I’m outside the church at night, leaning against the building as I put a cigarette in my mouth and light it. Only after being alone for a good five minutes, Carl, who’s the church’s pianist and general handyman, walks out and sees me, and he walks right to me. Not a day goes by when I don’t look at his malformed ear and nose. Damn. No wonder people don’t come to our church anymore. They’re either shocked by me or scared of him. We’re like the ghosts at a haunted house at the fair or monsters in Frankenstein’s mansion.

“Hey,” he says, perching himself beside me. “Got a smoke?”

I glare at him, wondering when he started smoking. Even though he’s only four years younger than I am, I feel like I need to protect him from bad shit or something. Not that I’m such a great influence.

I sigh and rummage in my pocket, handing one to him. He puts it in his mouth, and I light it for him. We both blow out smoke and continue to stare at the busy streets in front of us.

“So uh … can I ask you something?” Carl says out of the blue.

“That depends,” I say.

“Do you still have some of those old contacts?”

“Old contacts?” I lower my cigarette and eyeball him.

“Yeah, you know … with the dealers and shit.”

I tap my cig and ask, “Why?”

He shrugs and takes another drag. “I dunno. Been thinking about doing some side business.”

“What? Is the church not enough for you?” I growl, putting my cig back into my mouth.

“I just … Look, I don’t want this to be awkward, but I really need to earn more. So I thought, why not get another job? I mean it can’t be hard right?”

I snort and shake my head. “You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

“But you were part of that—”

“Stop,” I interrupt.

I can’t believe we’re talking about this.

“What? Why? I just wanna earn more.”

“Not that way. Not with them.”

“Look, I know they’re bad people, but I need the money more than anything.” He chucks the cigarette away. “My medical bills are stacking up, yo.”

I think he’s referring to his apnea as a result of his nose, and maybe even the continued use of medicine for the pain. I can’t imagine what it must be like, and I really don’t want to, to be honest. Too many bad memories.

“C’mon, dude, you know how long I’ve been working here. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.”

“No,” I reply. “Not happening.”

“What? You’re not even going to give me the contacts? I’m not asking you to vouch for me. I just wanna talk.”

“Not. Happening.” I flick my cig away and fold my arms. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”

“Don’t treat me like a kid,” he huffs.

“I don’t give a shit how old you are,” I say, tapping on his chest. “You’re still younger than I am, and by default, that makes me more experienced.”

“Fuck that logic.”

“No, fuck you wanting to die.”

“Die?”

“Did you forget what happened to you?” I grab his ear, and he screeches, after which I release him again. “Next time you get involved in that shit, you’ll lose a finger or two.”

Two days, he went missing, and when we finally found him on the steps of the church, he refused to discuss what happened. But I know … you only need to look at his face.

“They’re a different gang,” Carl says.

“Who gives a shit? Exchange one motherfucker for another motherfucker and you still have shit.”

“I’d have money,” he says. “And how would you even know what they’d do or if it would happen again? Nothing like this ever happened to you.” He points at his nose, which has been chipped away by acid.

“That’s because I knew what the fuck I was doing. But make no mistake, kid, I paid the price.”

“Maybe I’m willing to pay too,” he says.

I grab his collar. “Don’t you ever fucking say that again. I lost something precious to me. Something no one can ever replace. And all thanks to those motherfuckers you wanna work with.” I shove him away and spit on the ground. “You should be ashamed of yourself for even bringing it up. How dare you? You know as well as I do what happened that day.”

He swallows, visibly shaken by my honesty.

“I don’t have anything important.”

“Your life,” I growl. “Nothing is worth giving that up.”

“But you did it too …” he retorts. “And then you just gave up? After going through all that?”

“Too. Late. I gave up too late. And that’s why you need to be smart now, Carl.”

He swallows again, leaning away from me, his eyes still skidding around while he probably thinks about his options. If he should do it or not.

“Don’t you even think about it, Carl. It’s not fucking worth it. Not a dime in the world, trust me.”

“But I can’t pay …” he says. “The church … it’s not enough.” Tears well up in his eyes.

I place a hand on his shoulder. “Look. I will ask Margaret if she’s got any more jobs for you, okay? Would that be good?”

He nods, closing his eyes.

I grab him with both hands and shake him softly. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

He sighs. “Fine.”

“Good.” I slap him on the back. “Now go back inside. You know they’re waiting on you to fix the lights.”

He nods. “You coming?”

I contemplate it for a second, wanting to stay out here for the fresh air, but I realize it’s probably better if I support him while he’s down, so I agree and follow him inside.

He goes to Mother’s room where she asked him to fix a couple of things while I sit down on one of the pews in the church. It’s empty right now; no visitors, no churchgoers. I love these days of peace and quiet. Even Mother is leaving in a few minutes; off to play bridge at the old ladies’ club where she’s a member. And when Carl’s done with his work in her room, he’ll also be leaving, allowing me to finally enjoy a nice bit of alone time in the church.

I wanna enjoy it, but that conversation I had with Carl really put a damper on my mood. It’s not every day that I get confronted with my past. And I don’t like it one bit. Mostly because of the memories involved … the ones I try to bury so deep no one can reach them.

But now … ever since Laura came into my life, those memories have been bubbling to the surface, and strangely enough, it doesn’t even hurt as much as I thought it would. Or maybe I was stuck in my own little world of drunken pain until she came along and somehow quenched that thirst I felt.

But it doesn’t feel right.

I sigh and lean over in the bench, clutching my face as the guilt washes over me.

I shouldn’t even be thinking about her.

I should be repenting … day in, day out … praying to God for mercy.

Begging him to forgive me for what I’ve done.

For what was taken away from me.

Yet whenever I talk to him or plead with him to give me an answer, a reason for it all, I just get radio silence, and I’m left with empty nothingness.

The large wooden doors creak, but I stay put. I’m not in the right mood to help people right now.

However, when I notice a girl sits down next to me, I look up and a hint of a smile forms on my lips.

“Laura. What are you doing here?”

“I … saw you outside, so I thought I’d come say hi.”

It’s been minutes. “And you waited until now?”

She swallows, seemingly having trouble with her words. “Yeah … uh … Bruno, Diego, and I were playing soccer in the alley next to the church, and I happened to overhear your conversation. I wasn’t sure if I should even come up to you or talk. And then you went inside and so … well, here I am.”

“So you … eavesdropped?” I frown. I did not expect that from her. Then again … I didn’t expect her to start rubbing her pussy in a confessional either. People can surprise you.

She rubs her lips together and smiles coyly. “It wasn’t on purpose. I mean I was there, and I can’t turn off my ears.”

I sigh out loud and shake my head. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to know you had a completely different job before.”

“You can say it out loud,” I say. “No need to hide it if you already know everything.”

She licks her lips and takes in a big breath. “You were a drug dealer.”

I’m not saying anything, but I guess not denying it either speaks volumes.

“Or you did something with those drug dealers. What did you do exactly?”

“Anything and everything I was told.”

“How long ago?” she asks.

“Long time … Nine years.”

“Wow. So you’re like what … thirty now?”

I chuckle. “Close enough. Twenty-nine,” I answer, looking her straight in the eyes. “You?”

“Twenty-five. But I’m mature for my age.”

Oh, yes … that I already knew.

“So why did you become a preacher then?” she asks.

I take a deep breath, hoping this conversation won’t go in the deep end. “Oh, you know. I just kinda rolled into it.”

“How?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “You sure do ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m just curious.” She shrugs. “I wanna get to know the guy I showed my pussy to.”

I laugh out loud from that comment. Can’t help it. Her dark humor matches mine so well.

“On point,” I muse. “But aren’t your brothers waiting outside?”

“Nah, I told Diego to take Bruno home.”

“Hmm … so you’ve got plenty of time on your hands.” I lick my lips at the thought of fucking her right here on this pew. I’m such a filthy pig.

“So … talk.” She winks, pulling me from my wicked fantasies.

“Well, if you really wanna know.” I clear my throat, lean back against the wooden bench, and stare up at the large statue in the back. “I wasn’t a good kid back in the day. I mean my parents … they were druggies, so they couldn’t do shit for me.”

I still have her undivided attention, despite sharing that dark piece of me, so I continue.

“Since they didn’t take care of me properly, I took care of myself. And after a while … I ran away.”

“Oh, wow …”

“Yeah. I ended up at this church, right here. Margaret, you know her. She practically raised me.”

“Oh, my … I never expected that. No wonder I hear you call her Mother sometimes.”

I nod. “She is my mother to me. The only one who truly cared about me.”

“So you were prepped really well for the role as a preacher then?”

“Yes and no.” I take a deep breath again. We’re arriving at the part I hate the most. The part I regret more than anything. “When parents don’t take care of their children, it leaves a mark on their lives. Like a scar. It never fades, no matter how much you scrub. When my parents brought me into this world, even though they never wanted me in the first place, it made me feel like I didn’t belong.”

“That must’ve been horrible …” She bites her lip but listens to my every word.

“It was but mostly because I couldn’t deal with that sense of rejection. Still can’t. I mean look at me. I’m a drunk, useless fuck because of it.”

“Hey, you’re not horrible. We all come with baggage,” she says. “I mean my brothers and I ran away from our dad and went to live with our aunt because he was that abusive. And when she died, I was the only one who could take care of my family.”

“That must’ve been hard on you,” I reply.

“Yeah, but we all have a past that shapes us. It’s not necessarily bad.”

“I am …” I sigh. “It was just never enough for me. No matter what Margaret did, she couldn’t fill that void left by my parents. I became increasingly unhappy with myself and the world, despite the fact she tried to make it as joyful as possible. I still sought my worth somewhere else. I wanted to feel good. Like I was somebody. Someone people wanted around.”

“You hung around with the wrong crowd.” She fills in the blanks perfectly.

“Exactly,” I say. “I joined a gang. Did whatever they asked. Loved the praise and hated the refusals but I went with it anyway. I knew I was disappointing Mother, but that didn’t stop me from seeking out more. Her love just wasn’t enough for me. And to this day, I regret that decision. I came back to her on my knees, begging for her help, and she still gave it to me. She let me back into her home, back into her life, back … into her heart. She even let me become a preacher for this church. Why? I did nothing for her. I took and took without giving back. There’s no way I can ever make it up to her.”

“Why?”

“Well, how do you make up that you didn’t appreciate the love a stranger gave you, despite the fact you had nothing to offer her in return? What she did was selfless … and what I did was selfish. There’s nothing good about me.”

I sigh.

It’s tough to think about, but at least I’ve got some shit off my chest now. It helps a little.

“That’s not true. I see how you are with people; you do want to help. You can be a good person; I know it.”

“Hmm …” I wonder how deep she can see. There’s much more she doesn’t know … and I’d rather she didn’t. Some things are better left hidden.

“Would you say that if I told you I once robbed a crippled lady?”

She keeps looking at me with those pristine blue eyes that make me wanna drown. Fuck. How can I ever say no to her? How can I ever deny her anything if she keeps looking at me like she would accept the most heinous parts of me?

“Would you still want to talk to me if I told you I once sold drugs to a homeless boy?”

I swallow away the lump in my throat, feeling more and more angry with myself over the awful things I’ve done. Reminiscing about these things is never good for one’s self-worth.

“Would you ever want to see me again if I told you I'd killed someone?”

She gasps and blinks, and I look down at my hands that dangle between my thighs. “You can go if you want. I won’t stop you.” I pause. “But you need to know that’s not who I am. Not today. Not anymore. I don’t kill anymore.”

It’s quiet for some time, but she doesn’t move.

Instead, she does the most peculiar thing.

She places a hand on my knee and says, “I don’t judge people on their past sins. I judge them by their strength and their ability to do what’s right in the present.”

My lips part, but I have no clue how to respond.

“You were threatened, weren’t you?” she murmurs.

I nod, unable to discuss this subject.

“If you didn’t do it … they’d kill someone dear to you.”

“Yes … but I also did it to prove myself, and it was wrong.”

“You did what you thought you needed to do. And you’ve already repented for that by preaching for these past nine years. You have to stop punishing yourself.”

I close my eyes to stop myself from feeling too much. She reads me like a book, and her words slice through the tangled veins coiled around my heart like a knife through butter.

She squeezes my leg slightly and says, “I’m not leaving. I know you’re struggling. That’s why I came to you. I feel you … You’re like me.”

Those words. I know exactly what she’s talking about. From the moment I first saw her, I already knew we had a connection on a different level. Something you can’t taste or touch, but something out of the ordinary. Something that makes us understand each other.

And I do the most irresponsible, stupidest thing ever.

In broad daylight, for every passerby to see … I grab her face with both hands and smash my lips to hers.