Page 27 of Savior

He’s a pillar of the community, a man others lean on for the same thing I’m seeking: comfort.

I can’t confuse his kindness for wantonness, even if it felt like he, too, felt the sparks when I touched his arm.

Sometimes, there are things in life that are unattainable. Things you can’t have. Father Russo is one of those things.

“I gotthese menus from a few places in town that we can order from. I figure we can order in and maybe watch a movie tonight,” Luca says, walking into my room.

My door was open.

I don’t want it closed.

I’ll feel like a prisoner again.

I wonder if I’ll ever want to be behind a closed door again.

I put my hand out, placing the book I’d been reading off one of his shelves in the living room down on my lap.

He hands the stack over, lingering by the edge of the bed as I peruse them.

“Pizza sounds good. Maybe this place?” I hand him back the menu for New York Pizzeria, and he nods.

We go back and forth on what we want before landing on a cheese pie and some wings.

Once he’s gone from the room after ordering, his immense presence leaves behind a cloud of something I can’t ignore.

I can no longer read the words on the page because I’m flushed and distracted. I close it and groan as I toss it onto the bedside table.

“Food will be here in forty-five minutes,” he announces, and I decide since I can’t read, I’ll shower and get into some clothes Ardesia left for me.

The shower’s heat sinks through my battered skin, and I ignore the outward bruising and the little prickles of pain as I wash my body under the scalding spray.

The wounds internally are worse, and I feel them like I do my heartbeat, even if I try to ignore them.

Once dressed in a silk pajama set with shorts and a strappy top, I let my damp hair dangle over my shoulder as I returned to the living space.

Father Russo is on the couch, head in his hands, his leg bouncing furiously.

I open my mouth to ask him if he’s alright, but the doorbell rings, and he springs into action, paying the delivery man for the pizza and then plating our food without saying a word. I’m left confused about what I walked in on, wondering what on earth could be wrong with him.

He comes back into the room, cheeks flushed, and hands me a plate with wings, a slice of pizza, and a garlic knot. He’s got two sodas in the crook of his arm, and he nods towards the couch.

“Want to eat in here tonight? We can watch TV if you’d like.”

“Sure.” I lead us into the room, and as he hands me the remote and I flick through channels, I grapple with the change in Father Russo from when I saw him earlier to now.

He’s on edge, and guilt is eating at me. It’s because I’m invading his space.

I no more want to leave and be alone than I want to drive a nail through my eye, but it seems my time might near an end soon if my presence bothers the priest as much as I just witnessed.

CHAPTER NINE

LUCA

The house is dark, and I towel through my hair with the damp towel as I walk across the living room.

Her door is open.

It’s always open.

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