Mother wasn’t supposed to be back yet. And here she is, standing right in front of me, gaping at my naked dick.

“Well, shit,” I mutter.

The shocked look on her face turns into pure disgust as she barges over to me. Her lips are smashed together, teeth grinding as she stomps my way, and I quickly push my dick back into my pants and pull up the zipper before she sees any more of my junk and has a heart attack.

I mean I hate her for coming home too early, but I love her too much to be the cause of her death.

Behind me, Laura quickly knots her blouse together, trying to make up for the lost buttons as Mother approaches us. “She looks upset,” she whispers.

I nod and focus on Mother, who’s now right in front of me.

Clearing my throat, I say, “I thought you were at—”

“You filthy animal!” she screams, slapping my arms with a mini Bible she pulled from her pocket. “How dare you?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, blocking my face with my arms to protect myself from her wrath, although I deserve everything she’s giving me. “I didn’t think you’d be home this soon.”

“Really? That’s your answer? After disgracing the church’s altar with this … this …” She glares at Laura, who then mouths, “Okay,” to me while squeezing my hand.

“Laura,” she says, smiling awkwardly. “And I’m really, truly sorry you had to see that.”

Mother keeps her mouth shut, but I can tell she’s fuming. And when she turns her head back to me, I swear the look in her eyes is borderline murderous. Maybe I should back away slowly before she chokes me to death. It wouldn’t surprise me, after all the shit I’ve done.

“You disgusting, dirty pig!” Mother smacks me again with the Bible.

Laura slowly slides away from me. “Yeah … I’ll be going now …” she mumbles, quickly diving away behind Mother and rushing to the door.

That girl escaped a certain doom.

Wish I was smart enough to run. But now that I’m the only one left, she’ll never let me leave.

Shit.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat.

“You defiled the church,” she hisses.

“I know, but … I thought you weren’t—”

“I can come home whenever I want; that’s not up to you to decide,” she interjects. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Fooling around with a girl on the altar. Have you lost your mind?”

“No, I was just … lost in the moment,” I reply, sighing to myself, because I know I fucked up big time.

“Your pecker was lost in her snatch is more like it,” she growls.

Her words make me chuckle, which I try to hide, but it’s too late. The moment she sees it, she smacks the book against my arms again.

“Stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry; it just sounds so funny coming from your mouth.”

“I don’t care what words I use. What you did was wrong.”

“I know, and I apologize. I couldn’t control myself,” I say. “I have urges. Needs. Mother, don’t you understand?”

“Of course, I do, but those things are called ‘beds,’ remember?” She cocks her head. “And last I checked, you were sulking around, drinking yourself numb to forget your memories. Has that suddenly disappeared?”

The mere mention already makes me sour and any joy I still felt from my dirty fuck with Laura quickly dissipates.

“Rub it in, why don’t you.”

“Is this really who you wanna be?” she asks.

Grinding my teeth, I reply, “I don’t know who the fuck I wanna be. I’ve lost track of myself.”

“Then maybe you need to find out who you are before you go around fucking random girls in my church.”

“She’s not some random girl,” I growl back, feeling the rage coil around my heart.

“I don’t care who she is. You did something unforgivable. You can say sorry all you want, but the only one who you have to seek forgiveness from is God.” She points at the statue behind me, and my eyes follow, falling onto the statue of Jesus Christ and his merciless gaze as he judges me from above.

And I feel the sudden need to fall to my knees and beg.

“Why?” I ask, tears welling up in my eyes. “Why can’t you give me this one thing?”

“I can’t give you what you want,” Mother hisses. “You need to accept what happened and move on.”

“I was trying to! With her!” I shout.

“Screwing that girl won’t change anything about you.” She taps my chest with her index finger, but the pressure feels like a ton of weight bearing down on my heart.

I shove aside her arm and walk past her.

“Where are you going?” she yells as I walk toward the door.

“Out.”

“You’re going to see her again, aren’t you?”

“Just leave me alone,” I growl back.

“It won’t help. You’ll only end up lost again. Drinking yourself to death.” Her words cut deep like a knife. Mother knows me too well … so well, she hurts me like no one else can.

The anger inside me comes to a boiling point, and I can’t stop myself from turning my head and screaming, “Just shut up!”

She freezes, her lips parted, but no sound comes out.

A moment of complete silence passes, and I know I’ve done something worse than fucking a girl on the altar. I showed Mother what real hatred looks like. And not just that. I handed it to her on a fucking platter like it was hers to begin with.

While regret pours in, I choose not to answer the immediate sting. I turn around and walk out the door, slamming it shut behind me.

* * *

With a bottle of whiskey in my hand, I saunter across the cemetery, grasping the occasional stone to stay upright. In the dark of night, two lamps light my way across the pebble path to the stone that crushes my soul each time I see it.

Still, it draws me here to this wretched place I’d never visit if it wasn’t for her.

As I stand in front of it, the weight of her death pulls me to the ground, and I fall to my knees. I wipe away the snot dripping from my nose, sniffing as I stare at the stone in front of me and the ground beneath it.

“I fucked up. I fucked up so badly. It’s all my fault,” I mutter, sniffing again. “I’ve accepted that now. There’s no going around it. I am the cause. I always was.”

I slurp down more whiskey straight from the bottle and sit down on the cold, hard ground, not caring that my pants will get dirty. “I deserve everything. I had it coming. But you didn’t deserve to die for it. I did.” I slap my own chest like it will help. “I should’ve died instead of you.”

I look up at the sky, wondering why this had to happen. “Why, God? Tell me why. Do you hate me so much? I know I’ve been a shitty preacher, but why did you take her away? Why did you have to make me suffer? Huh?”

Tears roll down my cheeks, and I wipe them away with the bottle still in my hand. “I’m a fucking mess. I never did the right thing. I don’t understand. Why?” I yell at the stone like it’ll suddenly start talking back to me. “Why the fuck did you ever marry me?”

Behind me, something snaps, and I turn my head toward the sound. Something behind a tree … or rather someone.

“Laura …?” I mutter, confused as to why she’s here.

Her lips part and she licks them like she’s thinking about what she’s gonna say. “I … I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I was just …” She swallows. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting.”

I sigh out loud and turn my head back toward the stone, not knowing what to tell her. I’m a drunk fuck sitting in a cemetery. I mean it’s pretty telling. Still, I wasn’t prepared for her to see me like this.

“How did you know I was here?” I ask, my voice not strong enough to carry the words.

“After you stormed out of the church, I followed you. I was waiting in the alley. I thought since you had a fight with Margaret, I might need to … you know … apologize.”

“Don’t,” I say. “You don’t need to. I made a choice. I live with the consequences.” I can’t even look at her. That’s how disappointed I am in myself that she has to see me like this.

“About that … I’ll help clean up the mess,” she says. “If you want.”

“It’s fine. I’ll do it tonight,” I groan, rubbing my forehead.

It’s quiet for some time. All I can hear are the crickets chirping and my own lackluster breathing while I wonder when it’ll be the last time I’ll hear those. Is it strange to wonder about those things? Maybe. Or maybe I’m too drunk to think straight.

Suddenly, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I flinch, my body uncertain what to do with affection like this. I’ve not felt a warm hand comforting me like that in a long time. And it makes the tears well up again.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I never wanted you to see this.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “I understand.”

I nod and place my hand on top of hers to show my appreciation. But now I’m beginning to wonder how long she’s been standing there since she said she followed me.

Did she hear everything I said?

“I get it now,” she says, interrupting my thoughts. “Why I found you passed out the other day. Why you seem so self-destructive. Why your speeches are … riddled with rage.”

“You heard …” I mutter.

She squeezes my shoulder. “I’m sorry about your wife. If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

The moment those words slip from her mouth, my heart breaks open.

I feel so much, but I’ve never been able to let it out. So many emotions running amok and I’ve never found an outlet except for the liquor. Maybe it’s time I started trusting someone else.

“She died … six years ago.”

Laura sits down on her knees beside me and looks me in the eye, waiting for me to open my mouth and speak. She’s not looking away, despite my awful, drunken stench. I know she can smell it coming from my mouth, and I know she sees the sorrow in me. I hate seeing the pity in her eyes.

“Was she sick?” she asks softly.

I snort and shake my head, wishing life was that simple.

My life has never been easy.

Never.

Not when I worked my ass off to find someone else’s approval of my life.

Not when I finally found love when I thought I didn’t deserve it.

Not when they took everything away from me.

Grinding my teeth, I reply, “She was murdered.”