Bad Habits: A Dark Anthology - Yolanda Olson Page 0,61

yells.

I stand and back into a corner, shivering as Priest slams a fist to Father Thomas’s temple over and over again. Punches rain down on Father Thomas's face until there is so much blood, he’s difficult to recognize. Nuns start filing in, Sister Concessa amongst them, who yells, and tries to pull Priest off Father Thomas.

Everything feels like it's moving in slow motion as someone hands me a coat to drape over my body. Priest stops hitting Father Thomas long enough to focus his attention on me, then he looks around the room, noticing the nuns who have gathered to watch the scene. They stare at him like he is the bad guy despite the fact that Father Thomas is half naked. It should be obvious to them what happened here, and yet they throw daggers at me with their eyes. I wrap the coat around me and hurry out of the room, pushing through the small crowd, my ears ringing as my feet slap against the tiles. I make it to my room and shut the door behind me, my chest heaving. I drag myself across the room to sit on my bed letting the tears I’d held at bay, fall as I realize that everything is a mess, and it is all my fault. I never imagined that I could be anything other than the vile human Father Thomas created, not until I met a man that didn’t desired me for sadistic reasons. I thirsted for blood, and I took it, over and over again. I deserve what Father Thomas did to me. I was wrong to deny him my body. I don’t deserve someone like Priest. That is not in the cards for someone like me. I have taken lives, willingly, and this is my penance.

Priest slams through my door, jarring me from my thoughts. “Are you all right?” His long hair is loosened from the ponytail he usually wears, his lip is cut, and the front of his shirt has blood on it.

I nod as he takes a step closer, running my hands through my hair. This entire day has been exhausting. My head pounds and all I want to do is lay my head down and drift off into oblivion.

There is no rest for the wicked.

“You have to leave, Priest. You don’t belong here.” I hear myself speak, but there is no conviction in my voice. I hang my head in my hands. I can hear commotion outside my door.

“We are going to leave. It’s all arranged. We never have to come back here. ” He kneels down in front of me.

I can’t bear to look him in the eye. What I’m about to say will change things, but I know it is something I must do. “I’m not leaving with you.” I say the words knowing it is not what he wants to hear.

“What the hell are you talking about? We spoke about this. You can’t stay here. Not after that. After what he did. Look at me,” he grips my chin, turning my head toward him, “look at me.”

I let myself look into his eyes, they’re warm and pleading, as welcoming as the thought of freedom. I let myself get lost in them one last time. “This is who I am, Priest. I’m not going to change. I can’t be what you need me to be.”

“I don’t need you to be anything other than you, Celeste.” He leans closer to me.

“This is my home. It’s where I belong.” I push his hand away, looking out of the window, needing to focus on anything but him.

“Are you even listening to yourself? You’ve been abused, tormented. Did you forget what just happened?” he stares at me, brows furrowed.

I let out a breath. “I disobeyed him. I went against my vows, to the church, to God. He was only trying to show me that.”

“Don’t let them lie to you. You’ll break if you remain here. They’ll destroy you.”

“Nobody is lying to me. Everything was fine until you came along. I want you to leave.” I rise from my bed, heading to the door. “I don’t want you here.”

“You’re afraid, I get that.” He walks toward me, his hands wrapping around my shoulders. “But, you can’t keep lying to yourself that any of this is okay. The scars on your body, they’re proof of how utterly wrong this whole situation is.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He gently shakes me by my shoulders, his eyes searching