wiped slate in his wake.

  “I get it,” she breathed. “I really get it now. And I'm sorry.”

  “Good. You'll understand,” he assured her. “When it happens. When you do it. You'll understand everything.”

  He walked out of the room, softly shutting the door behind him. Emma continued staring at the wall. He had this way of ripping every thought out of her head and leaving her empty when he walked away. The only cu
re was to fill herself up with more of him. Every nook, every cranny in her brain, it would be overflowing with thoughts of Church. With his wants and needs.

  So she sat on the bed and crossed her legs and opened her textbook and stared at the pages. Went over every picture and diagram, committing different things to memory.

  A force of nature. We will tear through this life and we will leave destruction and we will make people remember us.

  14

  “Hey, ladies!”

  Emma spoke in a happy-peppy voice as she took a seat in the dining hall. It was breakfast time, but she didn't bother getting anything to eat. She just smiled at Stacey and Lizzie, who were both sitting across from her. A friendship had formed between the two of them, they actually spent quite a bit of time together.

  Stacey would miss Lizzie after she was gone.

  “Hey, haven't seen much of you,” Stacey commented, giving her a weird look. Emma decided to tone down her smile.

  “Yeah, after the whole Marci incident, I've been keeping a low profile,” she chuckled. “Just studying and catching up.”

  “Sounds boring,” her friend laughed. Emma forced out a laugh, as well, then turned her attention to her victim.

  “So what've you been up to, Lizzie?” she asked casually.

  “Not a lot,” she replied, not looking up from her plate.

  Emma's little campaign of terror had taken its toll. Lizzie looked even thinner and more pale than normal. Her hair was stringy and lank, like it hadn't been washed in a while. And possibly thinner. Could it be falling out? Or was she pulling it out?

  “She's got some stupid stalker,” Stacey said. “You know, someone sending weird pictures and texts. I told her she should just ignore it, it's probably just some idiot who's got a crush on her.”

  “Yeah, I'm sure that's all it is,” Emma agreed.

  “I told her she should come to a party this weekend,” Stacey started, and Emma's ears perked up. A party, huh? A big gathering of people, things would get crazy, anything could happen. Before she could get her hopes up, though, Stacey continued speaking. “But she's refusing to go.”