When I’m feeling down, I pray out here in the open. I feel closer to God here than I do in the church.
Crazy, I know.
This church is all I have. This is my family.
And that’s okay. I know we don’t have a choice in the life we are dealt, but if I had to choose, I would keep the one I have.
Not every day is easy like today. Most days start with rising early and going to bed well into the night. It’s exhausting, but necessary. Father Robert says so. And I trust him.
I was born to be what I am. I have been told this from early in my childhood. The message has stuck. It’s for the greater good. Sacrifices must be made. There is no other way.
Fate can be a cruel bitch.
***
“Cat? Chéri?”
I put down my trowel and turn to the familiar voice. Sister Arianne walks towards me, worry etched on her delicate features.
My stomach immediately plummets.
I love Ari as much as the other sisters, but she is a problem solver. She has the mind of an engineer, needing to know how things work, what problems stem from and how to fix them.
I mentally roll my eyes in anticipation of what’s coming.
She takes a seat on the bench closest to me. I pick up my trowel and dig another hole in the soft, brown soil of the garden, ready to replant another bunch of basil.
“You do not wish to talk to me about what is troubling you, dear?”
A noise escapes me, one filled with derision. I haven’t meant for it to escape, but my mouth has other ideas. When Ari and I are alone, I am allowed to talk candidly. “Ari, I’m an eighteen-year-old girl living in a convent behind a church in a small town. Sometimes, the highlight of my day is you bugging me.” She smiles warmly and I smile back. Suddenly, my smile falls away as I realise something. I huff out a harsh breath and look into nothingness. “Wow. That’s really sad, isn’t it?”
Her face falls too, but only for a moment before correcting it with a big smile. “Non, petit fille. Things could be much worse.”
I nod solemnly. Things could be much worse, but right now, I can’t think of anything much worse than being separated from the outside world and living as a hermit. Such is life.
Bringing my attention back to the garden, I pick up the basil plant and do my magic. “What did he say to get you all anxious, Ari?”
Her beaming smile turns sad. “Bob...he worries for you. He wonders if you will ever be ready.” At that, my head snaps up, a glower contorting my face. Ari tuts, bringing a hand up to my face. “You are far too pretty to make such a face.” Smoothing my brow, she coaxes, “Do not make the angry faces. They do not suit you, mon ange.”
Fed up, I throw down my trowel and argue, “I’m ready, Ari. I’ve been ready for two damn years.”
A look of surprise crosses her features at my outburst.
I don’t blame her—I’m usually quite passive—but I’m sick of living my mistake over and over every single day. If only...
I move to stand in front of her. “Let me prove it to you.”
Her brow rises in disbelief before her eyes narrow on me. “Prove it? You wish to prove it to me? How, may I ask, will you be doing this?”
“Tonight. I’ll come with you.”
She barks out a laugh. When she realises I’m not joking, she enquires through tight lips, “You wish to accompany me this evening?”
“Yes.”
Her face voids of all emotion. “You do not have to do this, Cat. There is time. You can’t rush perfection, darling.”
“I want to. I want to come.” She still looks hesitant, so I do my best to reassure her. “I can do this, Ari.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
We stare at each other a few seconds, and I tell her quietly, “I was born to do this.”
That seems to cement her decision.
She stands, her rosary bound tightly around her hand. She brushes her hands down her black gown, adjusts her habit and sighs. “Very well, my dear, we leave at midnight. Be ready.”
My head bobs in a tight, firm motion. I can’t believe what I just heard.
She agreed!
I watch her walk away. Just before she leaves the grounds, she turns and says, “I love you, child, but tonight, there is no room for error. None at all. If you believe for a second you can’t do this, you need to tell me now.”
My eyes lift in thought, and then I look back to Sister Arianne. “No, I’m fine. I can do this.”
She smiles widely. “D’accord, midnight, little one. God be with you.”
I mutter slowly and incredulously, “And also with you.”
Holy mother of God.
Tonight.
Midnight.
Chapter Three
I run through the nave of the church, all the way to the end, only screeching to a halt to make the sign of the cross in front of a ten-foot tall statue of a crucified Jesus before quickly rushing to Father Robert’s office.
Knocking, I don’t wait for a response before I throw the door open with a grin.
And stop dead in my tracks.
Frankie is bent over the large wooden desk, her black gown pulled up over her exposed, naked ass, her habit off with her red hair falling in waves off the edge of the desk, her face twisted in ecstasy. Bob pumps into her from behind, his ass bare, but his black slacks and shirt still on. She pants and whimpers with every thrust.
I can’t take my wide eyes off them.
Bob looks to be in pain. His teeth are gritted, face turned up towards the ceiling, the veins in his neck pulled tight and bulging.
It all happens so quickly.
Frankie’s eyes shoot open and lock on mine. “Fuck, Bob! Catarina!”
Father Robert stops his harsh thrusting and turns to find me flushed in the doorway. “Shit!” When I still don’t move, he booms, “A little privacy, Cat.”
That jolts me.
Me and my wide eyes use our shaking hands to slam the door shut behind us.
Shit.
Oh, God. That really just happened, didn’t it?
I wait, and wait, and consider leaving, and wait some more. My feet make the decision for me. Five minutes of waiting and I start to walk away. Just as I reach the end of the hall, the office door opens and Frankie calls out, “Whoa there, pussy Cat. Get in here.”
Face lowered, I turn and rush past Frankie into Bob’s office.
My eyes trained on my shoes, I stand in the middle of the office flicking the beads of my rosary.
I don’t lift my head. I don’t dare look him in the face right now.
I know Bob and Frankie can do what they like. There’s no one holding them back. But imagine finding your dad screwing your best friend.
Ewww.
Frankie comes up behind me, placing an arm around my waist. She pulls me into her and chuckles. “Oh, c’mon. Don’t be embarrassed. It’s just sex. We’ve talked about sex before.” Bob makes a disgusted noise in his throat, and Frankie says in his direction, “Don’t you start. She’s eighteen years old. Don’t act like you thought she could avoid it forever.”
Bob curses under his breath. “You’re really not helping, Francis.”
Frankie places her lips at my ear and whispers out the side of her mouth, loud enough for all of us to hear, “Uh-oh, now I’m in trouble. He called me Francis.”
Bob scoffs. “Cat is a good girl. She’s not having sex. Ever.” Grasping for a ray of hope in his desperation, he says weakly, “Besides, she’s dedicated to God. And the church.”
Frankie barks out a laugh. “You actually sounded like a real priest for a second there. Kudos to you.”
“Yeah, well, one of us has to act legit. Lord knows you’d blow our cover in less than an hour if I left you in charge. And back to the issue—like I said, Cat will not be having sex. Not as long as I’m alive.”