Bad Habits: A Dark Anthology - Yolanda Olson Page 0,48
the earth. This is far from settled, Your Reverence.
Chapter Three
Celeste
Every day is the same at Our Lady of Heavenly Hope. It’s difficult to keep track of what day it is. It’s almost as if they’re intertwined, folding seamlessly into each other until it’s impossible to tell them apart. It’s five a.m., and we’re all awake, bathed, and gathered in the church. Mother Superior leads us through the Liturgy of Hours. Sister Concessa looks up at the Mother Superior like she is God herself. I, on the other hand, feel anxious. Father Thomas asked to see me, and my knees tremble in anticipation. After an hour, we’re finally released for private prayer. I make my way to the garden, another of my sacred spaces. Kneeling beneath the large oak tree, I clasp my hands together. I sense Priest before I hear his footfalls. Keeping my eyes shut, I continue my private worship.
“It is rude to stare, Mr. Michaels.” I say when I’m done.
“I couldn’t help it.”
I stand, turning to face him. Despite the chill in the air, he wears a thin T-shirt that stretches over his lean body and black sweat pants. He leans against the wall, his muscular arms folded over his chest. Priest Michaels is a tall man, at least six feet. His shoulder length coffee colored hair is pulled back in a ponytail. His face is angular, his forest green eyes penetrating. He offers me a lopsided grin that sends heat to my cheeks.
I bow my head and start walking. “I must get started on breakfast.”
He grips my wrist as I pass by him, halting me in my tracks. “Are you going to explain what I saw the other night?”
“That is hardly any of your business.” My eyebrows pull together. He has some nerve bringing that up.
“You’re right, but you’re going to tell me anyway.” He runs his calloused thumb over my wrist. I tug my hands from his grasp.
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
“Why don’t you enlighten me then.”
“Mr. Michaels-”
“Priest,” he interrupts.
“Priest. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of church business.”
He snorts. “Church business> You killed a man.”
My eyes widen. “Keep your voice down.” I hiss.
“So, are you going to tell me, or do I need to get the authorities involved?” I feel a muscle in my jaw twitch. “Do what you must.” I say simply, stomping away before he can stop me, my heart pounding against my ribcage. I know he won’t say a word. The people who come here do so because they need a place to hide, until whatever they are running from blows over. I know that Priest Michaels is no different.
I slip into the kitchen, grateful Sister Concessa is nowhere in sight. Tardiness is another thing she won’t tolerate. I wash my hands, which haven’t stopped trembling, and slip on my apron. Priest Michaels is just nosy. I move around the sterile space, gathering ingredients for the bread I’m about to bake. I’m covered in dough when Mary Concessa joins me in the kitchen, pleased to see me hard at work.
“Come in.” Father Thomas calls. I open his door slowly and enter his office. It’s always dim and dusty in this room, but comforting. I remember the first time I entered this room. I’d just turned sixteen, and it was the first time I realized that the Father was more than just a priest but also a man. A man I desired and would do anything for.
I take a seat at the desk, opposite him. He’s in his late forties, but he doesn’t look it. His hair is still more ebony than ivory, brushed back. His jaw is strong, clean shaven. A dimple dents his chin. I’ve heard the nuns and novices talking about how his eyes are so dark, they’re almost bottomless. They swoon when he’s not looking. None of them have had him look at them the way he looks at me. They haven’t felt his touch, tasted him the way I have, had him inside them. I press my thighs together at the thought.
“Have you spoken with Mr. Michaels?” He narrows his eyes at me.
“Only briefly, Father.” I wring my hands in my lap.
“We have a confession tonight, Celeste, we cannot afford his kind of interest in you.”
“He is not interested in me, Father. He was introducing himself.”
“I am a man, young lady, and I know what men want when they look at you.”