The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,29

molten lava.

This again?

Really?

My hands are in fists, but it seems there’s no way I can possibly unfurl them. If my feet weren’t rooted to the spot, I’d storm out of here.

Why the fuck did I even come?

He always does this. He turns things around and makes it seem like it’s your fault. That it’s always been your fault, and you were too stupid and too egotistical and too—

vain

—to realize it.

“You know what?” I whirl to face him. My dress feels like a cheese grater against the inside of my wrists. “I should go to Sisters of Mercy. In fact, why don’t I just go there right now since it’s obvious you don’t want me here.”

I don’t wait for his reply. My dress scrapes against my legs as I charge for the door leading out of this hell hole.

It’s not just his cigarette smoke giving me a headache. Tears are waiting to fall.

Father Gabriel can say what he wants, I’m not biting.

My parents believed.

In God.

In the church.

In Father Gabriel.

Their lives—and subsequently, mine—were formed around the concept God is love. They say he notices when a damn swallow falls, but he couldn’t be bothered to save two cherished members of his flock?

I don’t give a fuck about me—God and me, we’ve never really been on speaking terms—but my parents deserved better than having their brains smeared over the tarmac because they hit a patch of ice.

I jerk at the door handle, but somehow Gabriel locked it when I wasn’t looking because it won’t open.

A hand appears, grasps mine, draws my fingers away.

I snatch it back. “Let go,” I snap.

I try the door again. Gabriel slings a hand around my waist and drags me back.

“Let me go!” I shriek.

He lifts me bodily, and I start kicking and screaming like I’m possessed.

I’m vaguely aware Gabriel’s trying to get me to calm down, but I can’t stop fighting him.

I won’t.

I’m a bottle of soda someone’s been shaking and shaking and shaking.

Gabriel’s just popped open the tab.

“I can’t let you go,” comes Gabriel’s voice as I pause to draw breath. “Our holy Father won’t allow it, child.”

“Fuck you!” I beat at him with my fists, and he finally releases me when I land a blow to his midsection. “Fuck you, and fuck your God!” I stagger, stab a finger toward him. “You weren’t there. He wasn’t there. Never. Not once!”

Gabriel rushes forward, and I try to block him. But he’s obviously had practice at calming down hysterical members of his clergy. He sidesteps easily before wrapping me in his arms and squeezing the life out of me.

My legs become weak and rubbery. Soon, they can no longer hold my weight.

We sink to the carpet. My ragged sobs and Gabriel’s heavy breathing as he resists my struggles are the only sound for a moment. This close, he smells of red wine and cigarettes and a woody cologne.

There’s a crash.

I hiccup in fright and turn to the door.

Reuben’s standing there, shoulders bunched and hands held in blades. There’s a look of such avid determination in his black eyes that I shrink away.

Inadvertently seeking comfort in Gabriel’s arms.

“I heard…” Reuben cuts off.

“Everything is under control,” the provost says.

Bitter words line up on my tongue, but I can’t say anything with these hitching lungs of mine.

“Please, child.” Gabriel’s voice is tight, but calm. “Just take the dishes and leave. This does not concern you.”

There’s a clatter of crockery and cutlery as Reuben cleans the apartment.

Gabriel and I are still on the floor, and the fact has a wave of shame rolling through me. I turn and burrow my head against Gabriel’s chest, and let a month’s worth of anger, and hurt, and fear pour out of me.

So what if Reuben sees?

So what if the whole world knows how weak and pathetic I am?

It doesn’t matter.

Because I don’t matter.

If I did, then I’d still have my parents. I’d still be happy.

But I don’t matter to anyone anymore.

Not even God.

Chapter Fifteen

Zac

I sit up in bed and stare at the shadow of the man who’s just stepped into my room.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

Rube doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he moves about my room, hunting in the dark. Seconds later, a match flares and he lights the single candle on my desk.

My apartment is one of the smaller ones on the fourth floor of the east wing.

Reuben shouldn’t be in this wing. He has a single student room on the west.

Light takes its time to seep into the shadows. Reuben sits on