A druggie, a criminal, and a preacher walk into a bar.

I know you’re expecting a joke here, but there is none.

Well, at least not yet.

With a smirk on my face, I sit down on a stool and nod at Chuck, the bartender, who shakes his head at me when he notices me. “Save it; I don’t wanna hear it,” I growl. “Gimme a whiskey on the rocks.”

“Hi to you too,” he growls back, chewing on a toothpick as he turns around to grab the liquor. “You know, I could save you time and just give you the bottle.”

“No, I’m good. I prefer booze when it’s slow and painful,” I retort.

He snorts and shakes his head again. “Sometimes, I really wanna tell you to get the fuck outta here.” He grabs a glass and tosses in some ice cubes then pours my drink.

“But then you’d be missing all that sweet cash,” I reply.

He slides it my way. “You found my weak spot.”

“That’s my job,” I muse, taking a sip. The kick immediately hits me in the guts, but it only makes me want to take another. I’m a sucker for pain.

“Maybe you should go easy on yourself tonight,” Chuck says.

“You don’t have to look out for me.” I put down my drink and look at the cold moisture gathering on the outside of the glass. “I’m a lost cause anyway.”

“That ain’t true, and you know it.”

I shrug, taking another sip. I fucking hate talking about this shit.

“Everybody needs someone to look out for them once in a while.”

“Yeah, well, I got it covered,” I say, blowing out a sigh. “You want my money or not?”

He nods. “You know I damn well do.”

“Then stop talking and pour me another.” I shove my glass forward and stare at him until he grabs the bottle again and starts pouring. “Keep going.”

“You got anyone to drive you home tonight?” he asks.

“No. But I know you’ll get me a cab.”

He smiles when he realizes I know him all too well.

Right before the whiskey hits the edge of the glass, I hold up my hand, and he stops. I take a big gulp of the whiskey and let out a breath. “Fuck, yes. Exactly what I needed.”

“What you need every damn day of the week, you mean.”

We both laugh.

However, the smile disappears from his face the moment two shadows block the light.

“Hey, you there.”

I don’t reply. My name isn’t fucking ‘You there.’

“You deaf or something?” one of the guys behind me says, but I just keep drinking.

Meanwhile, Chuck turns and starts washing the dishes like he doesn’t know who they are even though he damn well does. They come here every other Friday, trying to start a fight with a random guy so they can shake him for cash.

This time, they picked the wrong one, though.

“Hey, motherfucker. Turn around.” One of them taps my shoulder.

Frowning, I put down my drink and glance over my shoulder, still not answering their catcalls. “Got something to say?”

Two ugly fucks stand in front of me. One with a bald head covered in swastikas and the other covered in pimples that are bursting as he talks.

“Yeah, who the fuck are you and what are you doing here?”

“None of your fuckin’ business,” I reply, taking another sip of my whiskey.

The little pimpled one mutters, “Jesus, isn’t he some kind of pri—”

“Who cares,” the bald one growls. “He can’t be here. This place is ours …” the bald one growls.

“Is your name on the sign?” I ask, raising a brow.

“The what?” the pimpled one says.

“The sign. Outside.” I point at the door. “You’re welcome to go look if you need some help.”

“Fuck you,” the bald one curses, showing me his gold teeth.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty lady,” I muse.

He presses his thick thumb against my chest. “Shut your fuckin’ pie hole, you Bible thumper. Now give me your fucking money or else …”

“Or what? You’re gonna hit me?” I say, unimpressed.

“Yeah … and worse,” the pimpled one threatens.

I gaze at Chuck who seems to be hiding his laughter in his sleeve while he tries to dry the dishes. “Hey Chuck, did you hear that? They’re gonna hit me. Me.”

Chuck makes a face and rolls his eyes, and I burst out laughing. “Good one.”

The bald one gets so mad, he grabs my collar and almost pulls me off my stool.

This is a point of no return for me.

Normally, I would let them off with a warning, but he crossed a line right there.

No one, and I mean no one, touches my collar.

That thing is sacred.

“Chuck …” I mutter.

“Frank”—he sighs—“can ya not—”

“Go,” I interrupt.

“Money or pain. Choose,” the bald one growls while Chuck slowly backs away into the supply room.

Grinding my teeth, I say, “Neither.”

He lifts his fist ready to attack. Right as it comes close to my face, I lean sideways and narrowly avoid it. I quickly grab his wrist and hold him in place as I jam my knee in his face. Then I kick him away fast enough to protect myself against the knife the pimpled one just pulled.

He tries to slash me with it, but I block it and grasp his wrist, twisting it hard enough to break. He screams, and I punch him in the jaw, making him fall backward.

The bald one gets up and grunts as he tries to bulldoze me. I jump away from the bar just in time, and he rams his head straight into the wooden bar, knocking himself out. I laugh as the other one gets angrier by the second, his face so red I’m almost worried it might explode. That’d be a sight to behold.

“You motherfucker! You’ll pay for that!” the pimpled one screams, grabbing his knife again.

He thrusts it at me, slashing along my cheek. The blade leaves a small slit, and blood seeps down my face, but I don’t even notice the pain.

All I can focus on is grabbing him by the back of the head and shoving his face down onto an empty glass on the bar. He squeals as the shards enter his skin while I slide his face along the bar like I’m serving up some arrogant little shit with a side order of bald scum.

“Think you can pull that trick on me? Not today, bitch,” I whisper into his ear, ramming his face against the wood again.

He fights back by throwing punches into the air, so I quickly grab his hands and force them behind his back.

“Didn’t expect that, did you?”

The asshole under my grip whimpers from the pain, and as I tighten my grip, he begins to cry. “I’m sorry,” he squeaks.

“Sorry, my ass,” I hiss, holding him down firmly. “Who else did you steal from this week?”

“No one,” he says.

I twist his pinky until he squeals like a girl. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to lie to a preacher?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! We only stole two dollars from Chuck.”

“Chuck!” I yell. “C’mere.”

As Chuck scurries back from the supply room, I hiss into the boy’s ear, “Where’s the money?”

He sniffs. “In my back pocket.”

I glower, not wanting to get my hands anywhere near his ass, but I need to make a point here. Guess every once in a while, I have to sacrifice myself for the greater good.

I reach into his pocket with disgust and take out two one-dollar bills, placing them on the counter. “There you go, Chuck. They’re yours.”

“Thanks,” he says. “But that won’t cover the broken chairs.”

He points at the mess behind me, and I make a face at him. “C’mon, Chuck, work with me here.”

He shrugs and holds up his hands. “Whatever.” Then he goes back into the supply room. “Tell me when you’re done.”

“Tell him you’re sorry,” I growl at the crying little shit.

“I’m sorry!” he shrieks as I twist his other pinky.

For a second there, I wonder if I should take it one step further, but that would make me just as bad as they are. I need to set an example. That’s what preachers do. Or so I’ve been told.

I’m not a priest, and I don’t pretend to be one. I’m just your average joe preaching to the people. However, I won’t stand for bad behavior.

“Good,” I growl, lifting him off the bar and throwing him near his buddy. “Now get the fuck outta here and don’t come back. And take that sorry-ass racist with you,” I spit, grabbing my drink.

“We won’t,” he mutters, grabbing the bald one by the shoulders. Being a shrimp himself, I know dragging a bull of a man outside is a tough job. Especially when no one gives you a hand.

I don’t even give a shit. I just watch, mildly amused by the silliness, while I sip on my whiskey.

“You done now?” Chuck calls out.

“Yeah,” I reply, still staring at the door until the two have disappeared.

“Fucking hell, Frank. Why? Why do you always have to mess up this place?”

“I’m sorry, Chuck. I know I’m shit ‘cause I attract a lot of flies.”

He snorts while shaking his head then grabs a broom and walks to the front of the bar, holding it out to me. “Here. Help me clean.”

I nod a few times and take another sip of my whiskey.

“You’ve got something,” Chuck says, “here,” and he points at my cheek.

Without looking away, I grab a napkin and wipe the blood off my cheek, throwing it down on the floor with the rest of the trash.

“Really?” Chuck raises his brow at me.

I shrug. “What? It’s getting cleaned up anyway.”

He pushes the broom into my hands and says, “You’re one weird-ass motherfucking preacher, you know that?”

I laugh and take my last sip then put down the glass.

“You never change,” he adds.

I grin as we get to work on the broken tables, chairs, and glass. “Nope. Never have. Never will.”

I run. Faster than my legs can carry me. Faster than the air my lungs can breathe. Faster than the speed of light. But no matter how fast I try to be there, I’m never on time.

In the distance, I hear a scream.

The sound reverberates in my ears, over and over again, until I hear nothing but her voice screaming my name.

“Frank! Frank! Help!”

Faster, faster.

Seconds feel like minutes, and when I finally arrive, I’m too late.

Two men have her arms locked in their grip. They’re dragging her to a car.

Another scream comes from the car, this one much higher and louder.

It pierces my heart, crippling me, but I won’t give up.

I’ll never give up.

I run toward them as fast as I can. But before I can catch up, the two men have already pushed her into the car and jumped in after her. Right as I touch the back, they hit the gas, and the car shoots away right from under my fingers.

The last thing I see is the faces of the people who put their trust in me. And I failed them.

Everything fades in front of my eyes, and I black out … only to wake again in the darkness covered in sweat. Rain pours down from above as I stare at the woman lying on the dirty ground underneath my feet.

Her limbs twisted.

Her body broken.

Her face shattered.

Blood spilled everywhere.

I hold my breath, and it feels like forever until I breathe again.

But no matter how hard I try … I can’t get her voice out of my head. She keeps whispering my name.

Frank.

Frank…

“Frank!”

I open my eyes and blink a couple of times, unsure of where I am or what time it is. My vision is blurry, and my face feels like it’s been inside an oven. I wait a few seconds, and she yells my name again. Only now, it’s a completely different voice.

“Frank, get up!”

I lick my dry lips. “Mother …” I mutter.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes again, trying to forget about what I just dreamed. My head throbs like a hammer struck it several times. And my stomach constricts like someone sucker punched me. God, I hate waking up like this.

“Christ, look at you,” she mumbles, wiping my shirt with something, probably a wet cloth.

I’m way too out of it to even care.

“Get up,” she snaps, patting me like I’m some kind of dog.

“What?” I grumble.

“You look despicable. Wash yourself.”

“What did I do now?”

“Look around!”

I open my eyes and lean up on my elbows. Only now do I see all the empty bottles lying on the floor along with some socks, shoes, and a belt scattered around the room. A splash of liquor stains the carpet … and I think a bit of puke as well.

“Look at you …” Mother wipes a cloth along my forehead and cheeks. “You look miserable.”

“Thanks,” I say with a laugh, but even that hurts.

“I can’t believe you did it again.”

The disappointment in her voice really cuts deep. I hate when she talks to me like that. She’s my mother. Well, sort of. Technically, she’s just the woman who raised me because we’re not related by blood. Her real name is Margaret. I call her Mother because everyone here does. She’s the one who organizes everything at the church, and she’s been my caretaker for all these years. Even though I’m thirty, I still need her more than anything in this fucking world. She’s the only thing that keeps me tethered to this place.

“C’mon, get up,” she nags, pulling on my arm.

I do as she asks and sit up in my bed. I place my hand against my forehead to stop the headache, but it’s no use.

Mother walks to my sink and fills a glass with water. She rummages in her pockets and takes out a few pills. “Take these.” She holds both out to me.

I know she won’t leave me until I do what she says, so I just take them.

“Where were you last night?” she asks.

“I guess that’s obvious,” I muse, grinning a little, but she smacks me with my own Bible.

“Frank Romero! How many times do I have to tell you to stop drinking!” With every word, she gives me another slap. “You drunk!”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” I hold my hand up to stop her from slapping me again. “I’m not drunk anymore.” That’s a lie, but I don’t care. Anything to get her to stop.

“Then man up and get your filthy ass cleaned up,” she growls, looking at me with those deathly eyes. They always terrified me when I was young. They still do.

If anyone ever told you old ladies were timid and gentle, they were lying.

I let out a long-drawn-out breath and get up from the bed, only just noticing I’m still wearing yesterday’s pants.

“You have ten minutes to get dressed,” she says firmly, putting the Bible back on my nightstand. “And not a minute more.”

“Why? I haven’t even had breakfast yet.” I scratch the back of my neck and yawn.

She puts her hands on her hips. “Frank. Did you even look at the time?”

Now that she mentions it … no, I haven’t.

She frowns. “It’s nine ‘o clock.”

“So?” I shrug. I still don’t get the point.

“On a Sunday.”

It takes a while for it to click.

My eyes widen as I say, “Oh …”

“Exactly.” She taps her feet on the floor. “The church is filled with people already. They’re all waiting. The only thing missing is you, Frank.” She opens the door.

Flustered, I reply, “Sorry.”

“Save it,” she spits. “Just make sure you’re”—she looks me up and down—“presentable.” Then she walks out and closes the door behind her.

I quickly wash my face with water, rinsing off the puke and stench. I look like a mess, and I’m not talking about all my tattoos. No wonder people think I’m a hack. I act like one, so that’s what you’re gonna get.

I dry my face with a towel and take off all my dirty clothes, almost stumbling over them. Snatching the clothes off the hook, I comb my hair and slap myself to wake the fuck up.

I’m still so damn hammered that I can barely walk straight, but I finally manage to dress. Right before I walk out the door, I put on my robe and make sure the white piece of my collar is visible. One last look at the mirror has me blowing a kiss and winking at myself. Damn, I’m so hot I could bake an egg on myself.

Speaking of, I’m gonna grub out on some bacon and eggs when I finish.

I’m tempted to skip town so I can have a proper breakfast instead of doing this sermon, but I know Mother would never forgive me. And boy, do I love her to death.

Before I walk out the door, I snatch the small bottle of liquor I saved underneath my nightstand and tuck it into my chest pocket. Call it a good luck charm. Or a fuck-it charm. Whatever floats your boat. As long as I have my drink, I’m good.

As I open the door from the chancel, all the people sitting in the pews look up at me, and I pause. Their eyes fall on me like spikes piercing my body, and it’s at this moment I feel most judged.

Some would say not to let this feeling overwhelm me, but sometimes, the voices in my head need to shut up for a moment.

I make my way to the pulpit while fiddling in my pocket, looking for the small piece of paper I scribbled on yesterday. I remember writing down a sermon or something of the sort. But when I get to the pulpit and place the paper on it, all I find are random words and gibberish; sentences that don’t make any sense. Well, so much for a great sermon.

“Uh … good morning, everyone,” I say with a half-assed smile.

Some people shuffle around in their seat, some cough, and others look bored.

It’s the same shit every day, only worse. Every time I’m here, I see another empty seat. People just don’t care anymore.

And me? I feel like shit, and looking at them, I honestly don’t know why I’m still here.

Why I’m even trying to put up a front.

I clear my throat and try to ignore my raging headache and starry eyesight.

“So … hope you’re all having a great day so far,” I say, the speaker slightly squeaking on me. I adjust it a little and continue my babbling. “Or I hope at least one of us is.”

People look annoyed.

I guess that’s only natural because I am too.

“Let’s talk about God. We’re all here for God, right?”

Of course, no one answers.

“Yeah, thought so.” I chew on my lip for a moment.

“God. God. God. They say He’s all around us. Everywhere. Anytime. Looking down upon us to keep us safe. To watch over us. Or so they say.”

Everyone’s still staring at me, so I guess I’ll continue.

“God. You know … I haven’t found Him lately. And I bet a lot of you haven’t.” I pause. “Have you ever wondered if He abandoned you?”

No one answers, but from the looks on their faces, I can tell half of them agree. The other half I prefer to ignore.

“If God wasn’t the One looking out for you? Who do you turn to?”

No one answers, which I expected.

“No one,” I say. “No one but yourself. You are the only one who can save yourself.”

Some people clutch their purses tight, and others cover their mouths in shock. Like what I’m saying is so strange. Like none of them have ever thought it. Of course, they have. They’re just afraid to admit it.

“And you know what? God doesn’t care about me. Or you. Or about any of us.”

Some jaws drop.

“Why else would He make us suffer so much? Why would He give us so much pain? Why wouldn’t He just take it away?” My nails almost dig into the wood. “He wouldn’t. Because God doesn’t do easy. God doesn’t give us anything we need. God wants us to fight for it. God wants us to do the work. He’s not here to have pity or make your life better. That’s your job.”

“Frank!” I turn my head to see Mother whisper-yelling at me from the side, but I ignore her.

“I’m not here to tell you what to do. Nor is God. I can only tell you that life will never be easy. It’s always going to be tough, and shit’s going to come at you and ruin your goddamn life.”

More audible gasps.

“And you know what? That’s okay. Because life is about pain. And suffering. It’s about repentance.”

As I speak, my eyes fall on a girl sitting in the crowd. A beautiful girl with wavy, dark brown hair just past her shoulders, sharply defined cheekbones, and thick eyebrows topping big blue eyes. She looks like she’s in her twenties … pretty, and definitely eye-catching. So much so that I can’t even remember what I was saying.

All I can think of is her … and then I notice the little boy sitting next to her, watching his feet dangle below the pew. She grabs his hand and squeezes.

Her eyes … I can’t stop looking.

For some reason, my brain stops functioning.

Even if only for a second, the worries disappear. And I don’t know why, but somehow, someway … she feels familiar to me.

Which is strange because I’ve never seen her here before.

A cough from another churchgoer pulls me from my thoughts, and I clear my throat and continue.

“We go through life because we must. All for the sake of the afterlife. For heaven, we do it all. Heaven … Boy, I think we’d all love to be there right now.” I look at the girl and wonder what she’s thinking. If she’s ever thought of heaven. If she realizes right now that when I picture her naked in front of me, that would be heaven.

Luckily, no one can see inside my head.

Instead, everyone’s gone quiet now.

I mutter, “And as far as I see it … you can live out your life to the fullest or give up. God doesn’t give a shit anyway. He just wants you to make a choice. And whether you choose to accept is up to you. We’re all going to die anyway.”

Mother suddenly barges up to the pulpit and turns off the microphone then glares at me profusely. She doesn’t need to say a word. I turn around and stumble off, grabbing the small bottle of liquor in my pocket and drinking it down in one gulp.

I don’t give two shits that everyone in here can see me drink.

I’m already going to hell anyway. Might as well make it a fun trip.

I rummage underneath my bed and take out two Playboy I’ve been hiding from Mother. With a grin on my face, I plop down on my bed and sift through the magazine until I find a pretty picture of a naked lady and start rubbing myself.

What?

I never said I was a saint. Far from it, actually. I’ve done some very bad shit in my life. People would be afraid of me if they knew. But that all happened before I became a preacher.

Not in the official sense, of course. I’m not ordained. I just like to give back to the people, and I do it by preaching.

However, preachers have needs too.

And boy … my needs have been piling up since I saw that girl in church on Sunday. Something about her electrified my body. Like it suddenly came alive again after a long sleep.

For some reason, I can’t get her off my mind.

No matter how many days pass, I can’t stop thinking about her, wondering who she is, and why she’s started visiting my church. Why she’s here. If she ever has the same naughty thoughts as I have about her.

I admit it. I’m not ashamed to say I’m infatuated with the very thought of having her right here in my bed.

Is it wrong? Hell yeah, but I don’t care.

Right now, I just wanna blow off some steam, and beating my meat seems like the perfect way to do it.

So I grease the pipe with some gun oil from my nightstand and start to rub one out.

However, the longer I stare at the pictures on the magazine, the less in the mood I’m feeling. I don’t know what it is, but random nude chicks just don’t do it for me anymore. And whenever I think of her, my cock springs right back into action.

So I close the magazine and my eyes and focus on the image I have of her in my mind; her sultry eyes focused solely on me as she strips down, removing her clothes piece by piece. So sensually, so carnal that I touch myself.

I groan from the thought of having her bounce on my length, her tits jiggling in my face, and I come so damn hard it spurts all over.

“Fuck …” I hiss, biting my lip.

God, oh God.

You and I both know I needed that more than anything.

I grab some tissues and pat myself down to clean up the mess. Right then, the door opens, and Margaret’s eyes widen at the sight of my sloppy joe.

“Oh, God,” she mutters as she slaps her hand in front of her eyes.

She’s never sworn before, so I can’t help but laugh.

“Lord Almighty,” she mutters, turning around and slamming the door behind her.

“Sorry,” I say, hoping she can still hear.

“Pray to God I forget this as soon as possible.”

I laugh again. “I’ll beg him for mercy, I promise.”

“Of course, you will.”

I don’t even have to see her roll her eyes because I know she’s doing it.

“Can’t you just not do that?” she asks.

“No,” I reply, grinning like a fool as I get up from the bed and throw away the tissues. “Preachers have needs too.”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” she quickly interjects, making me shake my head.

“I came to tell you someone’s waiting for you in the confessional. Multiple people are waiting, actually.”

“Great,” I huff, grabbing my pants and pulling them on.

I hate that fucking confessional. It’s too … official, and I’m not a priest. But since the people asked Mother specifically to put a confessional in the church, she couldn’t refuse, despite my hesitations. The people wanted this, so she gave it to them.

Maybe the people in this neighborhood like the privacy the confessional offers. And if that’s what people want, we’ll give it to them. Anything to help, right?

“They’ve been waiting for a while now,” Mother adds.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” I reply, staring at my tattooed body in the mirror as I put on my shirt and collar right. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“My what?” she scoffs.

I open the door and see her standing with her arms folded. “Nothing,” I say. “Let’s go.”

“I’m not going in there with you,” she says, frowning.

“Like I’d want you in there,” I retort. “We’re not stuffing a clown’s car. This is a church.”

Her eyebrows are so low I swear they’re permanently stuck. “You know, half the time I really don’t know what you’re saying.”

I smile and pat her back as we both walk through the corridor. “That’s a good thing; trust me.”

“Well, I’ll see you when you’re done, okay?” She raises her brow. As if keeping tabs on me is anything new for her.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. “I’m going.”

We each go our own way. I straighten my collar before I go up to the main area and look around. A few people are in the pews, praying or silently sitting there, overthinking their sins. For those who glance my way, I give them a fake smile and a nod as I walk past and enter the confessional.

The wooden bench underneath my ass feels so damn hard that I find it hard to stay seated, but I guess we all make sacrifices for the greater good. Besides, I’ve got to keep up appearances of being a semi-okay preacher.

But dammit … I hate how confined this space is and how ancient it makes me feel to look at the latticed wood between me and the other side.

Especially when an older lady sits down and closes the curtain then stares at me profusely like she can gape straight into my soul. Scary shit.

She makes the sign of the cross and begins her talk. “I’ve been doing a terrible injustice toward one of my boys,” she mutters. “I should’ve punished him harder, but I just couldn’t. Not because I didn’t want to, but I felt so disgusted; I didn’t even want to confront him even though he’d earned it.”

“What has your boy done?” I ask.

“He’s been … well, how do I say this …” She smashes her lips together and frowns, looking down at her feet.

I lean in closer. “Done what?”

“He’s been doing … inappropriate things.”

“Like what?” I ask, cocking my head because I can’t believe where this is about to go.

“When he’s in the shower or in his bed, I’ve heard him make noises.” She looks away in disgust, her eyes clearly in despair.

And I honestly don’t know how to respond.

“Like dirty noises. And he’s still a boy. He shouldn’t be doing those things.”

I snort, trying to hold back the laughter, but I just can’t.

“Are you … are you laughing?” she asks after hearing my sniffling.

“You’re confessing about not punishing your boy hard enough because he was jerking off?”

Her eyes widen, and her face tightens. “Excuse me?”

“Is that seriously what you came here to do?” I ask, raising my brow at her. “You do realize wanking is absolutely normal for boys his age?”

Her jaw drops and nothing comes out of her mouth, which I’m thankful for.

“Ma’am, you don’t have to confess something that trivial.”

“Trivial? Trivial?” She repeats it like she didn’t hear what I said. That or she’s very, very mad. Crazy mad indeed.

“That sort of thing is disgusting!” she hisses. “I can’t believe you would say such a thing, Father.”

“Well, you came to me, not the other way around.”

“Oh!” She makes this squeaky sound that makes me wanna reach into her cubicle and slap the shit out of her just for coming in here with that ridiculous shit. Wasting my time.

“Are you for real?” she sputters.

“Realer than you,” I quip.

She grimaces. “You’re supposed to do your job.”

“I’m supposed to listen to real confessions here. Things that matter.”

“Are you saying my boy doing filthy things to himself doesn’t matter? That I should just leave it?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

She sighs out loud. “But you’re a preacher. You’re supposed to carry out God’s will.”

“So?” I shrug, trying not to let her get to me, even though I really wanna say something about that shitty comment about ‘God’s will.’ Fucking hell. “If you wanna know, I sent out the troops this morning too.”

“Troops?” She looks really confused now.

“Yeah, you know. Spank the monkey. Rope the pony. Milk the bull.”

She looks at me like I’ve got peanut butter stuck on my face.

“Rubbed one out.”

“Are you implying …”

I cock my head. “My dick was hard this morning.”

Another soft squeal leaves her throat.

“Don’t worry; it’s not anymore.” I roll my eyes. “Not by a long shot. Although I did have a very long shot this morning.” I grin to myself.

“I can’t believe this.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “A preacher, out of all people. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Ashamed? Far from it. Everyone has needs,” I reply. “My point is, if you want to stop feeling guilty, you gotta stop thinking everything is a sin.”

“The Bible says you can’t—”

“The Bible also says you can’t mark your body.” I pull down my sleeve and show her my tattoos. “See this? Think God hates me now?”

“Oh, my Lord …” She clutches her chest. “Why did I ever come to this church?” she mumbles to herself. “I should’ve stayed with my regular one.”

“They were tired of your whining there, weren’t they? That’s why you left.”

“What?” A scowl appears on her face. “How dare you? I’m leaving.” She gets up from her seat, clutching her dress like she’s afraid I’ll see something. As if I’d ever wanna see her cooch.

“Good, and stop complaining. Maybe your son will stop wanting to play whack-a-mole then.”

“It’s because people like you rot his mind and make him sin!” she yells, the curtain already opened. Everyone can hear us now.

“He’ll never stop being an ass because he’s living with you, and that’s the worst kind of hell anyone can have. But you know what? I’m going to forgive you because I’m a nice person. And nice people do that kind of shit for other people, you know?” I get up from my seat and wave her away. “Just go … And thank the Lord for His mercy because I know you ain’t getting it anywhere else.”

As her self-righteous, scorned ass turns around and struts away, I look out at the people staring at me and yell, “Next!”

Then I go back inside the confessional and slam the little door shut.

After I’ve listened to everyone’s sins, I go back to my room and grab one of the bigger bottles I hid in the bookcase and take a large gulp. It always lessens the severity of the headaches, strangely enough.

Suddenly, my door bursts open, and Mother comes waltzing in.

“Frank,” she barks.

“Oh, God …” I mutter, putting the bottle on the small kitchen cabinet in the corner. “Not now, please.”

She marches to me and snatches the bottle away. “You’re drinking again.”

“Yeah. No shit.” I shrug. “You would too if you had to listen to that nonsense.”

“Listening to people’s confessions is not shit, Frank.” She grabs my arm. “I don’t understand. What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” I scoff. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“You never used to act this way,” she says.

“Yeah, well … people change.” I clear my throat and sit down on my bed.

“You’ve got to stop drinking like this.” She shows me the bottle like I don’t know I’m a fucking drunk.

“You know why I do it,” I reply.

“That doesn’t make it okay. Don’t you think you should stop?”

“Nope.” I lean back and let out a breath.

“Frank …” She sighs again in the same way she always does when she’s disappointed with me. “It’s enough. You’ve suffered enough.”

“Don’t,” I growl. “Don’t go there.”

She slams the bottle down on my nightstand. “You know as well as I do that you’re wasting your potential.”

“Does it look like I give a fuck?”

“Frank!” She looks pissed and rightfully so. “Doesn’t this church mean anything to you?”

“Of course, it does.”

“Then how can you treat it this way? Your sermons have turned into doomsday predictions. Your presence is making people turn their cheek on their faith. You ruin their days by not giving them proper advice during confession.” She folds her arms. “You’re chasing people away.”

I turn to face the wall, so I don’t have to look her in the eyes. It’s humiliating.

“Look what you’re doing. Look what you’re doing to yourself. To us. The church. Shame on you.”

I take her mental beating because I must. Because I know I’m fucked up and that I’m doing everyone a disservice. I feel guilty … but at the same time, I know I can’t do shit about it. I’m stuck in my own torment.

The only solace I’ve found lately is in the alcohol.

And that girl who I saw.

“Think about your sins. We’ll talk later.” Mother turns around and leaves, the sound of her closing the door reminding me of myself when I closed off my heart.

* * *

I saunter across the pebble path, clutching my drink close to my heart. The sun shines brightly, but it doesn’t warm the coldness deep in my soul. Looking at all the headstones makes my body feel heavy and my head weary, but I still continue walking. I don’t stop until I finally see the little stone angel perched atop the stone. Each step I take feels heavier before I finally halt in front of the grave.

“Kaitlyn …” My breathing is shallow and ragged. Just whispering her name makes the tears well up in my eyes.

I quickly take a large gulp from the bottle. The burning sensation in my throat makes the pain even more real, and I want to feel it. Every last drop. It’s not enough.

Staring down at the ground, I wonder when it ever gets easier. If it’s supposed to.

From this place, I gather the strength I need to fight, but the effect is waning with every passing day. I don’t know how long I can continue.

Another big gulp down the gutter. The more time I spend here, the more I wanna get drunk in the middle of the day. I don’t care that I’m on public property. That I could be seen by anyone. I just don’t care anymore. Not about any of it.

“Hi.”

A squeaky voice makes me turn my head only to see a young boy standing on the pebble path. He’s clutching a few blades of grass, pulling them apart with his fingers as he looks up at me.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he muses.

Frowning, I put the bottle to my lips while he stares me down profusely.

“What are you drinking?” he asks.

“Something for grown-ups,” I reply, tucking it away into my secret pocket. I don’t want to give him the wrong idea. I know I’m a shitty-ass preacher, but I don’t wanna expose a kid to my fucked-up life. I don’t want them to think this is normal, so if I can prevent it, I will.

“Can I have a taste?” he asks.

“No,” I scoff, shaking my head.

He cocks his head. “Why not?”

“Stop asking so many questions.”

I fish my pack of cigarettes from my pocket and take one out, lighting it in my mouth.

“Are you a priest?” he asks.

“No,” I reply, taking a drag and blowing out smoke.

“But you have that thing …” He points at his neck, probably meaning my collar.

“Yeah.”

“What are you then?”

I chuckle. Kids ask so many strange questions. Like they’re oblivious to the world. Gotta commend them for it. I wish I was still that innocent and ignorant.

“Whatever you want me to be, but most people call me Preacher. Or Father. Whatever. I don’t care.” I take another drag.

“So you do belong in church.”

I tilt my head and fold my arms. Can’t believe that little shit just told me off like I’m not supposed to be here. “I can go wherever I want to, kid. I’m also a human being with a life outside the faith.”

“Okay … but why are you smoking?”

I look at the cig in my hand and then back at him, and I shrug. “It relaxes me.”

“I thought preachers weren’t allowed to do that.”

I snort. “Yeah, well, there’s a whole lot more we’re not supposed to do. Doesn’t mean we actually listen to the rules.”

He nods. “So you’re like my brother?”

“Your brother?” I raise a brow. “How so?”

“He doesn’t listen to anyone either.”

I don’t think I wanna know what this is about. However, the more I look at the kid, the more I have the feeling I know him from somewhere. And I do … because I suddenly remember his face. He was at the church the other day with that beautiful girl.

A smirk spreads on my lips. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Bruno,” he says with a big fat smile.

I take another long drag of my smoke and chuck it, blowing out the smoke into the air. “You have a sister, right? Or was that girl I saw at church your mother?”

“Sister, but she’s at work. We go to your church every Sunday.”

“That’s good, kid. Keep that up.” I smile when he grins. “But hey … You’re not alone here, right?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “My brother’s here too, but he told me to go for a walk, so I did.”

“Ah-ha.” No wonder he’s stalking me. “Where’s your brother now?”

“There.” The boy turns and points at a young guy, maybe ten years older than he is, sitting at a picnic table with his head bent over his arms to hide something, but when I see a tiny whiff of smoke, I know exactly what he’s doing.

“Wait here,” I tell the kid, and I pass him to go to his brother.

I approach him from behind and watch him heat a spoon filled with liquid.

When he finally notices my presence, I quickly snatch his spoon, chucking the liquids out onto the grass before grasping the syringe and snapping it in two.

“Hey!”

“Are you crazy?” I yell. “Doing that in front of your own little brother?”

“And who the fuck are you?” he growls, getting up from the picnic table, but before he has a chance to get up in my face, I push him back down.

“Sit down.”

“What the fuck, man?”

I grab his jacket and force him to look at me. “Are you stupid or something? Trying to get yourself killed?”

“Fuck off, man. I didn’t do nothing.”

“You were trying to shoot heroin. I know what the fuck that looks like,” I spit. “And you’re doing it in a fucking cemetery. With your little brother standing watch. How dare you.”

“Mind your own fucking business, all right?” He swats me away.

“You’re his brother. You’re supposed to take care of him.”

“So?”

“Does this look like taking care of someone to you?” I growl, and I point at the little kid whose standing far enough away he won’t hear us. “That kid looks up to you. He loves you. He needs you. And you’re sitting here trying to ruin your own goddamn life.”

He’s not responding, but from the look in his eyes, I can tell it’s beginning to sink in.

“Don’t you see it? That look in his eyes.” I grab his face and force him to look. “Look at him. Look at your own brother and tell me you don’t see it.”

He sniffs. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“If you do this, there’s no going back. He will lose you, and you will lose him. Either you end up in jail, or you’re dead by the end of the year.”

He swallows the lump in his throat as he looks at me with scared eyes. I can tell he’s a newbie.

“Is this your first time?” I ask.

He nods. “Some of the guys gave it to me.”

“What guys?”

“Friends. From the block. Said they’d help me get more money if I tried out their shit.”

I grind my teeth, trying not to boil over when I’m a raging volcano inside. I know exactly what this means. This neighborhood is notorious for its drug problems, and now the dealers are recruiting again by first getting them hooked and then forcing them to work.

“Don’t,” I say. “Even if they do give you money, it won’t ever be enough. And it’ll keep getting worse. Whatever they told you, it’s a lie. That money is not worth it, trust me.”

“How do you know?” He makes a face at me. “Aren’t you some kind of—”

“Preacher, not a priest.”

“Whatever. What do you even know about me?”

“Enough to tell you that your brother will die too if you continue with this.”

He looks at his little brother and then back at me like he’s waiting for an explanation.

I place my hand flat on the picnic table. “Once they get their hands on you, it’s only a matter of time before they try to persuade your little brother too. Do you want that to happen to him?”

“No, of course not.” He rubs his arms and lowers his sleeves, covering up the spot he was about to inject.

“What about your sister, huh?”

He raises a brow at me. “How do you know I have a sister?”

“I’ve seen her and your little brother in church. But that’s not the point. Do you or do you not want to see her turn into a druggie? Or worse, have to sell her body on the streets?”

“No, of course not.” He snarls in disgust. “Do you think they’d do that?”

“I’ve seen it happen so many times. I live and breathe this neighborhood. I see everything. I’ve seen girls wasted on drugs, sucking every dick they can just to pay for their next hit. And I’ve seen guys like you come and go like bodies at the morgue.”

He bites his lip and looks down at his trembling hands.

I place a hand on his shoulder. “Just promise you’ll find another way to make money. I know this seems like the easy way, but it isn’t. And do you wanna do that to your little brother? Who believes so much in you? Who trusts you to do the right thing?”

We both look in his direction now and watch him throw small stones into a pond up ahead.

“I love him; I swear, I do,” the guy says.

“Good.” I pat him on the back. “Leave all this junk behind.”

He nods and gets up from the picnic table.

“Go to him. Take him out for something to eat. Whatever. It’ll make you feel better,” I say. “And if you ever feel like shit, come to my church. Okay?”

“Okay.” The dude smiles, and I pull him in for a bro-hug. Everyone needs a little bit of support sometimes—even dudes like him who are at rock bottom and looking for a way out.

As he walks toward his brother, I ask, “So I’ll see you in church with your sister next Sunday?”

He glances over his shoulder and nods stiffly, which is good enough for me.

Besides, the mere thought of seeing her again heats me up.

But that was not the point of this conversation.

I needed to do this. For me. For him. For the boy. For the world to have one less criminal in it. Even if it means so little because it’s a blip in the entire scheme of things … every little thing can make a difference.

Fuck me.

Guess I’ve got some good in me after all.

With a bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other, I traipse around the church, wistfully staring at the paintings on the wall. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I can’t stay in my room while I get drunk either. It feels so damn dark and damp in there. Besides, it’s not like anyone’s going to see me. It’s almost ten p.m. at night. Mother’s already fast asleep, and everyone else has gone home. And who the fuck would visit a church this late at night? Exactly.

Especially not this church. My notorious reputation is spreading like a disease, and soon, there won’t even be a soul left during the day. It wasn’t always this way. There was once a time I was actually a great preacher, but it all went to shit. It’s all my fucking fault.

Maybe I should’ve never become a preacher. It would’ve saved everyone a lot of trouble.

Sighing and wallowing in my own misery, I lean against the stone pillar in the corner as I take a swig from the bottle. It’s then that I notice a girl standing in front of the big cross hanging on the left side of the church.

My eyes widen, and I blink a couple of times to make sure I’m not dreaming.

A girl in this place? This late at night?

The more I stare, the more I realize I’ve seen her before.

She’s that girl … the one I’ve been consumed by since I first saw her. The one consuming every inch of the little bit of positive space in my brain. The one girl who gives me that buzz I need to survive.

What is she doing here?

Her lips move, and she mutters some words under her breath. I’m too far away to hear, but I can see make the sign of the cross on her chest as she looks up at the statue of Jesus. I can’t stop looking at her elegant posture and the graceful way she moves.

But then she turns her head … and looks straight at me.

I’m captivated.

Completely mesmerized by her pristine eyes.

And I realize she’s caught me standing here with a bottle of vodka and a cigarette. Me, the preacher of this church.

I quickly hide them behind my back and turn around to hide behind the pillar. Like that will magically take away the fact she’s seen me in my most shameful moment.

“Father? Is that you?”

Her voice.

It rings through my ears, making my heart stop and start all over again.

The sound of perfection.

I want to hear her say it every day. Is that wrong?

I take a deep breath and turn around to face her. “Hi there.”

She walks toward me with hesitation.

I quickly place the bottle on a small table standing in the corner and put out my cigarette in a potted plant after taking one final drag.

“I’m sorry if I’m bothering you,” she says, clutching her fingers.

“Oh no, it’s fine,” I reply, smiling awkwardly. “I was just taking a nightly stroll.”

“With a bottle?” she asks, peeking over my shoulder.

“Ahh … it makes me sleep easier.” I’m having a really hard time coming up with excuses.

“You were about to go to sleep? I’m sorry; maybe I should’ve come at a better time.” She averts her eyes, almost as if she’s ready to leave again, but I don’t want that.

“No, no, it’s fine.” I place a hand on her arm, and the moment I touch her, a hot flash shoots through my veins.

We stand in front of the pulpit as she gives me her first smile.

I don’t know why I need to memorize this moment, but I do.

Like it’s important. Something I will remember for the rest of my life.

That smile is a smile of one in a million.

So beautiful.

She clears her throat. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

“For what?”

“Bruno told me he talked to you yesterday at the cemetery. You left quite an impression on him.”

“Oh, yeah?” I smirk.

“He said you helped Diego rethink what he was doing.” She bites her lip, and my eyes hone in on it, and I can already imagine sucking on it. God, I’m such a horny bastard when I’m intoxicated. No, screw that—I’m always a horny bastard.

“Look, I know my brother’s hanging out with the wrong people and doing things he shouldn’t be doing. But you changed his mind. So I wanted to thank you for that. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh, it was no problem. I’m here to help people.” There I go again, being smooth as fuck when I’m the world’s worst preacher.

“Well, thank you for that. At least someone is looking out for the people,” she says.

I smile and scratch the back of my head, not knowing how to take the compliment. I don’t get them often. “Thanks.”

“So what’s your real name?” She chuckles. “Other than Father, of course.”

“Frank,” I answer. “And yours?”

She holds out her hand. “Laura.”

Laura. I like the sound of that.

We shake hands. “Nice to meet you,” I say.

“Yeah …” Her smile really makes my brain numb.

It’s quiet for some time, and I wonder what else I could say to make her stay.

I don’t know why I feel this way, but I want her close. Her presence alone causes all the pain in my mind to fade, just like when I smell the grass after a thunderstorm.

“So … praying, huh?” I mutter, trying to break the ice.

She looks up at the statue of Christ and nods. “Yeah, sometimes you just have to. For the sake of your own wellbeing, you know?”

“Well, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

“Hmm …” She looks at me briefly before glancing back up at the cross. “I don’t know. It feels so wrong.”

From the way she smashes her lips together, I can tell something’s bothering her. “Is it something you want to confess?”

“Isn’t it too late for that?” she asks.

“No, any time is fine. The church is always open.”

“Oh, that’s good to know.” She smiles. “It’s hard to wait when things weigh down on you.”

“I definitely understand. When life gets you down, it can be hard to trust yourself to work through it. Sometimes, you need a little bit of an extra push. Someone to tell you things will be all right. A nod from up there.” I wink.

“Yeah … I feel like … I owe it to Him or something. Is that weird?”

“No, not weird at all. Everyone feels like that sometimes.”

“Even preachers?”

“Yeah, even me.” I grin, and the way it makes her smile sets my heart on fire.

Hot damn, Frank. Keep your head straight, and your heart buried.

“Is it … I want to …” She starts and stops several sentences. “Could we? Is it possible to confess?”

I frown. “Sure.”

“I mean … in the confessional?” She seems flustered, and I’m flabbergasted for a moment but then compose myself.

“Yeah, of course.” I hold out my hand, gesturing toward the confessional. “Ladies first.”

She chews on her lips again as she turns and walks toward it, tentatively sliding aside the cloth covering the entrance. I open the little door and go inside, sitting down on the wooden bench. Her face now hides behind the lattice screen, the design forming an intricate pattern on her face. Just like the ink etched into my skin. Stunning.

“So … tell me what’s on your mind,” I say.

She breathes out a sigh and makes a quick cross symbol. “I … have been keeping a secret for some time now, and I don’t know if I can ever tell anyone about it. I am so ashamed.”

“Feeling shame is natural. It helps us learn the difference between right and wrong.”

“I did something so wrong …” she continues, her voice softer than before. “So … indecent.”

“If you want to feel better, you have to admit to yourself what you did.”

She nods, mulling it over. “I … I …” She briefly glances at me, her face turning completely red, before she looks away again. “A few days ago, I felt this incredible urge to … to …”

“Say it out loud. It’s the only way to confront your fears.”

“Masturbate.”

My eyes widen, and I find it hard to take down the gulp of air I just breathed.

My dick just grew an inch.

She drops her face into her hands. “Oh, God … I’m so ashamed.”

“No, don’t be.” I clear my throat, exercising a pure force of will to get my dick to go down. “Feeling urges is normal too.”

“Not in church,” she whispers.

“Why? I … do it too sometimes,” I mutter.

“You do it too?” She frowns at me like she can’t believe what I’m saying.

“Of course. Every human has needs. If God didn’t want us to make ourselves happy, why did he make it so pleasurable?”

She looks confused. “Well, that’s one way to put it.”

“The church is here to make you feel welcome.”

“Not like that.” She shakes her head.

“Not like what?”

She leans in closer, whispering, “I masturbated … in the bathroom … here.”

“Here?” I look her straight in the eyes.

“In church.”

Fuck. Me.

The mere mention of her fingering herself in this place makes me picture all kinds of unholy acts. More specifically … catching her in the act. Oh God, how I would’ve loved to have seen that. To have been there myself and enjoy the sight of her touching herself. That’s what I’ve been fantasizing about—her naked body ready for the taking—and now she’s telling me it could be a reality.

Well, not yet. But close enough.

And for some reason … I want her to tell me all her dirty sins. I want to know every filthy little detail.

“When?” I ask.

“Last week. Does it matter?”

“Yes.” I blink a couple of times. “God needs to know the precise truth … otherwise, your sins can’t be forgiven.” I made that up on the spot. Hey, a dude’s gotta do what a dude’s gotta do.

“I just … couldn’t control myself anymore. I don’t know why. Probably just a weird day.”

“Oh no, nothing weird about that,” I muse. Probably should’ve kept that to myself, though, because she keeps looking at me like we’re both being immoral.

Well … maybe we are.

But I really don’t care.

I mean I’m a half-drunk, half-assed preacher in a small wooden cubicle with the most attractive girl I’ve seen in a long time, and it’s turning me into a horndog. See, it’s not like I can get any worse.

She swallows, visibly unsettled. “I … I’m done. I’m sorry, Father Frank.”

“It’s okay … but only if you forgive yourself.”

She nods. “Thank you.”

And suddenly, she’s up from her bench and out of the confessional.

And I’m left with a boner as high as Mount Everest.

Damn.

I clear my throat and take a deep breath before I step out. When I look around, no one’s in sight. She disappeared. Maybe she was so ashamed she couldn’t bear to look at me any longer. I can imagine—as it’s not something you’d want to tell anyone, let alone your preacher. But she felt the need to do so, and I was there to listen. That’s all that matters.

And now, I gotta go take care of this boner.

I casually stroll through the church back to my room and grab the first magazine underneath my bed, flipping it open on my bed. I throw off my robes, pull my dick out, and then start rubbing one out.

It feels so wrong, but I can’t control my urges anymore.

Like I said, it’s natural.

I just hope God will forgive me for having these filthy thoughts. For wanting to fuck her brains out.

I mean who can forget about a girl saying she masturbated? No one.

Not a man on this earth wouldn’t picture her touching herself, fantasizing about watching her do herself.

Not even a preacher can resist.

I turn the page and continue to jerk off, my veins pulsing with greed as I imagine her sitting right in front of me with her pretty mouth opened wide, ready to receive my blessing. God, I’m such a filthy fuck, but I can’t help it. This is who I am, and nothing will change that.

I’m so drunk on arousal and alcohol that I moan out loud; the thought of having her ready and willing to take me was too much to handle.

I close my eyes and picture her rubbing her pussy while also pinching her nipples, licking her lips in anticipation of my cum. And I come.

I come so hard it squirts all over the pages of the magazine and my bed. I groan and rub myself until every last drop is gone and my bed is a giant mess. Breathing out loud, I open my eyes again. From the corner of my eye, I spot something. No, someone … gawking right at my naked, flexing butt.

I glance over my shoulder, and the moment I realize Laura caught me in the act, I know I’m fucked.

Big time.

Her eyes zoom in on my still rock-hard dick, slowly trailing across my tattoo-covered body before widening as she looks me right in the eyes. She slaps her hand in front of her mouth as I rip the sheets off the bed to cover myself up.

“Fuck,” I hiss.

If I’d known she was still here, I would have never done this.

And why didn’t I lock my fucking door?

I’m so infatuated with her that my head doesn’t work anymore. That, or the booze is clogging up my brain.

The fact of the matter is … she saw the preacher jerking himself off to a couple of magazine tits. If that isn’t unholy, I don’t know what is. Did I just scar her for life?

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs through her fingers.

But before I can tell her it’s okay, she turns around and runs.

It’s been days since I last saw her, and I’m not sure if she’s ever coming back.

The moment she ran from the church was the moment I knew I fucked up real good. I tried running after her, but by the time I’d dressed, she was already long gone. More than anything, I wish I could find her, but with only her first name as a clue, I don’t have a chance.

I just hope and pray to God she doesn’t tell anyone what she saw.

If Mother finds out, I’m screwed.

She’ll probably throw me out on the street right away.

I’ve already given her so much trouble; this could be the last drop in the bucket. She’s told me so many times before it was the last time she’d forgive me my sins. A man can only break the rules so many times before it catches up with him.

Still, I feel like I need to make something up to Mother. Because she, of all people, deserves better. She deserves a better me.

So with that thought in mind, I go visit an old friend who’s been having trouble lately. He hasn’t come to church in ages, and Mother’s worried about him. Rightfully so, I’d say, because, in all the time I’ve known him, he’s always hung out with the wrong people. Same as Laura’s brother—gang business.

However, this morning he called for help, and since Mother picked up the phone, she obviously said yes the moment he asked if I could come to his home. I don’t like it, because I already know he’s going to try to hand me his problems instead of dealing with them himself. But Mother doesn’t know him as well as I do.

Sighing, I knock on his door and tap my foot until he finally opens.

A screaming baby is the first thing that greets me. Then his ugly mug.

“Dude, finally.” He tries to hug me, but I stand there awkwardly, cringing from the screeching going on right next to my face.

“Hey, Ricardo, nice to see you too.”

“Come in, come in,” he says, opening his door further to allow me in.

It’s a mess inside. Pots and pans lie scattered on the kitchen counters, and stains mark the furniture while flies fly through the room.

“Jesus, Rick, ever clean this place up?”

He shoves aside a few of the dirty cups and baby toys and tries to make room for me to sit on the couch. “I know, I know. It’s a mess. I’m a mess.”

“I can see why you haven’t come to church lately,” I say, sitting down.

He sighs. “It’s not because I don’t want to. I just can’t.” He puts the baby in a makeshift crib while it still cries, shushing it with a blanket. It won’t stop.

“Because of the baby?” I ask.

“Not just that. I mean yeah, but I’ve been busy with the gang too. You know how that shit goes.”

He looks at me like I’m supposed to understand.

I don’t.

It’s been ages.

Literally.

“That, and Nadia left me with that thing so she could go to work or something. Like that’s more important.” He scratches his head nervously. “She seriously fucking left me with that fucking baby.”

“Calm down,” I say. “It’s not a thing. It’s a baby. Boy or girl?”

“How should I know?” He reaches for his pack of cigarettes and lights one up.

I make a face. “How do you not know? It’s not that hard to find out.”

“Like I don’t know that!” He blows out the smoke.

“Calm. Down,” I repeat. “Is this why you called me?”

“Yeah. Why else would I call you?”

I sigh again. “And here I thought this would be some gang shit or something.” I shake my head. “Rick and a baby … how about that.”

“I didn’t plan this. We broke up. We weren’t even together, dude. And all of the sudden, she comes out of nowhere and flops this baby in my hand, saying it’s mine and telling me I should take care of it. She even demanded money, dude. Fuck!”

He kicks the trashcan, which falls over, causing garbage to tumble out over the floor.

Meanwhile, the baby is still screaming like a firetruck.

“Dude, calm down,” I say. “This ain’t gonna go any better if you don’t stop screaming.”

“Tell that to that thing!” He points his finger at the baby like it’s some kind of monster. “It hasn’t stopped screaming since she dropped it here. And why? Because she thinks her job is more important than mine is. Like I don’t have anything better to do than to take care of some stinking, screaming baby all day.”

“Her job is more important,” I remark, raising a brow. “Because hers isn’t illegal.”

“So what?” He shrugs. “I make cash.”

“And you seriously think that’s going to be enough to support a baby?”

“Hey, I didn’t ask for this, okay? If I’d known she’d do this to me, I’d have never stuck my dick up her snatch.”

“Yet you did.” I roll my eyes. “Do you even know how babies are made?”

“Of course, I do.” He glowers. “I had school. Junior high. Top dog.”

“Top dropout, yeah,” I retort. “You know it takes two people to make a baby.”

“She was on the pill.”

“Maybe she forgot one. It happens,” I say.

“Who gives a shit how it happened. The point is I cannot take care of that thing.”

“Stop calling it a thing. What’s the baby’s name?”

“I don’t know … Sofia or something.”

I get up from the couch and approach the baby. “Sofia, huh?” I pick her up from the cradle, and I put her on my shoulder, patting her back while soothing her. “It’s okay. Shhh. Mommy’s going to be back later tonight.”

I look at Ricardo for the answer to that.

“I don’t know; she said she’d be back when she was done with work.”

“When was she last fed?” I ask.

“I dunno. I tried to give her Cheerios, but—”

“You gave a baby Cheerios?” I interject.

“Yeah … with milk, of course, so they were soggy.”

I close my eyes and sigh out loud, rubbing my temples. “You can’t feed a baby Cheerios. They need baby formula.”

“It was milk. I thought it was okay.”

“Cheerios …” I shake my head. “Goddammit, Ricardo.” I immediately apologize to God in my head for using his name in vain.

“Dude.” He picks up the box and shows me the back. “It says right here. Nutritional.”

“What do you think she’s going to chew those up with? Imaginary teeth?” I open her mouth and show it to him. “Look at that. She needs liquids.”

“Milk is a liquid.” He shrugs, which makes me roll my eyes again.

“Buy some baby formula.” I pull her up so I can smell her, and the stench immediately makes me gag. “And some diapers while you’re at it.”

“What? Now?” he asks.

“Yeah, now.” I stare him down until he gets the message, picks up his keys, and leaves the apartment.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s back with a whole truckload of Pampers and three brands of baby formula.

“I didn’t know which one to get, so I grabbed ‘em all.”

I chuckle. “Well, at least you know how to bring home the goods.”

“What now?” he asks, looking at me like it’s my kid.

I place Sofia on a table and say, “C’mere with some diapers.”

“Aw, hell naw, I ain’t doing that shit.”

“Come. Here,” I growl.

He sighs and stomps but eventually comes closer, and I show him how to pull off her clothes. “Go on,” I say. “I’ll help if you need it.”

He frowns while glaring at me then rips off her diaper. The stench that greets us makes him yowl and pinch his nose. “Jesus Christ.”

I chortle. “Better get used to it.”

While standing as far away as he can, he pulls it away from underneath her, and I hand him some napkins so he can clean her.

“Put on a clean one,” I say.

He does what I tell him to although it takes him three tries to get it on right. When it’s done, we quickly dress her again, and he jumps away with the dirty diaper, dumping it in a plastic bag like it’s a toxic hazard he wants to contain.

“Lord, help me get through this,” he mutters, grabbing some of the baby formula. “How does this work?”

“Follow the instructions. Put it in the microwave. Test it on your wrist, so it doesn’t burn her tongue.”

He grabs the bottle the baby’s mommy left him, fills it as instructed, and then puts it in the microwave. When it’s heated, he tests it and brings it to me. I contemplate having him feed her, but I’m convinced he’d only make a mess, so I decide to do it myself.

I grab her and hold her in my arms while putting the bottle to her lips, and she greedily takes it, gulping down the milk.

“Good girl …” I whisper. “You were just hungry, that’s all.”

“So, is she gonna calm down or what?” he asks.

“If you take care of her, she will,” I say, hinting that it’s his fault.

When she’s finished, I put down the bottle and pat her back, hoping she’ll burp. She’s still crying, which isn’t a surprise at all, considering how he took care of her. Or rather, not.

He sits down on the couch again and rubs his face. “What am I supposed to do, Frank?”

“What are you supposed to do? And you ask me that? You’re the dad.” I try not to look at him as I hold the little girl tight and rub her back, trying to calm her down.

“Fuck, Frank. You always know … everything. And you’re a fucking priest.”

“I’m not a fucking priest,” I hiss, trying to keep my voice down. “I’m a preacher.”

“Preacher, priest, Father, whatever. It’s all the same to me.”

“Like you’d know. You barely come to church.”

“I know. The boys won’t let me.”

“Then try harder,” I retort. “Who gives a shit about them anyway?”

“I do.”

“No, you care about the money. You wouldn’t lie awake one single day if one of them died right now.”

He’s silent, so I guess my rant is working.

“I know because I felt it. I’ve been in the same position you’re in now, and you know it. They’re not your friends.”

“But they give me what I need.” He pulls out a tiny bag of cocaine and draws a line on the table in front of the couch. I set the baby down in the makeshift crib. Right before he snorts it up, I swipe my arm across it.

“Fuck! Dude, why—”

“You should know better.” I grab his collar and pull him up. “You have a fucking baby.”

His eyes turn red. “Let go of me.”

“No, listen to me,” I growl. “See that little girl there?” I point at her. “She’s yours, whether you like it or not. That little soul counts on you to do the right thing. She didn’t ask to be born. You created her by being a selfish little shit. And now you think you can run away from your responsibilities?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t fucking know how to take care of a kid!”

“Then start learning!” I shove him back on the couch and stare at him. “Stop the drugs. Now.”

“What? Forever?”

“Yes!” I ball my fists. “You wanna call yourself a man? Then act like a man. Be a daddy to that little girl.”

I walk over to her and grab her, cradling her in my arms to show her to him. “See this? Her blood runs in your veins. You caused this. Now you have to deal with the consequences.”

“But I can’t …” he mutters, his eyes turning red.

“Look at her,” I yell, forcing him to look at her tiny face. “That’s your daughter.”

He begins to cry. And now the baby too.

“Stop crying,” I tell Ricardo. “And man up.”

“I’m only nineteen. I’m not a man.”

“No. You’re a kid who did adult things, and now he realizes the world ain’t as easy as he thought it would be. Time to grow up, kid.”

“Frank … how do you do it?”

“One step at a time,” I say, and I gently rock the baby back and forth until the screams become less and less.

“What about the money?”

“Get a job. A real job.” I look him directly in the eyes, so he knows I’m serious. “Stop drinking. Stop smoking. And clean this place up, it’s a fucking mess,” I say.

“But I can’t do it all—”

“Yes, you can!” I growl. “Dammit. That’s what it means when you create life. You do everything and anything to take care of it. Even if it means sacrificing your own goddamn soul.”

He shakes his head and laughs a little, wiping away a tear. “Look at you. A swearing preacher.”

“I don’t give a fuck. God doesn’t give a shit if I swear or not. He gives a shit whether I take care of His children. That’s what matters.”

“Like her …” he mutters, looking at little Sofia.

“Yeah. And you.”

“Me?” He raises a brow at me.

“Yeah. Believe it or not, we’re all important, including you. It’s time you fought for the right things. You deserve better than this. She deserves better than this.”

It’s quiet for some time. “You’re right …” he says, looking into the distance. “I’ve fucked up.”

“Everybody fucks up from time to time. It’s about seeing it, and learning from it, and doing it better this time around.”

“But what about you? Are you doing any better?” he asks, his gaze penetrating mine. It’s like he can see straight through me.

“This isn’t about me. You know my past. I’m doing the best that I can. Are you?”

I know he can’t answer that question, and he doesn’t.

He sits there silently while I tend to his kid.

This sweet little child, sucking on my thumb. She’s an angel. And holding her like that brings back memories I tried to keep buried for so long.

I don’t want to remember them.

And as soon as she’s fallen asleep, I bring her to him and place her in his arms. “Hold up her head.”

He holds her like I tell him to, and for the first time since I came here, I can see a flame burning in his eyes. A smile slowly creeps onto his face. “Okay, I admit, she is kinda cute.”

I take a deep breath and nod. “Yeah, she is.”

“What now?” he asks, looking up at me.

“Now, you get your shit together and raise that baby.”

When I’m finally back in my home, the church, I collapse on my bed with a roaring headache. Ricardo’s unkempt apartment kept me busy all day, trying to help him out. I couldn’t walk away; not with that little girl stuck with him. She’s the victim in this story. She has no choice, and I wanted to give her the best I could, even if I barely know her. It’s the least anyone can do.

But the more time I spent with her, the more depressed I became. Every time I looked at her, I could feel my heart shrivel up and die a little more.

I curl up into a ball and pull the sheets up to my neck, cocooning myself in my own warmth as I try to forget about Sofia.

At one point while I was there, I even contemplated taking her away from him. But what would that accomplish? Another kid in the foster system. There’s no way they’ll allow a baby to be under the care of a preacher like me either. It makes no sense. It’s a bubble I had to quickly burst for myself.

I want every kid to have a good life, and only the parents can give them that. As long as Ricardo mans the fuck up and starts acting like a dad for her, it’ll be okay.

And I’m sure he will … Today was a wake-up call for him. I could see it in his eyes. All he needed was a firm hand and a push. My words did just that for him. He immediately threw away all his coke and started cleaning up, just like I told him. I hope he realizes he can’t go back to where he used to be … for her sake.

Enough thinking about someone else’s kid.

I twist and turn in bed until I slowly fall asleep. It’s a tough one, but I close my eyes and force myself to sleep.

Soft jazz fills the room with life. I blink a couple of times and open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I walk through my house, light bulbs lighting my way like fireflies. Warmth covers me as I watch her dance in the middle of the living room. She smiles at me and holds the baby close to her chest, waving its little hands around as she spots me.

I smile as I approach her, grabbing her shoulders to dance along with her. I press a kiss to her forehead and imprint this feeling onto my brain, so I can remember it forever.

Forever. And ever.

That’s what this is supposed to be.

Everything fades. The red wallpaper turns lime green. Wooden tables make place for larger ones. Chairs are added, and more plants suddenly appear. The room is light, but my body feels weighed down. The more I try to move, the less my body reacts.

It’s like I’m frozen in place.

Frozen … while everyone and everything around me continues to change.

It’s like time has sped up while I’m still me … forever.

And in the midst of it all, a boy runs around the house with his toys … but his image is so unclear. The more I try to look, the more he fades away. Until everything in this room has disappeared, and all that’s left is an empty house with moldy wood and spider webs in every corner.

I shoot up in bed and turn on the light.

Panting loudly, I feel my face. I’m so damn hot and sweaty … and tears are running down my cheeks.

I pull off the sheets and sit on the edge of the bed, burying my head in my hands. I rub my face, trying to shake the images from my mind, but nothing I do works.

It never works.

So I do the only thing I know.

I get up, put on my casual clothes, and go out.

* * *

Four hours later, it’s the middle of the night, and I’m drunk again.

Yep, like that’s so much of a surprise.

“Pour me another one, Chuck,” I say, sliding my glass to him.

“I think you’ve had enough.” He slides it right back.

“Oh, c’mon. I’m a paying customer.” Now it’s my turn to slide it again.

“I care more about you than your money. Sorry.” He picks it up and tucks it into the soapy water.

“Fucking hell …” I slam my hand on the bar. “What’s a man gotta do to get some liquor around here?”

“How about not being a drunk fuck?” Chuck retorts.

I laugh. “Like you know me any different.”

“I wish I did,” he says, washing the glasses.

“I’m not fun to be around when I’m sober; trust me.”

“I doubt it’s any worse than this.”

“Keep pushing me, Chuck, and I might start giving you a personal sermon.”

“Fuck no. I’d rather you drink yourself to death.” He grabs a bottle of whiskey and slams it down in front of me. “Have at it.”

“Aw … thank you, Chuck. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think you like me.”

“I don’t. I just want you to shut up.”

I laugh again and put the bottle to my lips. “There’s the Chuck I know.”

“Yeah, well, the Frank I know took better care of his church.”

“Oh please, like you know.” I let out a burp. “You never show up.”

“You know I hate church.”

“Exactly.”

“But you and I both know you don’t,” he says. “You used to love your job.”

I laugh again because it’s really funny. Or ironic. I don’t know any more at this point. I’m too drunk to care.

“Yeah … I remember a Frank who actually cared about the church. Gave it all he had. And now he’s a sad slob getting drunk every night.”

I slam down the bottle. “You’re g-goddamn right.” I fish in my pocket and take out a few bills, slapping them on the counter too. “There you go.”

“Going already?”

“I’m d-done listening-g to your w-whining,” I reply with a half-assed tone. God, I’m so drunk, I can’t even talk straight.

“Want me to call you a cab?” he asks.

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll w-walk,” I mumble.

He shrugs and takes the money off the counter, and I turn around. But before I go out the door, he still opens his mouth. “See you tomorrow.”

Goddamn motherfucker.

He knows me too well.

I don’t respond. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to. If I think about it, all that comes out of my mind is a bunch of gibberish and mumbo-jumbo that I can’t even understand, let alone him.

So I walk out and stroll across the street, wandering aimlessly. Rain pours down from above, drenching my clothes, but I don’t give a crap. The chill makes me shiver, but I don’t seek shelter. Instead, I stumble along the sidewalk, almost hugging the wall while I try to find my way home.

Now that I think about it … I don’t even know where that is.

Or where I am.

Or what I’m doing.

And before I know it, one small pebble makes me tumble and fall face-first into the mud.

I don’t bother trying to get up. This sad slob has lost his will. It’s dripping down into the gutter along with my soul.

Guess today really did a number on me.

I can’t get up. My muscles won’t work, and the longer I lie here, the less they respond. My eyes slowly open and close, and I find myself drifting in and out of consciousness.

In the distance, I hear a voice.

It’s calling for me.

Beckoning me to get up and walk.

I blink and look up, and in front of me is an angel. Her silhouette illuminated by blinding light. Her voice so pure, I swear I’ve died and gone to heaven.

“Frank. Frank!” Someone slaps me, and the more it happens, the more I wake up out of my trance. “Frank!”

It’s the voice. But it wasn’t an angel. Or maybe it was.

“Laura,” I mutter, my voice hoarse.

“Oh, God …” She clutches my body and tries to lift me up, but I’m too heavy for her. “Get up, Frank. C’mon.”

With the power of her voice alone, I manage to crawl up from the ground. With her support, I can stay upright without falling down. I can’t think. I can’t talk. All I know is that warm hands wrap around my waist and lead the way.

When I wake up again, my head roars with pain.

I immediately clutch my face and roll around to stop the light from entering my eyes. God, I wish someone hadn’t opened the blinds.

“Morning …”

I squint and see that beautiful angel again, her body glistening in the light of the sun with the rays dancing on her skin. I only now realize it’s Laura … and that I’m completely and utterly infatuated with her.

“Did you sleep well?” she asks.

I nod, but when I try to answer, my throat dries up, and I cough.

“Here, have some water.” She hands me a glass, and our fingers briefly touch during the exchange, causing sparks to shoot up my veins like fireworks.

God … I can’t remember the last time I touched a woman who gave me these feelings. Please forgive me.

I swallow and gulp down the water in one go, thirsty for more. “Thanks.”

She takes back the glass and pours me another until I’m sated, and I place the glass on the table beside me.

I look around and notice the room isn’t what I’m used to. The walls are a salmon color, in the corner is a small wooden chair and a wardrobe, and the blanket I’m lying under feels ruffled. It’s much more somber than my room, which I didn’t think was possible.

But the point is … it’s not my room. I’m in somebody else’s house.

“Where am I?” I mutter, squeezing my eyes to make the light less painful.

“My home. Sorry, I had to bring you here. It was closer, and I couldn’t carry you all the way back to church.”

“Carry me?” I mutter. “Oh, God.” I rub my face and blow out a breath then sit up straight. “I remember now …”

“I found you out on the street. You seemed intoxicated.”

I look down at my hands, ashamed of myself. How could I look her in the eyes? I’m the son of a bitch she had to take care of. A fucking preacher being taken in by a girl because he was too drunk to walk back home.

“I … I’m so, so sorry.” Words cannot explain how terrible I feel right now.

Literally, I feel like I’ve been struck with a hammer.

“I shouldn’t have put that on you,” I add.

“No, it’s okay …” She smiles so sweetly that it tears up my heart. God, what did I do to deserve her? Nothing. I did nothing, yet she still crossed my path like it was meant to happen.

“If you hadn’t found me, I don’t know where I would’ve ended up.” I try to laugh it off, but it’s as serious as can be. “I could’ve died.”

“No, don’t be silly.” She chuckles, but from the look in her eyes, I can tell she knows it was serious.

I was way beyond drunk. I was hammered. Completely wasted to the point of blacking out.

“But you’re here now. Alive.” She smiles again. “How do you feel?”

“Like someone smacked me with a table.”

She grins. “Sounds like you had a lot to drink.”

“Tell me about it …” I mutter, slapping my face to wake myself up properly.

“Well, I hope it was fun,” she muses.

“Not really.” Wait. Did I just say that out loud? Guess I did, because she’s looking at me all weird and shit.

“But … why drink then?” she asks, but then she holds up her hand. “Wait, don’t answer. I’m sorry. That was kinda rude to ask.”

“No, it’s okay. I know I drink too much. It’s a habit.”

“Is it because of …? I’m sorry … um …”

“What? Because of you … Oh …” I look away, smashing my lips together as I’m thinking about how to accurately put this without making it sound dirty as fuck. “About that… I just had an off day. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“An off day?” She repeats me like she doesn’t believe me.

Of course, she doesn’t because I’m lying. Why can she see straight through me? Dammit. “I mean, I was drunk, and I was stupid.” I slap my forehead again, just thinking about her seeing me naked and jerking off.

“It’s okay. I ran because I panicked and I didn’t know what else to do, but now that I think about, it really doesn’t matter.” She swallows, grabbing my hand. “I get it. We all have needs.”

“Yeah, but most of us don’t expose ourselves to other people,” I say. “Let alone preachers.”

She struggles to hide a laugh. “Well, yeah, you are the last person I expected to do that.”

“I’m not your average preacher.”

“I could tell …” She struggles to hide a smile.

Was that a dick joke or an ass joke?

Or am I imagining things now?

Whatever it is only makes me like her more. Girls who aren’t afraid to enjoy the good side of life. And judging from her confession the other day, she sure seems to be enjoying herself from time to time.

“Hmm … Maybe I shouldn’t have spoken about that … thing. In confession.” She looks away, but I can clearly see the blush on her cheeks.

I place my hand on top of hers. “Like you said, we all have needs.”

She nods, dipping her tongue out to quickly lick her top lips then rub her lips together. God, what I wouldn’t give to lick them too.

Contain yourself, Frank!

I clear my throat. “I wanted to apologize to you for seeing that. I should’ve locked the door.” I look her in the eye as I speak, not wanting this to feel fake to her, even though I’m going to ask her something very personal. “Can we … keep this a secret?”

“A secret?”

“I’d prefer if Margaret didn’t find out.”

“Margaret?”

“Yeah, the old lady at the church. You’ve seen her, right? She’s basically the one who organizes everything there.”

“Oh.” She frowns. “Yeah, of course. But … only if you keep my confession a secret too.”

“Done.” I hold out my hand, and she shakes it. “That’s an easy one since confessions are strictly between the confessor, the preacher, and God.”

“What?”

I burst out into laughter. “Relax, I’m not going to tell anyone about your little sexcapade in the bathroom.”

Her whole face turns red again. “Shh … not so loud. We’re not alone.” She looks at the door, which is opened slightly.

“Oh, sorry.” I smile, and somehow, that makes everything right again.

She picks up a wet cloth and holds it to my forehead. For some reason, it feels really intimate. It’s been a long time since I had someone take such diligent care of me. Since I last felt feminine hands touch me in such a delicate way.

“Thanks,” I say as she slowly wipes the cloth along my forehead and cheeks.

“You’re welcome.” She smiles back. “You were sweating so much last night. But you look a little bit better now.”

“You stayed with me all night?” I ask.

She nods and gestures to the makeshift bed on the floor, which consists of a pillow and a blanket. “Slept over there.”

“Oh, no … you shouldn’t – I took your bed?” A pang of guilt stings in my stomach.

“It’s okay. It’s not the first time. “Bruno sleeps here often when he’s sick. He doesn’t like being alone.”

“Bruno … your little brother, right?”

She opens her mouth and then closes it again, containing whatever she was going to say.

“We don’t have a lot of rooms, but it’s cozy. We like it this way. And we’re happy,” she muses, making me smile because she’s content, even with what little she has. I wish I could say the same.

She continues to pat me down, the cold water giving temporary relief to my overheated body. God, what I wouldn’t give for an entire wipe down of my body right now. Everything. But I’ll take a cold shower too.

When she’s about to pull away, I grab her wrist and murmur, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do.”

“So … you’re not mad at me?” I ask.

Her brows draw together, and it’s the best angry face I’ve ever seen. I could look at this all day and still feel completely at ease.

“No, of course not.” Her smile is so bright … it makes me forget everything I was thinking. And for some reason, my hand automatically reaches for her face, wanting to get closer to divinity, to whatever it is that makes me feel this way about her. With the back of my index finger, I brush her cheek, her hair flowing past my hand smoothly. My eyes focused solely on her. I can’t take them off.

But then I realize what I’m doing is incredibly awkward, and I clear my throat and pull my hand back before it gets even more awkward.

It’s quiet for some time, and I know she can sense the awkwardness too.

Luckily, she breaks the ice before I blurt out something stupid. “Do you … Would you like to stay for breakfast?”

“Uh …” I think about it for a second, but I can’t find any excuses not to. Especially not with the way she’s looking at me right now. “Sure, why not.”

“Cool.” She gets up and grabs something off the cabinet in the far corner. “I washed and dried them. I couldn’t get the stain out, but this is as good as I could get it.” It’s my clothes from yesterday, and she hands them to me.

“Whoa … thank you so much. You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, I did,” she insists. “You were a mess.”

“Thanks, I guess.” I frown.

“You’re welcome.” She winks, and it sets my heart ablaze.

Fuck me; I like a woman who knows how to taunt me.

But she’d better be careful with that.

“I’ll see you in a minute then?”

“Sure.” I nod and throw the blanket off me.

It’s only then I realize she took off my clothes … and I’m sitting here in bed in only a pair of boxer shorts. Great.

She snorts and covers her mouth with her hand, to which I immediately reply, “Like you haven’t seen that before.”

“I’ll just go.” She shows herself out before I embarrass myself any further.

I quickly put on my stuff, which smells so damn fresh; like lilies … or any other fresh flower. Like I can fucking tell. The point is it smells good, and I like the feel of it. So smooth. Maybe I should ask her to wash my clothes more often in exchange for payment. Would that be weird? It probably would.

As my internal monolog rambles in my head, I fluff up my messy hair in the scratched mirror hanging on the wall and straighten my collar, making sure I look pristine before I go out. Can’t let anyone else find out I’m an alcoholic … I mean, she’s got brothers and shit. Gotta keep up appearances for her sake. I don’t want to embarrass her too.

When I’m ready, I pop out of the room.

I’m immediately greeted by Bruno and Laura’s grumpy brother, Diego, who slams his coffee down on the table. “What’s he doing here?”

“Diego!” Laura hisses from the kitchen, giving him the evil eye.

“What?”

“He’s our guest,” she explains as she stops cooking the eggs and turns to face him.

“I never invited him.”

“Well, I did.” She taps her foot and puts her hand on her side. “Stop being such an asshole.”

“Tell him that.” Diego eyes me now, and I feel like I’ve walked into something so personal, I’m about to excuse myself.

“It’s okay, Laura,” I say. “I’m not hungry anyway.”

She immediately marches over to the table, grabs a chair, and points at it. “Sit.”

“Really, it’s not needed,” I say, trying not to get between them.

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” she declares, glaring at me and the chair until I finally sit down. “You’re my guest, and we feed our guests properly …” She looks over at Diego. “And we treat them with kindness.”

“Fuck off,” he mutters with his mouth still on his cup.

She grabs his plate and brings it to the kitchen.

“Hey! I wasn’t even done yet.”

“Can’t be nice?” she spits. “Then you don’t eat.”

He rolls his eyes while scooting his chair back. He stands and then saunters out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Laura sighs and rubs her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know.” She puts a fork and knife in front of me along with a plate. “I hate when that happens.”

“He’s a stubborn kid. But he’ll grow out of it.”

“I pray to God he will.” She sighs. “He’s so hard to handle.”

“I can imagine,” I say. “Diego just needs a bit of a push, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well … leave that up to his dad. He’d smack some sense into him if he could.” She chuckles awkwardly, but her laughter dies out as quickly as a snuffed-out flame.

“Is he around?” I ask, hoping I’m not out of bounds with my question.

“No … and I don’t want him to be,” she declares. “We live on our own.”

“So you’re like their caregiver or something?”

“Yeah, I rent this place, and they stay with me. I’m the only one they’ve got, so I have no choice. Family, you know.”

“I get it,” I say, nodding. “And your mother …?”

“I prefer not to discuss my family,” she says, adding a smile while setting some spices on the table. “If that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course.” I clear my throat. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “Anyway, want some milk with your coffee?”

“No, I like it black,” I answer, and she sits down with me.

I’m flabbergasted by the amount of food she puts on the table. Eggs. Biscuit. Muffins. Sweet rolls. Coffee. And even some homemade fruit salad.

It’s quiet for some time until she breaks the ice again. I don’t know why I always grow silent with her. I can’t help but stare, and then I completely lose my words when I’m around her.

“Well … eat!” The big smile on her face snaps me out of it.

I grab a sweet roll as she pours coffee into our cups. “Bruno! Breakfast,” she yells down the hall.

“Coming!” the little boy yells back.

Laura grabs a glass of water and takes a pill, which I recognize as birth control. Well, you can never be safe enough. Especially when you intend to fuck a guy like me because I fuck often and I like pussy a lot.

I’m in the middle of spreading butter on my roll when Bruno strolls in without pants and with one finger in his nose while the other one is smashing buttons on what looks like a handheld video game device.

“Bruno! Why are you naked?”

“Naked? I’m not naked,” he replies, flicking his booger into the air.

“Ugh, Bruno, stop doing that, please.” She closes her eyes and lets out a long-drawn-out sigh.

I chuckle to myself. The kid’s a lot like me—walking out of his room without any care for how he looks, what he does, and with his addiction right there on display. No fucks were given.

“And put on some pants,” she says. “Or you’ll permanently scar Frank.”

“Scars? He’s got scars?” The kid’s eyes glow with excitement, and I laugh at the sight.

“No, kid, but I do have some ink on my skin and invisible scars.”

“Invisible scars?” He lowers his gaming device and focuses on me, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm.

“Scars of the soul …” I say, making silly hand movements like it’s magic or something, which makes Laura chuckle.

“What’s ink in your skin?” he asks.

“You know, like tattoos,” I answer.

“Tattoos? You’ve got tattoos?” He seems genuinely thrilled. “Can I see them?”

“No, Bruno. Stop asking so many questions. You’re bothering him,” Laura insists, drinking her coffee.

“Aw …” He looks disappointed.

I rub his head until his hair is messy. “Maybe some other time, kid.”

“Put on some pants,” Laura says. “He doesn’t wanna see your naked ass.”

“It’s fine,” I whisper to Laura. “I’ve seen so much ass in my life, nothing will faze me at this point.”

She makes a face and shrugs. “All right, if you say so.”

Bruno smiles as he sits down at the table and places his video game beside his plate. “What’s that?” He points at my cup.

“Coffee. Want some?” I hold it out to him, after which Laura gives me the death stare.

“No, thanks. I already took a sip a week ago, when Laura wasn’t looking, and I didn’t like it.”

I snort as Laura’s jaw drops, but she doesn’t make a sound, which makes it even better.

I love this little squirt already.

I take a bite from the sweet roll and groan a little. Fuck, that’s good.

“Like it?” Laura asks.

“Mmm … so good,” I answer.

“Her eggs are good too,” Bruno says, picking one up. “I love them.”

“Not much to mess up there,” she muses.

I grab an egg and peel it, taking a bite. “Delicious.”

“See?” Bruno grins. “Told you so!”

“You’re a smart little man. Eggs are good for you, did you know? They make you grow and become strong.”

“Laura says the same thing,” he muses.

Laura gives me a coy smile as she takes a grape from the fruit salad and stuffs it in her mouth.

“So are you her boyfriend?”

She spits out half the grape. “Bruno!”

I laugh and take a sip of my coffee. “Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

“Take a biscuit” Laura growls, stuffing it into his mouth to stop him from talking.

“Oh, wait,” he says, munching on his biscuit. “You can’t. You’re a priest, right?”

“Preacher. And I can,” I answer.

“So you can marry someone?”

“Yeah,” I answer.

“Hmm … Odd.”

The kid’s so curious. I wonder if he even knows what a preacher is.

“So you work for the church then?” he asks.

“I don’t work for the church, but I do give sermons.”

My eyes widen.

Sermons. I was supposed to give one today.

“Shit!” I jump up from my chair.

“What?” Laura asks.

“I’m supposed to be at church. Shit!”

Bruno chuckles. “He’s swearing.”

“Shhh …” Lauren shushes him, and then she looks at me. “So you have to go?”

“Yeah, I’m so sorry. Breakfast was real nice though. Thanks.”

“Take it with you,” she says, and I take the opportunity to stuff a roll into my mouth.

“Thanks so much for everything,” I mutter through the biscuit, sounding like an idiot.

“Don’t mention it.”

“So we’ll see you in church then?” Bruno asks as I make my way to the door.

I pause and look over my shoulder at Laura. “Ask your sister.”

Then I leave the house.

And it strikes me. It’s the first time in ages when I’ve actually felt guilty over not being where I’m supposed to be. That I know I messed up and have to make it right. It’s like somehow, someway, Laura turned the switch inside my brain that forces me to come face to face with my demons.

And conquer them all.

“You’re late!” Mother hisses at me as I walk into a church filled with people.

“I know,” I whisper back. “Sorry.”

“Where were you?” she asks, stopping me in my tracks.

Everyone’s looking at me, but I try to ignore the gazes as I whisper, “Out.”

“Drinking again?”

I nod. There’s no use in denying the truth.

She sighs out loud and then pats me on the back. “Go on.”

I take it as her approval to give the sermon. I was almost afraid she’d kick me out right here, right now, but she’s giving me another chance, and I’m grabbing it with both hands.

I make my way up to the chancel and stand behind the pulpit. I realize I didn’t prepare anything, so I guess I’ll have to wing it … again.

I clear my throat. “Good morning, everyone.”

Crickets.

Not surprising, considering my last speech.

“I know last time I wasn’t the brightest star in the sky … but let’s focus on something positive today, hmm?” I look into the congregation, hoping they agree, but they all seem to be staring ahead like I’m not even there. Like I’m talking to zombies or something. Well, one granny does seem like she’s wilting away in her seat. Wouldn’t surprise me if she died.

I snigger to myself, but then I see Laura and her two brothers sitting in the pews again. And somehow, I can’t think of anything else than seeing her pretty face after waking up from my drunken night. Like crawling up from the pit of hell and coming out in heaven.

I swallow away the lump in my throat and clutch the pulpit.

“Today, I wanted to talk to you about joy. Fun. The riches of life and earth.”

People shuffle in their seats like they’re finally waking up.

“As we all know, a long, long time ago, God created the earth and then mankind to enjoy its riches. God created us in his own image, and we, in turn, worship him as the one and only truth.”

The intense look in Laura’s eyes is so distracting; I find it hard to focus.

“God teaches us to love each other and to love ourselves. To be happy with what we have and to enjoy this life he gave us on this earth.”

Some people nod, but I can’t look away from Laura. There’s something about her … something that changes my entire mood. Something that makes me wanna be a rebel again. Makes me wanna be bad.

“So then why do we not allow ourselves a little enjoyment once in a while?” I ask.

Margaret’s eyebrows furrow as she stands in the far left corner of the church, watching me like a hawk.

I hold my head up high. “God creates us exactly the way he wanted us to be. To deny that would be an insult to his name. So that means he created us with all the needs we feel. And if you feel that goes against your belief, then answer this question: How is it possible for someone to love another or themselves, if something they do or think isn’t right? And do you think that loving yourself is more important than following a set of arbitrary rules? Or do you think that God intends for us to experience everything there is on this earth? Because I think it’s the latter.”

Laura shifts in her seat, biting her lip as her fingers slide through her hair. I imagine it’s my hand running through her hair, my hand touching her face, my teeth biting her lip.

Fuck me.

I grip the mic a little bit harder. “To trust in God means to trust in His plan for us. To trust in His ideas of what it means to be human. He created us exactly the way we were intended to be. So enjoy this life you have. Go out. Live a little. Do some things you never dared to do.”

I grin, seeing all the confused faces.

“Party out loud. Live on the edge. Go skydiving. Go crazy. Smash something you don’t like. Go skinny dipping. Make love to your partner in the car or on the table.”

And there go all the jaws again, dropping like stones in a lake.

“Sex is nothing to be ashamed of, people. It’s a natural function of the body, the way God made it. If he didn’t want us to enjoy it so much, he wouldn’t have made it so enjoyable to begin with. So live a little.”

“Frank!” Mother hisses from the sidelines, but I ignore her.

“And whatever you do … don’t judge yourself or others. That’s exactly what God didn’t want you to do. Love thy neighbor as yourself, remember?” I smirk. “And if you think it’s weird to have these feelings, it’s not. I have them too. Everyone does.”

Audible gasps follow.

“What, you thought a preacher didn’t have needs? Wrong.” I laugh. “Like I said, we’re all human.”

Mother storms up to the chancel again and snatches the microphone, shoving me aside. “The sermon is now over, everyone. Thank you for coming. We’ll see you next Sunday.” Her voice is unhinged. “Hopefully.”

She releases the mic and pulls me back with her to her room in the back of the church, slamming the door shut behind us. “Frank. Explain yourself.”

“What?” I shrug. “I wanted to tell them the truth. Isn’t that what faith is all about? To make the people feel better?”

“Not about their sins!”

“Maybe you and I just disagree on what a sin actually is.”

She picks up a Bible and shoves it into my arms. “I suggest you re-read this because you’ve obviously forgotten what it’s about.”

“Or maybe I’ve learned to take it to the next level.”

“Frank.” She sighs and rolls her eyes. “You’re testing my patience here.”

“Look, I’m sorry, all right? I know I’ve messed up a lot in the past.”

Her laughter interrupts me. “That’s putting it lightly.”

“My point is I’m trying, okay?”

“Not good enough.”

“This is who I am. Who I wanna be. Who I feel comfortable being.”

“Oh please, you’re only acting this way because you were drunk and didn’t prepare anything. You used to be so good at this, and now look at you. A bumbling mess.” She places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s time you got your spirit back.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

“Do a little soul searching. Talk to God. Go to the chapel and pray. It’s the only way to find the answers for you, Frank.”

I sigh. “Do I really have to?”

One stern look is all it takes to get me to relent.

“All right, all right.” I hold up the book like it’s the only truth there is. “I’ll talk to God. See what he has to say about my awesome personality.”

She rolls her eyes again as she grabs the door knob and opens it for me. “Please. Next time … do me a favor and don’t show up.”

I shrug it off as I walk out. “Fine.”

But I can’t even say bye because she’s already closed the door on me.

Damn, she really is disappointed in me.

I hate that look on her face, but what can I do? I am who I am.

Or at least, I became this way a long time ago …

Some days, I wish I could undo everything I did in the past. Maybe then I would’ve been a better preacher. Too bad God never invented time travel.

* * *

I stand at the image of Jesus in the small chapel on the far right side of the church and make the sign of the cross on my chest. I close my eyes and pray like Mother told me. I don’t just do it because she wants me to. I do it because I want to. I need help.

Like so many times before, I seek His guidance when I’ve lost my way.

God only knows how many times I’ve begged for his help. His mercy. For this pain to end.

Yet I still live. It’s like He wants me to suffer.

Maybe He thinks it will make me a better man, but so far, I don’t see any of that yet.

I should try more. Fight harder. Defy the odds even though they’re stacked against me.

Because He must be keeping me alive for a reason.

“God … please show me Your way,” I plead, as I stare up at the beautiful fresco on the ceiling. “I don’t know what to do with myself. I used to love this job so much, and now, look at me. I’m a mess. I’m drunk all the time just to cope with my life. And now … now, I’ve even fallen for a girl who comes to church.”

I sigh out loud and lower my head, feeling the shame hit hard.

“Is it wrong? Is it wrong to want someone to the point of it becoming an obsession? It can’t be healthy to fantasize about her so much. It feels like a disservice to the memory of …” I can’t even say the words without choking up inside.

“Is it cheating? Am I morally corrupt when I want that girl? Even if only for just a day? Could I have that without feeling guilty? Without feeling like I’m sacrificing the vow I made?”

I shake my head, knowing no one can answer these questions except me.

But it still helps to talk to someone about it, even if He won’t talk back.

“I will do my best, God, to serve you as I always have. I promise I’ll do better. I promise I’ll make this right, someday. But first … I need to fix myself. Please guide me. Amen.”

I nod and let out another breath. A small fragment of the weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Not enough to completely forget, but enough for me to be able to smile again.

Until I turn around, that is.

Because guess who’s standing in the small opening to the chapel area?

Laura.

“I’m sorry … if I’m interrupting,” she mutters.

“It’s all right.” I wonder if she heard me speak … and if so, what part.

“I was looking for you, and then I found you here talking, and I was a bit … mesmerized.” She smiles briefly, looking down at her feet.

“Is there something I can do for you?” I ask.

“I was wondering if you … would be able to take my confession again?”

I rub my lips together from the thought of being alone again with her. The last time was already so fucking hard … literally, I was hard. I bet it’s going to be even harder this time. My dick, of course.

Fuck.

“Yeah, sure.”

I think my cock responded there. Definitely not my brains. Or maybe my brains are under her influence like my whole entire body just drifts to her. As they say … like moths to a flame.

I follow her out into the main area. Silently traipsing behind her, I’m still thinking about what I said in there … and if she heard the whole damn thing. But if that’s the case, she’d probably be running right about now, and she isn’t, so that’s a relief.

We both enter the confessional, and I sit down on the wooden bench while she closes the curtain.

“Thank you for seeing me.”

I make the sign of the cross on my chest and say, “Of course. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“My sins …” she mutters. “I can’t stop them.” Her eyes flicker with mischief. I wonder if she’s thinking about her time in the church bathroom. If she did it again.

Her hand moves to her chest, and she pulls one of the buttons of her shirt loose. “I feel bad for feeling this way.”

Fuck. Am I dreaming?

What is she doing?

I can’t believe this is happening, so I pinch myself, but it doesn’t work.

Another button pops. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now.”

With a sultry look in her eyes, she pops another, and her hand slides in. My mouth salivates from the sight, and blood pumps to my dick.

What the fuck is happening here?

“I don’t know why … I just can’t contain myself sometimes.” She starts rubbing her tits right in front of me, and even though they’re still hidden behind her shirt, her nipples are clearly peaking. And fuck me, does it make me hard.

“What are you doing?” I ask, unsure of what to do with this.

Should I walk? Should I defy temptation? I have to say; she’s making it really hard now. Both the decision and my cock.

“What I want to do …” she whispers, leaning forward so I can look into her shirt.

I swallow away the lump in my throat, trying to resist the temptation to look, but she’s making it difficult, and that’s an understatement.

“This is my sin,” she says, and she licks her fingers and rubs them across her nipples. She moans, and my dick bounces up and down in my pants.

“Is it wrong?” she asks, biting her lip.

I blink a couple of times to try to keep my composure, but I’m burning up with desire. Fuck me; I want to reach through the gaps of the lattice partition so badly.

“It feels wrong,” she whispers, and her hand travels down her body. “Tell me to stop.”

“Only God can tell you what to do,” I answer.

What kind of answer is that? Fuck.

“I can’t speak to him the way you do,” she says, eyeing me. “So … intimately.”

So she did hear everything I said.

Damn.

Her hand dives between her legs, underneath her skirt, and my cock bursts with need. “I believe you, Frank. You said needs were okay. And I have a lot of needs.”

I lick my lips. “Oh, I can definitely believe that.”

“And I feel … like I need this.” She rubs herself while she looks at me. It’s like she’s not even ashamed anymore. And it’s all my fault. “Like you need this,” she adds.

I frown, rubbing my lips together because I don’t know what to do or say. I can’t admit it. But fuck, do I want her badly. However, I’m a preacher. I shouldn’t even be thinking about this.

“You snooped on me,” I say. “In the chapel. How much did you hear?”

“Enough.” The left side of her lip tips up into a smile. “Was that bad?”

For some reason, it makes me wanna smile too. Guess the cat’s out of the bag. “Maybe.”

“Bad … I like bad,” she murmurs, biting her lip again while she spreads her legs. “I like it when it’s wrong.”

“Is that why you did this before? In the bathroom?”

She nods, and her hand dives down her panties. “I know this is what you want. What you’ve been thinking of all this time … Me,” she says. “C’mon, say it.”

I shake my head. “You know I can’t. We’re in a church.”

“No one has to find out …” she whispers, pressing her fingers to her lips. “It could be our dirty little secret.”

I try to ignore the voice in my head telling me not to cave in, but it’s already too late. My hand rests atop my dick, and I start rubbing it through my clothes.

She closes her eyes and leans her head back against the hard wood, and I take the opportunity to let my eyes glide up and down her body, enjoying the view. She touches herself so seductively that I immediately find myself rubbing faster and faster, trying to keep up the pace. I imagine how her body would look naked. How slick and wet it would be when I brushed my dick along her lips. I can picture it all, and that makes this all so much more frightening. Because … if I already gave into this, there’s no telling what I’ll do next time I see her.

“Fuck …” she murmurs, licking her lips. A soft moan escapes her mouth, and she adjusts herself so I can see her even better. My hand dives into my pants because I’m unable to stop myself any longer.

When she briefly opens her eyes and sees me jerking off, she purrs, “Do you like this?”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t …” I mutter, stroking my length. “But it’s wrong, and you know it.”

“Then why are we doing it?” she asks.

“Because this is our dirty little secret,” I hiss, feeling the veins in my dick throb with excitement. “And I need to see just how naughty you can get.”

She grins and slides her panties to the side with her index finger, showing me her naked pussy. And fuck me, it makes me one hungry motherfucker. What I wouldn’t give to be able to suck on her clit.

“Is it wrong that we’re doing this?” she asks. “Because I’m so damn wet right now.”

“Do you even care people are just a few feet away from us?” I ask.

She shakes her head, grinning even more. “That only adds to the excitement.”

God, this fucking woman … she sure knows how to make a guy’s heart throb. And his dick too.

At this point, I really don’t care anymore.

Screw the consequences.

Fuck morals.

I’ve thrown every rule out the window.

I rip down my zipper, unbutton my pants, and pull my dick out of my boxer shorts.

Her eyes widen and immediately focus on my length; her lips parting as if she’s preparing to receive it.

“My eyes are up here,” I muse, smiling.

She winks and then continues to rub her clit right in front of me. She doesn’t even look remotely scared of discovery, and I love it. With long strokes, I pleasure myself to the sight of her. Each time a soft whimper escapes her lips, my dick reacts, hardening under my touch. Fuck, I wanna come so badly.

Holding my shaft, I picture her hands running along it instead of mine. I imagine shoving her down on my bed and ramming my dick into her pussy, finally fucking her brains out.

With squinted eyes, I watch her be filthy. Her clit looks so delicious; I wanna lick it, but this damn lattice panel is in the way. God, what a tease she is. Especially when she rubs her tits too. We’re both reaching an epic climax soon, and I don’t think I wanna stop it.

She moans, and her eyes roll into the back of her head. My breathing is rapid as I watch her come undone, her body quaking from the powerful shocks. And it’s so fucking sexy that I come.

“Fuck,” I hiss through gritted teeth, unloading myself.

My cock shoots all over the wood, coating the confessional with cum. I furiously beat my length to release every last drop, squirting it everywhere. By the time I’m done, I’m completely out of breath, the entire confessional is covered in my jizz, and Laura is grinning at the scene I left like a motherfucking vixen.

She’s already corrected her panties and buttoned her shirt like nothing ever happened. “Impressive,” she mutters under her breath, and I wonder if she’s referring to my size or my load. Either way, I’m happy.

She reaches into her pocket to take out a few tissues. “Here.” She tucks them through the lattice, and with a frazzled look on my face, I grasp them. “Thought you might need these.”

“You think of everything …” I mutter under a heavy breath as I wipe the cum off and then try to wipe it off the wood. No pun intended.

“I’m always prepared,” she muses, winking again.

“What about your confession?” I ask.

“You know we didn’t come here for that …”

As she gets up, I ask, “Why?”

She shrugs. “Because I saw you struggling … and I know you needed this.”

“So it was all a lie?” I frown.

“No …” She smiles. “But everyone needs someone sometimes …”

“I don’t need a pity fuck,” I reply.

She raises a brow and shakes her head. “It’s not.” Then she opens the curtains.

“So you wanted this?” I ask before she goes.

She doesn’t answer. All she does is smile and close the curtains, leaving me here with my dick out. I’m completely wiped out by one girl and her fingers.

With what remaining energy I have, I make the sign of the cross on my chest. “Jesus Christ, I beg your forgiveness … because, by God, this woman will make me commit more sins than I ever have.”

In my tank top, I sit on the bench in the park, enjoying the breezy wind. For the first time in ages, I’m completely sober, and it feels so damn … strange.

Like I can see the world through a much clearer lens. And I’m not sure if I like it yet.

Still, it’s something I think I can be mildly proud of. I may be a shitty preacher, but at least now I’m not also a drunk one.

It’s sunny outside, the perfect day for a random visit to the park.

Except for the fact it’s not so random that I’m here.

You see, in the middle of the park, a group of women is having a yoga session that involves lots of stretching and downward dogs. Now, you might be thinking I’m a giant perv, and on that, I would have to agree, but there is one clear difference from my normal routine.

Yes, I’ve done this before, albeit with a different group of women in an entirely different park. And I mean, what man doesn’t like perky lady butts in spandex? A gay man.

No, I’m not ashamed.

Today, I don’t give a shit about any of those women … except one.

Laura.

She’s been on my mind ever since that spicy encounter in the confessional, and I’ve wanted to talk to her since. But one doesn’t just casually stroll up to a woman and discuss dirty sex, now do they?

No.

However, I’m not letting this slide either.

She did something to me that can’t be undone.

When she stepped into that confessional and touched herself right in front of me, she opened a door neither of us can close.

Now that I’ve had a small sample of what she has to offer, I want more. So much more.

She makes me unable to control myself, and for a man with needs like mine, that’s a dangerous thing.

I’ve followed her all the way from her home to this park just to watch her. I don’t know if that’s creepy or not, but I just grasped any opportunity I could to see her. I have yet to think of an appropriate moment to approach her, but for now, I’ll be content with gawking at her juicy spandex butt.

Fuck me; the way she tightens them as she bends over to touch her toes makes me wanna put my dick in her ass.

Is that wrong?

Yeah, it probably is.

But so help me God, I will do it. It’s only a matter of time before she comes to me again, and we have sex like mad rabbits. One thing’s for sure, though … I won’t let her run off with a tease like that again.

“Hi.”

Frowning, I turn my head only to see Bruno standing next to the bench where I’m sitting. “Uh, hi.”

Shit.

I knew he was here, but I never actually expected him to approach me.

He’s been playing on the kid’s playground while Laura exercises, and I honestly completely forgot about him even being here.

Why would he come over to me? I’m not interesting. Not even remotely.

God, this is so fucking awkward.

“What are you doing?” he asks me, crushing a leaf he just picked from a tree in his hand.

“Uh … just relaxing in the park,” I answer, trying to laugh it off like it’s no big deal.

“Are you here because my sister is?”

My eyes widen, and I laugh again. “No, of course not! Why would you think that?” My voice sounds so ridiculous; I’m such a bad fucking liar, it’s unbelievable.

He shrugs. “Well, I know you followed us from our home.”

Mortified, I close my eyes and sigh.

“It’s okay. I can see why you like her. She’s nice to people.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Very nice.”

He smiles at me in such a cute way that it’s hard for me to maintain my badass composure.

“So whatcha doing?” I ask him.

“Nothing,” he says, letting the crushed pieces of leaf in his hand fly away. “I was playing in the sandbox, but I got bored.”

“Why? You can create so many things with a bit of sand.”

“I know, but it’s no fun if you don’t have any friends to play with.”

I nod, feeling a bit sorry for the little guy. “I see.”

The awkward silence returns, and I feel like this is some kind of invite for me to come play with him or something. But I’m not sure I want to let Laura out of my sight. What if she sees me in the sandbox with him? She might think I’m some kind of weird-ass stalker.

That’s because I am, but still.

“Father Frank,” Bruno suddenly begins, “why aren’t you in your church clothes?”

I shrug. “Because it’s hot outside, and I’m just a regular person now.”

“So you’re not a person in church?”

I snort. “Of course, I am. But in church, I need to look like I work there. But I’m not working right now, so I get to dress however I like.”

“And what are those black things on your skin?”

Frowning, I look at where he’s pointing, and I realize it’s my back, which is covered in tattoos. “Oh, those are the tattoos I mentioned, remember? They’re drawings but on the skin.”

“Cool! Can I have them too?”

“No,” I say sternly, but then I soften my voice again because I don’t wanna sound like a dick. “Tattoos are for grown-ups only.”

“Why?” He seems disappointed.

“Well … because they’re permanent. They can’t be erased.”

“Really?” His eyes glow. “Awesome.”

I snort and shake my head. “You’re a funny one, kid.”

“Thanks,” he says. “You too.”

I’m not sure if that’s a compliment, but I’ll take it.

“But … I thought priests weren’t allowed to have tattoos?”

“I’m not a priest, Bruno,” I reply. “I’m a preacher. And who told you that?”

“My brother,” he says, making a figure-eight in the dirt with his shoes.

“Well, your brother was wrong.”

“How come?” He cocks his head.

“I’m a special preacher. A bad one.” I turn to face him and squint, trying to look as menacing as I can. “You don’t wanna mess with me, kid. I’m wicked.” I make a scary face, and the kid bursts out into giggles, which makes me smile.

That’s when I notice Laura walking our way.

I clear my throat and sit back again, trying not to look like a perving creep, but here I am… being a perving creep.

She cocks her head when she recognizes me and smiles deviously. “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“He’s Father Frank, sis!” Bruno says. “He was in our house eating breakfast! Did you forget?”

“No, silly, it was rhetorical.” She rubs his head, messing up his hair.

“What’s rhet-rhet-orca?”

She chuckles. “It means it wasn’t really a question.”

“Should I even answer then?” I muse.

She turns her attention to me as she rubs her forehead with her towel. “Well, well, what a coincidence.”

I smile and enjoy the view. No point in denying anything, especially since there’s been no allegation. Yet.

“So Bruno already found you. Are you stalking us or something?” she asks, raising a brow.

Ah-ha, there it is.

“Nah.” I grin. “Just your friendly neighborhood preacher patrolling the area.”

She rolls her eyes, but I can tell she’s barely able to keep the laughter inside.

“Got something to confess?” I ask.

She snorts. “Like you don’t already know everything.”

“I do!” Bruno raises his hand.

“Oh, yeah? Tell me then, what’d you do?” I inquire, inching closer.

He closes his mouth and freezes, so I lean in even closer and pat the bench. “Sit.”

He does what I ask, and then I turn my ear to him so he can whisper.

“I peed in the sandbox.”

My grin turns into a full-on outburst of laughter.

“What?” Laura asks.

I turn my face to Bruno and whisper back into his ear, “Is that the real reason you didn’t wanna play in the sandbox anymore?”

He nods.

“What?!” Laura’s voice is even louder this time, and she’s even thrown her towel over her shoulder like some kind of statement.

Bruno looks at me as if he’s pleading me not to tell her—probably because she’d get mad and rightfully so. But I think I’ll play along with this game.

So I twine my fingers and smile like a motherfucker. “I’m sorry. Confessions made to a preacher are strictly confidential.”

Oh, that look on her face right now.

Blood-boiling rage.

Magnificent.

“Frank …” she hisses.

I shrug, still smiling as I lean back.

“He did something; you gotta tell me. This isn’t a joke,” she grumbles. “What if it’s something embarrassing or wrong?”

“You mean like that thing we did in church?”

Her eyes widen, and the shock on her face is amazing to see.

“What thing?” Bruno asks.

“Nothing!” Laura hisses. “Frank …”

I look at Bruno and say, “Bruno. If you say you’re sorry, your sins will be forgiven.”

“Does that mean God forgives me too?”

I nod. It’s hard to explain these things to a kid as young as he is.

He draws a cute cross on his chest and mumbles, “I’m sorry.”

“Good.” I pat his back and then look at Laura. “See? He’s repenting, so he’s forgiven of his sins.”

She narrows her eyes and snarls at me. “You are so bad.”

“I know.” I grin because I consider it a compliment.

I get up from the bench and dust off my pants. “Well, I guess this is my cue to run.”

Bruno jumps off too, saying, “Thanks, Father Frank!”

“Don’t mention it, kid.”

I start walking even though I wasn’t done with Laura yet. However, I can’t talk to her in private with Bruno around. It’s just not happening.

“What did Bruno do?” Laura yells.

I glance over my shoulder. “You’d like to know that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes!”

“Guess you’ll have to come to church then because that’s the only place we’ll talk confessional business.” And with that, I give her a thumbs-up and walk out of sight, leaving a flabbergasted and annoyed Laura behind.

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.

Her lips are as tantalizing as I imagined them to be. Fiery, so damn delicious, and when she kisses me back, it only makes me want her more. Even though it feels wrong, I can’t stop, and I won’t. Her mouth is so sweet and everything I hoped it to be.

My tongue darts out to lick her lips, eager to find its way in. Her lips part, allowing me to slip through and claim her mouth as mine. And fuck me … does it feel good.

As I come closer, her fingers grasp my shirt and pull me in. Our mouths are locked in a lustful battle, needing more and more. Heated kisses make my body crave hers, and my hand instinctively reaches down her chest, brushing my fingers along her tits before letting my fingers slide up her blouse.

I lick the roof of her mouth, and when she moans, my cock responds with a thump in my pants, wanting out so badly. I groan when her hand travels down and grabs my dick.

“Fuck,” I hiss against her lips.

She grins and kisses me again, rubbing my length through the fabric, and fuck me, does it feel good. I immediately reach for her tits, not caring about her blouse and bra still being in the way, and I squeeze them tight. The more I touch her, the more I can forget about my troubles, and the more I want to be deep inside her.

“You don’t know how fucking long I’ve wanted to do this,” I murmur as my lips travel along her neck.

“How long?”

“Since the first time I saw you.”

“I know … I’ve seen you looking … that’s why I did all those dirty things with you.”

I lift my head and look into her mischievous eyes. “Then why did you ask?”

“I just like to hear how much you’ve been craving me,” she teases with a smirk, and it makes me wanna smash my lips to hers again.

“You should be more careful, taunting me like that. Unless you’re okay with committing the dirtiest of sins … right here in church.”

“Right here?” she moans.

“Yeah, did you think I’d let you go anywhere? Not a chance,” I growl, placing a few hot kisses on her neck and shoulder.

“Fuck … I don’t think I’d be able to say no, even if I wanted to,” she mutters as I massage her tits.

I chuckle and whisper into her ear, “So you want me to fuck you?”

“Is that wrong? Is it wrong that I’ve been fantasizing about being fucked by a preacher?” She rubs me so hard my cock is stiff as wood.

“Fuck no,” I say, grinning against her skin as I give her another kiss. “I’m about to make both our fantasies come true.”

I flick her bra to the side and let my hands roam free, brushing past her nipples until they harden. With my other hand, I grab her hair and pull her head back, grunting as I lick her skin. I feel like an animal, but I don’t even care anymore. All I want is to bend her over and fuck her in every goddamn hole until I’m sated. Right here, right now.

Does that make me a bastard?

Maybe.

But this church has seen worse.

Much, much worse.

I know so because I was the cause. Just like I’m the cause to her sitting right here in my arms, waiting to be taken. My desires drew her in like a moth to a flame, and her willingness to be naughty only made me that much more interested in her.

But now I’m tired of waiting. I’m going to take it all.

Except for the moment I wanna rip her blouse off, a door opens to the left, and I scramble to take my hand out of her blouse. “Shit,” I hiss.

“What the fuck?” she mutters, and I place a hand over her mouth, shushing her.

“Quiet. It’s Mother.” I place a finger on my lips, and she nods. “I’ll take care of this.”

I slip off the bench and will my dick to go down as I watch Mother walk out into the main area. I meet her halfway, and she gives me this peculiar look like I’m not supposed to be here.

“Still here?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say with an awkward smile as I walk beside her. “I’m not interested in going out tonight.”

“Well, that’s a first,” she scoffs. She briefly glances at Laura, whose face is completely red, and they both wave at each other.

“I’m going to meet the girls,” Mother says.

Girls. I snort. They’re not even close to young.

I guess she means the women she plays bridge with.

“I know,” I say, accompanying her.

“I told Carl he could go, so he went out the backdoor. I’ve already locked it. But if you’re staying here, I don’t need to lock the front, do I?”

“No, I’ll take care of that,” I say. “You go out and have fun.”

Right before we arrive at the big doors, she turns around and asks, “Are you sure? I mean… I’m a bit worried about you.”

“Yes, it’s fine! I’m feeling great.”

“Are you sure?”

I roll my eyes and put my arm around her shoulder, opening the door for her. “Yes. Now go out and have some fun, will you? I’ll watch over the church; don’t worry.”

“All right,” she says as she scurries out. “Don’t stay up too late. You need a good night’s sleep. Maybe it’ll finally be a new beginning for you.”

“Uh-huh … I will,” I reply, and I wave goodbye before slamming the door and locking it with the key I’ve got stashed in my pocket.

When I’m sure Margaret’s gone, I turn around and see Laura standing in the middle of the hall, staring at me.

I don’t wait.

I’m so tired of fucking waiting that I do the first thing that comes to my mind.

I run toward her and grab her, lifting her up, and I smash my lips to hers and kiss her like the hungry wolf I am. She wraps her legs around my waist as I take her bottom lip between my teeth and nibble, wanting to taste every inch of her. I can’t get enough; that’s how horny I am… or maybe I’m addicted to her.

Kissing her as I go, I carry her all the way to the front of the church until her back hits the altar. There, I set her down right on top of the white cloth. In one fell swoop, I manage to chuck almost all the items off, including a chalice and a few unlit candles.

“We’re desecrating holy ground,” she murmurs as I continue to steal kisses from her.

“If you’re gonna do it, you’d better do it good,” I growl back, grinning against her skin as I let my lips roam free. She moans out loud as I reach her tits and grasp her ass at the same time. Squeezing firmly, I assert my dominion over her body. With my teeth, I tear off the buttons of her blouse and spit them out, shoving it aside so I can finally touch her naked body.

“Fuck … you’re so fucking delicious,” I whisper as I twist her nipples and kiss her on her stomach.

She squeals and giggles a little. “Jesus, you’re horny.”

“Jesus ain’t horny, babe; it’s all me.” I smirk at her eye-roll, and in one swoop, I’ve ripped down her panties and lifted her skirt, exposing her bare pussy. Licking my lips, I slide my thumb down her slit, making her squirm on the altar.

“I’m gonna fuck that pussy raw,” I growl, rubbing her clit. “But first …” I bend over and kiss right above. “Lemme get a taste.”

My tongue dips out to slowly slide along the edge, making her practically beg for it. Her fingers tangle through my hair as I roll around her clit. She pushes down, unable to stop herself from wanting more. And I definitely have more where that came from.

She tastes delicious … and I like it a lot when she’s a saucy vixen.

“How much do you want it?” I murmur against her sweet, delicate skin.

She mewls. “Fuck, I want you so fucking much.”

I twirl around her clit, expertly avoiding it while watching her face scrunch up from desperation. “Beg for it.”

“Oh, please, give it to me,” she moans, biting her bottom lip.

I lick my lips from excitement, and her taste only turns me on more. So much so that I start rubbing my dick while I’m licking her.

“Call me by my name,” I whisper, planting a kiss on top of her clit.

“Fuck, just give it to me.” Her voice is heady and feverish.

Another quick dip between her slit has her bucking.

“Who?” I muse, sliding my finger along her entrance until she practically leans in to receive it.

“Fuck me, Frank!”

Fuck me; I love it when a woman is so needy that she’d do pretty much anything for it.

What can I say? I’m a sucker for giving a woman everything she needs.

Pleasure. It’s all mine, and I’m claiming her now.

I cover her pussy with my mouth and let my tongue roam free. Her engorged clit is so damn wet I can’t help but suck and lick everywhere. Top to bottom, not an inch of skin is missed. She tastes so good, and all I want is more. So when she grips my hair and rubs her pussy against my face, I stick my tongue into her pussy and roll it around.

Her moaning squeals tell me she’s close.

That and the fact she’s as wet as a monsoon.

Fuck me.

I rub my dick even harder, wanting to feel every inch of her pleasure myself. I’m a greedy fuck.

I grab her waist tight, digging my fingers into her skin as my animalistic urges bubble to the surface. My tongue swivels back and forth across her pussy, licking up all her wetness until she begins to squirm underneath me. I know she’s close—I can feel it—so I shove two fingers into her pussy and make her feel what I’m going to do to her in a minute.

“Come all over me; I wanna taste you,” I murmur, sucking on her clit.

“Fuck!” she moans out loud, and then her body bucks. Her muscles tense, and she gasps, thumping against my lips. Exquisite heaven right there on my tongue.

When she relaxes and her breathing slows, I grab her body and twist her around on the altar. She squeals from my roughness, and I spank her ass.

“Told you I wasn’t going to be the nice preacher.”

“Well, that licking session you gave me was nice,” she jests, so I spank her again.

“That was my present to me. And fucking your pussy will be the second one,” I growl, slipping my index finger up and down her wetness. “After you’ve been parading your body around, I think it’s time I gave it a good filling.”

She giggles, and I slap her a final time for good measure before I rip down my zipper and take out my wood. Goddamn, how long I’ve been yearning for this moment. Too long. It’s been too fucking long.

I rub my dick up along her slit, waiting for the noises she makes when she gets aroused, but the more I gawk at her butt, the more I want to have it too.

I wanna have it all.

So I rub my wet finger along her ass and push it in. As she raises her head, mewling, I grasp her hair and fiercely pull her head back. “Ever had your ass taken by a preacher?”

“No, but I’m more than willing to try …”

“Guess today’s your lucky day,” I reply, grinning.

I shove my finger farther up her butt, and then insert another one into her pussy, rubbing both along her walls. I can feel her tense up, and her moans only add to my own excitement. My cock bobs up and down as I watch her crave my fingers as much as she craved my mouth, and I imagine myself taking both holes. Maybe I will.

“Hope you’ve said your prayers because after I fuck your brains out, you won’t be able to come to church and thank God for your perfect fuck for an entire week.”

I pull my finger out of her pussy and push my cock in without warning, making her gasp out loud. My finger’s still in her ass, and I slide it in farther with each thrust of my rock-hard dick. Every stroke is another pump, and soon, her body begins to move along with mine to the rhythm of my fuck.

She’s perfect. Just fucking perfect.

Fuck me; I’m so fucking hungry for more.

And at this point, I honestly don’t fucking care what’s allowed and what isn’t. I crossed any line by miles the moment I sucked her clit on the altar, so if I’m doing it dirty, might as well go all the way.

Biting my lip, I pull my finger out of her ass, pick up the only candle still left on the edge of the altar, and shove it up her ass.

She moans out loud, and I grasp the opportunity to fist her hair and pump into her harder, all while the candle is stuck inside her ass. I just love the sight of a willing woman doing all sorts of dirty things without regrets, even if it means defiling the most sacred things.

“Fuck me harder!” she begs, and I increase the pace.

I even twist the candle, pushing it in and out as I go, fucking her in both holes.

Maybe that makes me a filthy bastard but so be it.

Fucking her is my number one priority right now, and if I think of something good, I’ll fucking do it because I want to.

I put my finger on her clit and flick it hard, wanting her to come again so I can feel her tighten around my cock. Her whole body starts to rock, desperately trying to get closer to me. Her pussy gyrates against my fingers, and she’s so damn wet. I love every second of it, despite the fact I’m desecrating my own damn church.

And I don’t give a damn.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come again,” she mutters, out of breath.

“Fuck, yes,” I groan, still twisting and turning the candle in her ass. “Come all over my dick.”

Within seconds, her body quakes again, and the wetness pours out of her. Her muscles deliciously contract around my length, making me come. Roaring out loud, I fuck her so hard, my cock explodes deep inside her with all the pent-up energy. I thrust and thrust, my cum jetting into her and coating her warm pussy. One. Two. Three times, and I’m still not sated.

When I pull out, I’m still rock-hard, so I pull out the candle and replace it with my own stick. She squeals, probably surprised by my stunt.

“Fuck! Jesus, warn me or something?”

“I told you it was gonna be dirty. I need to have your pussy and your ass.”

I grunt as I push farther, forcing her ass to adjust to my ample size until I’m completely in. Our cum provides nice lubrication as I thrust in and out, claiming her ass too.

I grab her waist, my fingers digging in, as I take out all the pent-up lust on her. Maybe it’s wrong, maybe I’m selfish, but at this point, I’m far beyond reason.

I just need to fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck!

That’s all I can think of.

So I fuck her as hard as I can. I fuck her so hard that the altar screeches as I drive her against it. I fuck her so hard that a groan escapes from her mouth with each thrust. I fuck her so hard that she’ll beg me to come and release her from my longing.

Beads of sweat pool on her back as well as on my body, which has heated up to the point of me breathing raggedly. So beastly, so utterly animalistic—it’s fantastic.

I slap both her ass cheeks again for good measure, and the reverberations pulsate through my dick. My veins pulse with arousal; my cock ready to dispense its second load. I love the feeling—just like I love her ass and her pussy and my cock being right there inside them.

“You ready for me?” I growl, grasping her hair again so she looks up.

She turns her head slightly, whispering, “Come in my ass. Do it.”

That right there … that pleading voice … is all I need to come undone.

And I do.

I fucking howl like a wolf as I fill her ass with my cum. More and more and more. It’s an endless stream. Like I haven’t come in ages.

By the time I’m done and panting and my cock’s slipped out of her, both her holes are creamed white. The color of heaven itself. Perfection.

If I may say so myself.

I slap her ass, and the cum flows down her legs. “Now that’s what I call a good creaming.”

“Oh, my … Lord.”

That voice … makes all the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight.

Within the space of a second, I’ve turned around and faced the most horrible consequence of my actions already.

Mother is standing right there, in the doorway, with her jaw hanging wide open. A key tumbles from her hands to the floor as she bears witness to the full naked glory of my half-hard dick and a woman covered in my juices, rolling around on the emptied altar.

In a hurry, Laura scrambles off the table and pulls up her panties, which instantly soak completely through. Still, she tries to cover it up with her skirt by patting it down and then continues to pull her blouse together like it will hide the fact we were having sex here. On the altar. “Oops.”

I don’t think ‘oops’ describes this situation accurately.

We’re fucked is more like it.

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.”

Six Years Ago

I pick up my Bible and eat the last bite of my pancakes before bringing my plate to the kitchen and kissing my wife on the cheeks. “It was delicious. Thanks, hun,” I say, winking as I tuck the Bible into my pocket. “See you later.”

“Work hard, honey!” she yells as I run out the door, not even having the time to close it behind me.

However, I still make time to turn around halfway down the path and blow her a kiss, which she catches and holds close to her heart.

Just the sight of her warms mine.

It reminds me of the day we met. One year after I left behind the gang life and vowed to take care of the church, I went to buy flowers for Margaret. When I entered the shop and saw a girl … my wife … behind the cash register, I instantly fell in love with her welcoming smile.

I asked her out on a date, took her to a fancy restaurant, and the rest is history.

She knows about my past. About all the messed up things I did. And she accepts me anyway. Even knowing that someone’s going to come for me one day didn’t stop her from loving me, and I can’t help but love her madly for it.

It’s true what they say. Love knows no bounds.

With a stupid smile on my face, I make my way to the church, enjoying the nice weather outside. “Morning, Frank!” Margaret walks out to greet me as I come in, and I say hi to her too.

“Hope you’re having a great day,” I say.

“Sure thing. Can’t wait for today’s sermon,” she says, smiling as I place my Bible on the pulpit and pull out my notes for today.

“I’ve prepared a great speech. You’ll be amazed.” I wink at her, and her smile widens because of it.

She quickly steps toward me and pinches my cheeks like she did when I was still young. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks,” I reply. Even though I hate it when she squeezes my cheeks, I still love her. “I mean it. I’m eternally grateful you let me be here.”

“Aww … Frank … you don’t have to say it.” She cocks her head as she places a hand on my arm. “You know I’ll always accept you, no matter your past.”

I nod, and after a short hug, we part because the church bells are ringing and people are pouring in.

Soon, believers fill the whole church, waiting for me to talk to them about their faith and give them encouragement in their daily lives. Just like I’ve been doing for the past few years.

I’ve come such a long way. From barely being able to form the words to performing complete speeches in front of entire crowds. All with Margaret’s help. I couldn’t have done it without her.

It’s because of her that I’m here today.

Back where I belong. Back in the church. Doing good instead of evil.

Margaret made me swear that I would devote my life to God, so that’s what I did. I turned my back on the gang life and focused on being a new me. A different me. A man worthy of the unconditional love she gave me.

She is the reason I’ve come so far. The only person who’s supported me through hardship. Who held out her hand when no one else would.

She helped me become the person I was meant to be. It was a long road, but I fought hard, and look at me now.

A full-fledged preacher.

I sigh and stare at the note in front of me. While the crowd grows quiet, I look around, trying to find that spark to start my sermon.

Except what I find today isn’t hope.

It’s judgment.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight as I lay my eyes on the devil himself.

Time seems to come to a stop the moment I’m confronted with my past.

Or rather … the one whose life I’ve ruined.

A top dog in a drug empire not far from here.

The rival drug empire of the gang I was a part of during my darker days.

The same gang that asked me to prove my worth to them … and pay a visit to that rival to teach him a lesson and show him who’s boss around this neighborhood.

That man is sitting right in front of me.

My throat clamps up as he eyes me down, and my fingers tremble with fear. I’m suffocating in my own memories, wanting to erase them from the planet, but I know I can never take back what I did. I wish apologizing was enough, but I know he’ll never accept it.

He wants blood.

He licks his lips, tilting his head as he sees my slow demise. And right then, he gets up and walks toward the exit silently.

I can’t help but stare at the door even though all these people are waiting for me to continue my sermon.

How did he find me?

Why is he here?

Before he opens the doors and leaves, the man briefly holds up what looks like pieces of flesh … a piece of an ear and part of a nose.

I gape in shock and horror, unable to utter a word.

Flashes of memories pass through my mind of Mother telling me Carl didn’t show up for work yesterday … and it all suddenly clicks.

If he has Carl, then he knows … I took something away from him.

And now, he’s going to take what’s mine.

My notes blow off the pulpit as I take off as fast as I can after him. I rush through the church, past the people waiting in the pews, who look at me like I’ve seen a ghost. I don’t care what they think, and I don’t even care about Margaret screaming my name as I sprint for the door.

When I’m outside, the man is already gone.

As fast as I can, I make my way to my house. Faster, faster, faster, as fast as my legs can take me. The pain tears away at me, but not as much as the pain in my heart as I realize what’s about to happen.

The ultimate revenge.

When I arrive at my door, almost tumbling over a toy on the driveway, I scream at the top of my lungs, but no one screams back. My hands shake as I search for my keys, my heart racing as I stuff it into the lock and turn it, slamming open the door.

The house is completely silent.

Unlike anything I’ve heard in ages.

But then a door bangs in the back, and I rush toward it.

I’m too late.

What I see rips a hole in my soul.

My wife being dragged away by two men toward a car with her hands tied behind her back. A piece of black tape slapped across her face. Her eyes filled with a terror that will haunt me forever.

She’s pulled feet first into the car by another man who was already inside, along with a little boy.

My baby boy.

I howl like a dog losing its owner when the tires screech as the car pulls away … as I know that the look of pure horror on their faces will be the last thing I’ll ever see of them.

* * *

Now

“Oh … God.” Laura covers her mouth with her hand in shock.

But then she does the most unexpected thing.

She pulls me in for the tightest hug I’ve had in years. Literally squeezes the life out of me while wrapping her arms around me like a warm cocoon. At first, it feels weird, but after a while, I just accept it and relax, letting her take me over.

Now that I’ve finally told someone of the horrors I’ve faced, it feels like a weight has lifted off my shoulders. Like I can finally breathe a little again.

“God, no wonder … I’m so sorry …” she whispers. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” I clear my throat to prevent more tears from falling. I’ve cried enough now. “It was a long time ago.”

“Yeah, but you’re still … you’re still …”

Still messed up?

Still a drunk?

Yeah, whatever it is, it’s not okay, and she’s right. What happened to my wife and son does still affect me.

“I can’t get that image from my mind,” I say. “Her face.”

“It must’ve been horrible,” Laura says. “And it was the last time you saw them?”

I nod, but then I shake my head. “Alive, yes. I saw my wife after she died. They eventually found her body not far from this neighborhood. I had to identify her at the morgue, but what I saw wasn’t my wife. It was a body, cut up in pieces.”

“Oh, God …” She shudders, but her hands remain steady on my back. “What about your son?”

“I never saw him again. The police assumed him to be dead too, but they never found his body. I even searched … day and night for a whole damn year, but it was useless.” I close my eyes and try to imagine his face, but no matter how hard I try, I can never get it right. “He was so young. Just a few months old. How could they do that to a kid?”

Laura hugs me even tighter. She’s unrelenting in her support like she’s willing to take up the world and more. A fighter, just like me … or at least, what I used to be.

“I’m here,” Laura whispers, holding me close. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Her support means the world to me. I never thought I’d be able to lean on someone else like this, but it feels good. I’m relieved I can finally tell someone my story without feeling guilty.

Even though I am.

I couldn’t even go back to the same house where I once lived. Not after they were gone. It was too empty and loaded at the same time. So I went back to the church, and that’s where I’ve been ever since.

Still, the shame never stopped.

“My wife died because of me. My son is gone because of me.”

“You didn’t kill them,” she says.

“No, they died because I took something from him.”

She puts her hand on my arm. “He chose to retaliate. That was not your choice.”

“Revenge,” I say through gritted teeth. “That’s what it’s all about, right?”

“It doesn’t have to be.” She grabs my shoulders. “Look at me. You are better than this.”

“They took everything from me.” I grab my bottle, but when I attempt to drink, she snatches it away.

“No. Alcohol is not the answer, and you know it.”

“Maybe not the answer but definitely a great distraction,” I muse, chuckling like an idiot.

She shakes her head. “Look at you. Getting drunk at your wife’s grave.”

“Pathetic, right?” I fill it in for her.

“No.” She sounds upset, and then she shoves me. “Get up.”

“Why?”

“Get up and walk, goddammit,” she snaps, slapping my chest. “Get up and go on with your life.”

“What’s the point?”

“There’s more to it than sulking and staying in the past,” she growls, grabbing my arm to try to lift me up. “C’mon.”

I sigh, looking at my wife’s grave one last time.

“She would’ve wanted you to go on even though it’s without her.”

I frown. “How do you know?”

“Every woman wants her man to be happy even if she’s not there,” she replies.

That actually makes a lot of sense.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and then let her help me up.

“Steady,” she says as she supports me.

I’m so drunk I can’t even walk straight.

“I’m sorry I put this on you. But you didn’t have to come, you know.”

“And leave you here in the dirt?” she scoffs. “Not a chance.”

At first, I’m still holding the bottle of liquor in my hand, but then I mumble, “Ah, fuck it,” and I drop it on the ground, letting the alcohol spill out onto the soil.

“Good,” Laura says. “It’s time you said no to yourself.”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” I jest, laughing a little even though it’s not funny.

However, my smile dissipates the moment I see an old Chevy with darkened windows slowly driving along the cemetery. I stop walking. Goose bumps scatter on my skin. I can barely make out the two figures in the front, but I feel their intense stares as they drive by and disappear from view.

“What were you looking at?” Laura asks.

With furrowed brows, I look at her and then back at the empty road. It must’ve been my imagination. “Nothing.”

We go back to the church even though I’m drunk as fuck and shouted at Margaret. I don’t want to be an even worse person by not fixing it even if I’m only partially capable. Besides, the cold air of the night has done me good. My vision is much less hazy than it was at the cemetery, and since I left the bottle of liquor, my head feels much clearer. Although I am expecting a raging headache any moment now.

Laura smiles at me as she helps me up the steps of the church and I open the door. However, what I see inside is not what I expected.

The altar is completely clean again with everything back where it’s supposed to be. Not an item misplaced. It’s like we were never there.

Confused, I stumble inside and gawk at the scene in front of me.

Mother appears from behind a column, and when her eyes slowly fall onto mine, this innate sense of guilt and humility wash over me.

I fall to my knees and face the floor, unable to look at her.

“I’ll … let you two talk,” Laura mumbles, and she quickly scurries toward the chapel.

I hear Mother’s footsteps approach me, but I’m frozen to the floor, bowing my head as low as I can.

“I … cannot apologize enough,” I say softly, hoping she can hear.

“Look at me.” Her stern voice can pretty much make me do anything even when I know she’s upset.

However, I never expected to see the calm in her eyes. It makes the tears well up again.

“I’m sorry …” I mutter. “For all the things I put you through since … since …”

Margaret goes to her knees and wraps her arms around me, pulling me into her embrace.

“What did I do to deserve you?” I murmur, hugging her tight.

“You don’t have to do anything, Frank. I’ll always be here. I’ll always forgive you,” she whispers, kissing the top of my head.

“I know I’ve been an incredible burden. Especially with the drinking,” I say.

“You have to stop destroying yourself, Frank. It’s the only way,” she says, making me look at her. “You have to stop and love yourself.”

I nod.

“I know you’ve been dying inside,” she mutters. “I can feel your pain every day.”

I sigh out loud as I realize what I’ve been doing to myself.

“But you have to stop now. You have to be better. And you have to love God. Trust in him to guide you even in the most difficult times,” she says, turning her head to look at the statue of Jesus. “Go pray with him.”

Inside me, a powerful current of energy directs me and forces my limbs into action, commanding me to get up and walk. And I do. I let go of Mother and let my body be drawn to the cross, an immense need to repent and do good being the driving force behind me.

It’s like I’ve suddenly seen the light.

Felt the vindication falling in my lap.

The shroud of anguish lifting to reveal a new man.

I stand tall and look up, making the sign of the cross on myself. “God, I’ve mistrusted you. I’ve blamed you for everything that happened to me. I hated you for so long. But enough is enough. I won’t live this life any longer. I won’t continue to hurt those around me for the sake of hurting myself. I’ve been punished enough. No one but You can judge me now. God, please forgive me my sins. I put my life in Your hands once again.” I draw another cross on my chest. “Amen.”

Suddenly, someone rams on the big front door and smashes it open without regard to its value. It almost comes unhinged. I turn to see what the ruckus is. Two tattooed guys wearing dirty jeans and white shirts saunter in. It’s the same guys from the bar who were looking for a fight not too long ago. One of them, the bald one, is holding a bat … the other pimply one, a gun.

“Well, hello there!” the one with the bat yells, and he smashes the pew to his left. “Long time, no see!”

Mother slaps her hand in front of her mouth, shocked and completely frozen to the floor.

“Nice church you have here,” the one with the gun says, swaying it around. “Be too bad if something were to happen to it, don’t you think?”

The more I look at them, the more I’m starting to realize they were the guys in the car at the cemetery.

Did they follow me here?

“Back for a rematch?” I ask, cocking my head.

“Oh, yeah.” One of them swings his bat again, ramming it into a pillar, and some stone flies across the room.

Grinding my teeth, I ball my fist and narrow my eyes at them. “Leave this church alone. Your fight is with me.”

“Or what?” the one with the gun asks. “You gonna slap us with your Bible?” He laughs as he approaches Mother. “Or is she gonna?”

“Stay away from her,” I growl, and I march to her, blocking her with my body to prevent them from hurting her.

The one with the gun cocks his head at me from afar, but he doesn’t move an inch.

“Go,” I whisper over my shoulder at Margaret. “Lock yourself in your room and don’t come out until I say so.”

“Yeah, go on, Granny,” the one with the bat jests, and he smashes a vase in the corner of the church to smithereens.

“Come with me. I don’t want you to get hurt,” Mother murmurs, grabbing my hand.

All this time and she’s still trying to protect me.

Now, it’s my turn.

I let go of her hand. “I won’t. I promise.” I straighten my collar and crack my neck. Behind me, Margaret slowly slips away into the back of the church, and when I hear the door lock click, I know it’s game on.

“You ready for a second round, pretty boy?” the one with the gun threatens, and he spits on the marble floor. “We’ve come prepared.”

“Do you even know where you are?” I ask, tilting my head as I roll up my sleeves.

“Fucking churches.” The one with the bat smashes another bench, breaking the wood in two.

“You’ll pay for that, you know,” I say.

He laughs. “Yeah, with what?”

The one with the gun grins and quips, “Yeah, tell us how we’re gonna pay because as far as I know … we just came to smash shit up.”

“You came to smash shit up,” I repeat, nodding a little as I casually saunter toward them. “And you chose a church. Of all places to do it.”

“You were here,” Batboy says.

“Oh, so it is me you’re after,” I retort, narrowing my eyes. “You know, we could’ve taken this outside so the church would remain intact, and done it the easy way. No one would get hurt.”

“No one?” Batboy laughs.

“Except you,” Gunboy says, laughing too.

I smile at them. “Keep saying that to yourself, and you might start to believe it. After I kick your asses into next week.”

“Ha … funny you’d say that,” Gunboy says, pointing his gun at me. “Too bad only one of us is carrying a gun.”

“Is that supposed to compensate for something smaller?” I jest, looking up and down his small frame. When I see his face contort, I grin, and he comes at me.

Guess I’ve gone and done it now.

They picked the wrong preacher to mess with, though.

Right when he’s in front of me and his gun is in reach, I push his arm aside with a flat hand. The gun goes off, and a bullet ricochets off the wall before landing on the floor. I quickly grasp his wrist and force him to drop it.

He squeals in pain, and then his buddy rushes at me with his bat out like it’s some kind of giant meat-stick.

Kicking Gunboy in his balls and then smashing his face against my knee, I push him aside and grasp the bat before it hits my face, holding him back with sheer will. I might be a little bit drunk, but that doesn’t make me weak … It only makes me more of an asshole.

I push it back so hard it smashes into his forehead, leaving him dazed.

Meanwhile, Gunboy gets up without his gun and starts punching the air, trying to hit me. I’m avoiding both easily, and I laugh while I do it.

“Too slow!” I joke, getting on their nerves.

I can tell. Their faces are bloating and turning red like a hot air balloon. Looks great.

Batboy tries again, and this time, I manage to snatch it away from him. I smack it right into his ankles, breaking one of them. He whimpers and falls to the ground, crying like a little bitch, while his tiny-dicked friend is still trying to punch me. This time, he even throws in some kicks, trying to hit me with all four limbs like he’s some kind of martial arts expert. It looks silly, to be honest.

Like they saw some shit on TV and decided they could do it themselves.

No.

Real fighting happens on the streets. You don’t learn it from a one-day course, and you certainly don’t fucking learn it from watching it on TV.

You learn it by fighting.

Day in and day out.

We don’t fight fair here. Rules don’t apply to criminals. We fight while carrying our life on our sleeves. We fight with our heart out and with death breathing down our necks.

Just like I’m doing right now.

I throw away the bat because I hate using weapons. I’d much rather use my own fists.

With one quick punch to the gut and another one between his eyes, I manage to knock him to the floor. He tries to get up again, but I know he’s dizzy because that’s exactly what that move is for. So I stomp on his belly so hard he almost throws up.

Meanwhile, Batboy’s crawling out on one leg, still whimpering like a little baby.

“Where you going?” I growl, marching toward him. I lean over and grasp him by his hair, pulling his head up. “Think you can run away?” I burst out into laughter. “Oh, wait … can’t run when your bones are crushed, can you?”

I stomp on his broken ankle, and he cries out in pain.

“Hurts, doesn’t it? You know what else hurts? Breaking shit in my damn church!” I smack his face down against the floor, hoping he bleeds.

Then I turn my attention toward his buddy, who’s attempting to flee by running past the left side of the pews. “Yeah, you run to whoever sent you. Tell him I’ll be waiting right here. And I expect payment for the destruction of property!”

“Don’t leave me!” Batboy yells at his buddy, but he ignores him.

“Aww … there goes your boyfriend,” I muse. “Must be tough seeing him give no fucks about your life.”

“Shut up!” he yells. He turns around to face me while still crawling away on his two hands like that will work.

I grab his throat with both hands, and he claws at my wrists to try to breathe properly. “Listen, you little shit, who are you and your buddy and what are you doing here?”

“Can’t breathe …” he chokes out.

“Then try harder!” I growl, getting up close with him as I sit down on top of him.

“We’re no one …”

“Of course, you’re no one, but someone sent you,” I say, squeezing harder.

He whispers, “Julio …”

The mere mention of his name makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand.

Julio. ‘El Campeón.’ The brawler. Rumor had it he killed a thousand men with his bare hands, hundreds of those with just two fingers. Of course, those are rumors … but terrifying nonetheless.

He’s also the man who killed my wife.

“Why?” I hiss back. “After everything he took from me, he’s still not done?”

He still struggles under my grasp. “Because he wants you gone.”

“Why? He would’ve done it sooner if he just wanted me gone!” I smack him harder to the floor. “Didn’t he want me to suffer? Huh? Tell me!”

He softly hisses, “You’re hanging out with his daughter.”

My eyes widen, and my gaze instantly darts to Laura, who comes out of her hiding spot behind the chapel wall. Her eyes bore into me. If only she could hear his words.

Or maybe it’s better that she doesn’t.

Laura Espino … Julio Espino’s daughter.

I can barely believe it, yet it all makes sense.

She said she was on the run. Maybe he’s tracking her. It would explain why she doesn’t want to discuss her family. And then his lackeys saw me with her, and now, he wants me dead.

Of course … because I could use her against him.

As the realization dawns, I loosen my grip on my victim, and he immediately pushes me off him, scrambling away on one foot. But I don’t care anymore. I know he won’t show up here again. He’s learned his lesson the hard way. Working for Julio and fighting me will give you broken bones, that’s what.

He scrambles while my attention focuses on Laura.

I’ve been staring at a ghost of my past this entire time, dancing with fate itself.

She’s his daughter. A girl he loves most dearly.

And it would be the world’s worst pain to him if she died.

If…

Would I ever be able to?

Am I that person? The one who wants vengeance so badly he’d even kill the only girl who gave him his spirit back?

Slowly, but surely, Laura comes walking toward me, but I’m not sure I’m prepared. The choice between good and evil is currently dividing me into pieces. I don’t want to lose her … but to see that motherfucker’s tears is my dying wish.

How do I look at her the same way without feeling that pain?

“Those guys … What did they want? Why did they trash this place?” she inquires.

Grinding my teeth, I hiss, “Please don’t …”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t come closer.”

She frowns in confusion. “Why?”

“They were after me,” I say.

“So?” She still tries to come closer, but I take a step back. “Why are you acting this way? Just because you hurt them? I don’t care about any of that.”

“It’s not that,” I growl, taking a deep breath.

She stares at me, the flame in her eyes growing weaker. “Those guys … I knew I recognized them from somewhere.” She grabs herself like she wants to hug herself instead of me. “They work for him … but you already know that, don’t you? That’s why they were after you.”

She’s so smart. Too smart for her own good.

“My father wants you.”

“It’s complicated,” I say, swallowing away the lump in my throat.

“He must’ve found out about us.” She rubs her lips together. “He always hated seeing me with a man. And I hated his controlling urges.” She sighs. “But that doesn’t have to come between us. He can’t decide who I’m with. That’s not up to him.”

I don’t reply. I don’t know how or what I should say. She doesn’t even know the full story. The real reason for our mutual hatred.

“Can’t we—”

“Please … just leave,” I say, looking away.

“Frank …”

“I can’t,” I say. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

“I know my father is an asshole, but that doesn’t mean you have to let him win and—”

“That’s not why I’m asking you to leave,” I interject, staring straight at her. Her teary eyes make me weak. Malleable. And it crushes me.

If anything could break me, she could.

“Tell me why?” she asks. “At least give me a reason.”

“You’re better off not knowing some things,” I mutter. “But right now, I really wanna be left alone.”

She grimaces. “If that’s what you want.”

It pains me to see her turn her back to me and walk out.

Not soon after, Mother approaches me from behind and places a hand on my shoulder. “She’ll be back.”

“I don’t know if I want her to come back.”

“Yes, you do. I know what you feel. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

I glance at her over my shoulder. “She’s his daughter.”

Her lips quirk up into a soft smile. “Love knows no bounds.”

And just like that, she’s managed to completely unhinge me.

Her wise words always manage to dig deep into my skin and make me rethink my resolve.

Even if I wanted to, just to see the look on his face, I could never kill her.

Even if it means he and his men will kill me first.

But if she only knew the truth … she’d kill me herself.

Nine years ago

I’m the bad guy.

I knew that when I began dealing, and I know it now.

I know full well what I chose when I signed up for it. When I decided to shake people down and beat them up just for a bit of money. When I began to kill.

I knew every step of the way that I was as bad as could be, but I didn’t care. Never do.

All I wanted was recognition. Someone to tell me that I finally made it. That I was the guy who they all wanted.

Except it’s never enough.

Nothing I do will ever make this gang happy.

They’ll always want more, more, more. To the point of making me do the impossible. Something unspeakable. Something that creates a point of no return.

That one night … when I broke my own rules … that was when I turned my back on the gang.

The moment a woman crossed my path. A woman who didn’t know any better. A woman who wasn’t supposed to be there.

Yet she was.

And the moment I pulled the trigger, I already knew I made the biggest mistake of my life.

I didn’t want her to die. It was never part of the plan.

But I was always taught to protect myself at all cost. To shoot before you look. To eliminate the threat before it even exists.

But she was never a threat.

She was simply … there.

An unlucky chance of fate.