Bad Habits: A Dark Anthology - Yolanda Olson Page 0,47
choir. When she opens her mouth, the most beautiful voice I have ever heard leaves her pouty lips. I can’t keep my eyes off her. After the service, I make my way to the front of church where she stands talking to another nun. Her back is to me, yet when I am just inches from her, she spins on her heel.
“Sisters.” I greet, stunned by her beautiful blue-grey eyes that seem to look into my soul. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Priest. Priest Michaels.” Up close, she is even more breath-taking, prominent cheek bones, pink pouty lips. She’s fucking perfect.
“Mr. Michaels, I’m Adele, and this is Celeste.” the other woman tells me.
My eyes lock on Celeste’s, and she doesn’t back down. “Mr. Michaels.” her voice is as sweet as her singing, “it's a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I nod.
“You’re new here.” she tells me.
“That obvious?” My eyes roam down her body, causing a flush to spread across her cheeks. She doesn’t answer me but looks at Adele who has moved on to greet some of the parishioners.
“I’ve lived here my whole life, there is rarely a face I don’t recognize. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Michaels-”
“You can call me, Priest.” I interrupt.
“Priest,” my name sounds like music when she says it. “Lunch will be served in the hall.” With that, she brushes past me. I catch Father Thomas glaring at me from the other side of the church, and I lift my hand in greeting.
Celeste sits with the other nuns at their lunch table on the far end of the room. She’s out of place amongst the other women. I watch her move her food around the plate, nodding along to something Adele says to her, her mind obviously elsewhere. I wonder if she’s thinking about last night. She offers me the briefest of glances. I cannot seem to get the image of her from last night out of my mind, and I’ve jerked off at least three times this morning alone.
The food here is bland, nothing like the feasts I grew accustomed to at home, so I eat as much as I can stomach then push the plate away. The priests and deacons at my table stare at me in dissatisfaction. Wastage is a cardinal sin here, so is conversation apparently. These men look at me like the outsider I am. Being a groundskeepers is pretty low on the value chain.
“If you’ll excuse me.” I politely stand gathering my plate.
I stalk out of the hall. I need to get outside, release this pent up frustration.
My cottage is on the grounds of the church, it’s far enough away to offer me privacy but close enough for them to keep an eye on me. It’s nothing fancy, a standard bedroom consisting of a double bed, desk and wardrobe, a small kitchenette with hardly any appliance, and a bathroom. I change out of my Sunday church clothes and into a t-shirt and work pants.
Sunday is ordinarily a day of rest, but I would much rather spend it in the sun, weeding the church garden under the sweltering hot sun. I’m sweating through my cotton T-shirt.
“Priest.” Father Thomas calls as he approaches. “You should be resting.”
I throw down the garden tool and swipe the sweat from my forehead. “There is no rest for the wicked, is there, Father?” I huff. He narrows his eyes at me, like I’m a parasite he wants to exterminate. Afraid I’m going to out you, Father? That isn’t my game.
“Have you settled in all right?”
I wonder if this is a trick question. “As well as can be under the circumstances.”
“I know it’s quite an adjustment, but I do hope that you’ll find solace here. Many men like you have walked into Our Lady of Heavenly Hope seeking forgiveness. They've all left fulfilled.”
I want to ask him if that is what he was doing last night, helping someone atone for their sins
I’ve never been a religious man, which I suppose is why my father sent me here. I always found the whole system hypocritical. Case in point. “I am hoping to do just that."
“It will serve you well to keep your distance from the nuns, Mr. Michaels.”
And there it is. The real reason he sought me out. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Well, now that that’s settled, I’ll leave you to your gardening.” I don’t miss the gleam of devilry in his eyes.
I pick up the hoe, raising it over my head, then let it drop, digging into