Church.

by Stylo Fantome

  She was crying, he realized. Sobbing. He was a little shocked, and in that moment, she leaned forward again, smothering Lizzie. He looked down and saw that the other girl had stopped moving. Stopped struggling.

  Fuck, that wasn't good. There were over a hundred people on the other side of that door, neither of them were going to walk away from this if Lizzie died.

  “I said stop!” he yelled, and he grabbed Emma around the waist and picked her up, tossing her to the floor. She crashed into a dresser, banging her shoulder against it.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped.

  He ignored her, throwing the pillow to the ground and leaning over Lizzie. Her nose was bleeding and her lips were a little blue, but she was coughing and breathing, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. She was alive, she would be fine, and best of all – she was unconscious.

  “What the fuck were you thinking!?” he hissed, whirling around just as Emma climbed to her feet.

  “I was thinking exactly what you wanted me to think!” she shrieked. “That's all I ever do! I was doing what you told me to do!”

  “Bullshit!” he pointed his finger in her face. “I told you this was something we were going to do together, I told you I -”

  She burst out laughing, stunning him once again.

  “That's bullshit, and now we both know it. You wanted me to do this on my own. You wanted my fingerprints all over this. You wanted someone else to commit your perfect crime. I was only trying to do what you wanted,” her voice fell into a whisper. “That's all I want. To do whatever you want. You want me to kill someone? Want me to go to jail for you? Want me to let you go? If it makes you happy, Church, fine. Then fine. If it'll make you love me, I'll do it. I'll do anything.”

  Church wasn't sure what the pain was he was feeling. Like sick and feverish and his chest hurt. Were these feelings? Jesus. Normal human beings could keep them.

  “That's not what I want,” he slashed his arm through the air.

  “But you got those -”

  “I don't give a fuck!” he roared. “Are you fucking listening to me? I'm telling you right now, I don't want any of this!”

  Emma shrank away from him. At the same time, the bedroom door slowly opened. Stacey peeked her head in, and beyond her, he could hear that the party had gone quiet. Apparently, he and Emma were putting on quite the show.

  “Is everything alright?” she asked, but they both ignored her.

  “You don't mean that,” Emma whispered, staring up at Church.

  He couldn't control his emotions. He wasn't used to them. They were all over the place, causing his heart to beat fast and his head to hurt. He just wanted it to stop. He wanted Stacey to be gone and to not be there and for everything to just be dark and quiet. So he squashed the panic in his chest and he reverted back to his old stand by. Manipulation.

  “I wanted to do this together,” he said. “And you tried to do it alone. My moment, my fantasy, my life, and you were going to do it without me. And then when I told you to stop, you wouldn't listen. You're not listening to me. I can't handle this, Emma. I don't want this anymore. I don't want to be like this anymore.”

  He hadn't even known he felt that way, yet there were the words, pouring out of his mouth. He didn't want to be angry. He didn't want to hate his mother. He didn't want to lurk in the shadows.

  He wanted this silly game to all be over.

  17

  Emma's vision went blurry with tears and she could only watch as Church stormed out of the room. Stacey stared after him for a moment, then she rushed across the space.

  “What the hell was all that about?” she asked, wrapping an arm around Emma's shoulders.

  “I think ... I think ...” Emma was trying to remember how to breathe.

  “I think you need to go home and go to bed,” Stacey urged. “Talk to him tomorrow, when you've both calmed down.”

  “No. He said it was over. It's over. He ended it. I can't ...” Emma couldn't even finish the thought.

  “It's late, things are heated. C'mon, I'll give you a ride home.”

  Stacey got some guys to help carry Lizzie to the car. She was snoring again, and no one seemed too worried about her bloody nose. She'd been very drunk, who knew what else she'd gotten up to – all sorts of drugs were floating around the party. Stacey had simply cleaned her face, then instructed the guys to lay Lizzie in her back seat.

  Emma sat quietly in the car the whole time. A night that should've ended in murder, and yet she felt like the one who'd been stabbed. She pressed her forehead against the window and stared at the sidewalk as it rushed past.

  “Are you sure you're gonna be okay?” Stacey asked when they finally came to a stop.

  “No. Nothing will ever be okay.”

  “Stop. Please, take a warm shower, and go to bed. I'd come in, but I gotta take Lizzie home, she's a wreck.”

  “Good night, Stacey. Thank you for ... everything.”

  “Of course, Emma. We're friends, that's what we -”

  Emma shut the car door on her and slowly walked into the house.

  The living room was dark. There were no cars in the driveway – Margo had been attending some function in St. Louis, Jerry must have gone to get her. And of course Church wasn't home. Why would he be home? He didn't want anything to do with Emma anymore. It was over. They were over.

  Thinking it and hearing it had been two completely different things. Despite the lying, despite the letters from Columbia, a tiny part of Emma had hoped she could still win him over. Could still convince him to love her.

  But it was impossible. He'd told her in the beginning he'd never love her. He didn't know how. And apparently, she was incapable of teaching him.

  She wandered back to his room and started tidying up. Church hated a mess, and she couldn't deprogram her need to make him happy. She stacked the books and papers on his desk. Shoved the clothing into the closet and shut the doors. Put the bed back to rights. Then she took off all her clothes, except for her panties, and she put on a white tank top of his.

  The next time she blinked, Emma found herself sitting on the edge of the bath tub. She didn't really remember going into the bathroom, but there she was; Stacey had suggested a shower. Emma leaned over and opened the tap. But she didn't get under the spray.

  No, she stayed sitting and staring down at her thighs. At her scars, marching down her thigh like a line. The last one was still tender and raw, much like her heart. It was a mark that would be there forever. A little piece of him, burned right into her flesh and blood.

  Emma had gotten lost before, many times in her life. She'd fallen down more than a few dark holes. This time, though, it was different. She'd always held onto a piece of herself before, but not now. She'd given every single bit of herself to Church. He owned her. Without him, there was no her.

  There is no anything. No point. I'm unlovable. Ruined beyond repair. Broken.

  She thought of all their careful plans. All the talking they'd done, all the anatomy books she'd studied. All those big beautiful veins, just waiting to be split open for him.

  She sat upright.

  Where was that knife, anyway?

  WHEN CHURCH LEFT THE party, he'd pulled out of his parking spot so fast, he backed over their mailbox. Then he'd gunned the engine and surged forward, leaving burned rubber on the pavement. Hopefully his rental insurance covered worn tires.

  God, that had been close. So fucking close. A couple minutes later, and Elizabeth would have been dead, and as exciting as that was to him, it was also terrifying. Emma would've gone to jail, for sure. And in that moment of realization, when he'd been standing there and watching her, he'd known true terror. The idea of her being somewhere he couldn't reach, he couldn't stand it. She belonged to him, he couldn't let someone take her away.

  God, it was so unfair. To have to choose between his greatest fantasy and the first girl he'd ever loved.

  So it was really over. He didn't want his life anymore, at least not th
e way it was right now. Like Emma had said the other night, he didn't want to hide who he was. With her, he didn't have to. Pretending to be something he wasn't, that was over. Keeping the monster locked inside, that was over. Focusing all his energy and attention on getting revenge on some silly woman? Most definitely over.

  He would let it all go, for her. To start something new and amazing, with her. Emma had never cared who or what he was – with her, he could finally be that best version of himself. He could let her teach him how to be free, how to be himself. How to love.

  There would be other plans. Other chances. Other sacrifices. Plenty of time to learn how to be a monster.

  Church drove around for a while, giving her enough time to walk back home. He couldn't talk to her in front of all those people, that's why he'd run out of the party. It was bad enough not understanding all these new feelings inside him, he couldn't handle witnesses.

  So after about half an hour, he turned around and cruised back by the party, which was still raging. He took his time driving home, looking for her on every street. He frowned as he turned into Jerry's neighborhood, realizing Emma must have beaten him home. Maybe she'd gotten a ride from someone, or maybe she was still at the party.

  No. I know her. I've been learning about her this whole time, too. She wouldn't stay. I asked her to stop, I told her to leave Elizabeth alone. She would listen to me.

  The house was dark and quiet when he walked inside. He stopped to use the bathroom and could feel moisture in the air. She must have taken a shower. When he came out, he peeked his head into the office. The couch was still folded up, and he smiled to himself before continuing on to his room.

  His smile got even bigger. The hall light splashed into the room, illuminating it just enough to show that she'd cleaned up. The mess was gone from the floor and the mattress was back on the bed. Best of all, she was between the covers, fast asleep.

  Church stood over her for a moment, watching her. She was a lovely girl. Stunning, really. She looked like what would've happened if Alberto Vargas and Norman Rockwell had ever teamed up to paint a girl together. All-American and all sex. Her lips were parted, her breathing slow and heavy, and her gorgeous hair was a damp mess all over his pillow, making him think of the fun times they'd had in that bed.

  “Emma,” he whispered her name as he crawled on top of the bed. She didn't stir, though, so he picked up a strand of hair and brushed it against her cheek. “Emma. Wake up.”

  Her eyes slowly opened. She was looking away from the open door, so the light was at the back of her head. He couldn't clearly see into her green depths. She blinked a couple times, then kept them closed while she smiled.

  “I'm in heaven,” she whispered, which actually made him laugh.

  “Close. How did you get home?”

  “Someone ... drove ...” she let out a heavy sigh.

  “Good. Look, we have a lot to talk about,” he said, smoothing his hand over her hair.

  “We already talked. I hear you, Church. I hear everything you say. Everything ...” her voice drifted away.

  “I know you do, Emma. I know,” he said, then he leaned down and kissed her quickly. When he stopped, though, she pulled her arm out from under the covers and grabbed him by the back of his neck.

  “No. I'm not ready to go yet. Just a little longer,” she pleaded, reeling him in for another kiss.

  Her hand was damp, like her hair. She must have gotten out of the shower moments before he'd walked in the door. He kissed her again, breathing in deeply through his nose. Enjoying her clean scent. When he tried to pull back, she held on tight.

  “I thought you'd be angry with me,” he chuckled against her lips, all while smoothly slipping between the covers without disturbing them.

  “Never angry,” she breathed. “I love you.”

  “I know you do, Emma.”

  “But you can't love ...”

  “Shhh,” he urged, and when he kissed her that time, he meant it. He poured everything he had into it. His pressed his tongue against hers, then bit down on her bottom lip, sucked it between his own.

  “I'm going to miss this,” she moaned when he moved away to kiss along her jaw line.

  “You won't miss anything,” he promised, brushing his hand over her breasts and down her stomach.

  “And your voice. I love your voice. It's my favorite,” she told him. He chucked as his hand slipped between her legs.

  “I'm pretty sure I have a couple other features you're a fan of,” he teased, then he almost moaned when he felt her. “Goddamn, Emma, you're soaking wet.”

  “I did it for you.”

  Well, shit. Here he'd thought she'd be angry at him for ruining their plans, for yelling at her, all while she'd been at home touching herself.

  “Things are going to be different,” he promised, taking his hand away so he could shrug out of his jacket. “They're going to be amazing. We'll go back to New York. We'll go anywhere you want. And when we figure out how to do this right, this thing between us, we can figure out how to be dark together. How to be great.”

  He was babbling, he knew. A bad habit he'd probably picked up from her. He paused while taking off his belt buckle and leaned over her, kissing her again while cupping one of her breasts.

  When he leaned back to finish taking off his pants, he noticed it. A mark on her shirt. Funny, he hadn't noticed it before. The tank top had looked white before, pristine. Now, over her right breast, there was some sort of stain. Dirt? Were his hands dirty?

  He looked down at his left hand, and sure enough, there was something on it. It was too dim to tell. He frowned, trying to think. He'd only been driving and touching her. He reached across her and turned on a lamp.

  “Oh my god.”

  Church jerked back, staring down at both his hands. His right hand looked normal. His left hand, though, was stained in a reddish substance. Light on his palms, but darker around his fingers. The fingers he'd just had between her legs. He remembered a moment ago, when he'd noticed her touch was damp. With his right hand, he touched the back of his neck. When he looked at his fingertips, they were red now, too.

  “What the fuck, Emma?” he asked, leaning over her and looking at her body. The hand she'd had around him was coated in blood, but he couldn't find any injury. “What did you do, Emma!? Tell me what you did!”

  Church leapt over her and off the bed, then grabbed the covers. He violently yanked them back, then gasped.

  She was laying in a pool of blood. The sheet under her butt was heavy and sticky with the substance. Her panties had once been white, but now the entire right side of them were blood red, as was the hem of the tank top she was wearing.

  “What the fuck did you do!?”

  He was shouting. He didn't know why he was shouting at her. He dropped to his knees and pushed her, rolling her onto her side, checking her back. Her underwear was completely soaked through with blood, but he still didn't see where it was coming from. Was she hemorrhaging? Was she having a miscarriage?

  Silly man, this is something much, much worse. You always wanted to be a monster – Emma Hartley is making your dream come true.

  “Emma,” he snapped when he let her fall onto her back. “Emma, wake up, we have to go.”

  “I can't,” she sighed. “I'm already gone.”

  “Don't say that! We're going to the car, I'm going to -”

  He'd been sliding his arms under her so he could pick her up. One under her shoulders, and the other under her knees. When he started to lift, her legs fell open. Just for a moment. But it was enough. He sat her back down and spread her legs.

  “Emma,” he moaned her name. “God, what did I do to you?”

  She giggled, a grossly inappropriate sound, and answered him.

  “I cut along the dotted line. I knew it would come in handy some day.”

  Her beautiful scars were gone. Ripped open in a gash that ran clear from the top of her thigh almost to her knee. Blood was oozing out. He hadn't realized one
leg, one vein, could hold so much blood.

  Correction – it used to hold so much blood.

  “C'mon, we've gotta get you help,” he said, and he picked her up again.

  “I helped myself. I just want to sleep,” she complained, nuzzling her head under his chin.

  “Do not sleep. Do you hear me, Emma? That's an order. Don't you fucking sleep!” he yelled.

  She didn't answer. They were almost out of the hallway. He dropped down to his knees again and let her go so he could gently tap her on the cheek.

  “You wake the fuck up right now!” he was shouting again. Panic was strangling the beast inside him, turning it into a whimpering, sniveling child.

  Please, don't let her die. Please, don't let me destroy her. Please, but I love her.

  “Be quiet, you'll scare the angels,” she whispered.

  He was in the act of picking her up again when the front door swung open. Margo and Jerry walked in the room, the bleached blonde babbling away. Church was standing again and stepping forward before she noticed him.

  “Oh my god!” she shrieked, dropping her purse. “What did you do to her?”

  “I didn't do this, she did this,” he replied through gritted teeth. “I'm taking her to the hospital.”

  “Don't you touch her!” Margo shouted, and absurdly, she started yanking on Emma's arm. “Don't touch my daughter! Jerry, call 911!”

  “Are you fucking crazy!? She's going to bleed to death before an ambulance can get here! Now back the fuck up!”

  She didn't, though. Margo yanked again, and his grip wasn't secure because of all the blood. One minute Emma was in his arms, the next she was tumbling to the ground.

  His vision went red. He had both hands around Margo's neck and he was forcing her across the room. Bending her backwards over the breakfast bar.

  “All you've ever done is use her for your own profit,” he growled, squeezing as hard as he could. “I won't let you use her death in the same way.”

  Again, that look of fear. Panic. Sheer terror. Margo was shaking her head, her mouth open in a silent scream. He wanted to bathe in the moment. Wanted to extract payment for every shitty thing this woman had ever done to Emma.