Page 16 of Heathens
I shake my head and pretend to process the information, making ahmmsound in my throat. But I suspected as much. You’dhaveto be pretty fucked up in order to steal young women from their lives and force them into sex work, so I figured he was an awful guy.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, reaching up and touching his arm. “Do you still talk to him?”
He nods. “Yeah. Every once in a while. He’s—”
A woman bumps into him and apologizes. I try not to glare at her as she walks away. Benedict just shakes his head and gives me a smile that fades quickly. “Do you want to grab a drink somewhere?”
I school my face not to show the disappointment written all over my features.
Yes, I’ll grab that drink. I want to be under your skin. I want your trust.
As we walk out of the museum in comfortable silence, I glance at him from my peripheral vision. He looks a bit like him—arrogant.
Moon Above and Earth Below
Lily
Present
I sense his presence before I see him take a seat next to me. When I glance over, he’s staring straight ahead, wearing a collar and a cassock. His hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it all day, and I have to crush the thrill that courses through me when I watch his profile—and how his lips tick up slightly into a small smile when he realizes I’m staring.
“Hello, Lilith,” he says, his voice low and profound. He turns his head and his eyes find mine slowly. I blush—can he tell I dressed up? After getting a drink with Benedict, we parted ways, and I went home to change quickly before heading to Notre Dame, swapping my cardigan and tank for a silk blouse and flats. I even did my hair and makeup. “You look beautiful,” he says quietly, looking away and watching the altar, as if he knows he shouldn’t say things like that in a place like this.
Being who he is.
Beingwhathe is.
Being who I am, impure.
BeingwhatI am, broken.
I hide my smile by pulling my lip into my mouth. Salem drums his feet against the floor and fidgets with his hands—so unlike the serious, stoic man in my apartment last week. Is he nervous?
“Want to get out of here?” he asks under his breath.
I laugh out loud and three senior women in front of us turn around and scowl.
“Aren’t you supposed to help with mass?” I look at my watch. “It’s at six-fifteen, right?”
He smiles, and it lights up his whole face. “Let me just go tell Father Monsignor that I’ll be unable to help tonight.” He stands.
I jump up. “Wait, Salem... I don’t want to be a bad influence,” I say quickly. “I should go. Maybe we can meet later when you’re done?”
Something passes over his face—some kind of internal battle—but he just puts a hand on my lower back and leans in; close enough to be scandalous, close enough to loosen the muscles in my legs.
“Even the most devout man needs to live his life sometimes,” he purrs, the feeling of his breath in my ear causing heat to spread through my veins. “I’ll be back. Don’t leave.”
Before I can respond, he walks away, leaving me alone in the pews. The murmuring of the crowds fades away as I look around, actually taking in the gothic cathedral and the array of embellishments. The organ plays softly in the background, and the stone wallssmellold, like this place has been a place of congregation for not hundreds butthousandsof years. The great rose windows let in soft, filtered light, and I feel like I’m home.
Having been raised Catholic, my ideologies were very pure until I was a teenager. Evelyn and I were the outcasts, the blasphemers, the dark sisters in a school full of preps and jocks. Our small town was suffocating us. In ninth grade, we made a pact to stick together forever.
Moon above and earth below,
Sky’s cool blue and sun’s hot glow,
In this right and ready hour,
Fill our hearts with staying power.
