Page 20 of Heathens
Her eyes widen even further, and she looks to be on the brink of admitting something. But then it disappears, and she sags back into her seat. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”
I want to know, but I don’t want to push her, so I only nod and change the subject. “Can I show you something?”
She nods, and we quickly finish our hot chocolate before I pay. She tries to argue, but I give her a hard look, and she only smiles gratefully. Once we're out, we continue our lighter conversation from earlier. The sun is still strong, even though it's past seven, the golden glow reflecting off of the whites of the buildings.
“Are you okay to walk in those shoes?” I ask, gesturing to her flats. “It takes about an hour to walk to where we’re going.”
She twists her mouth to the side. “Yeah, I’m fine. Do you have a weird aversion to taking public transportation?” she asks, crossing her arms.
I grin. “Yes, I do, in Paris. The city is meant to be viewed while walking.”
She considers my words for a second, and I swear I see actual mirth in her irises—like she can’t help but want to laugh—genuinely laugh—but she can’t remember how.
“Okay then, Mr. Priest man. Lead the way.”
I chuckle. “I’m not a priest yet.”
She rolls her eyes and gives me a smug, close-mouthed smile. “You’re basically a priest.” Not according to the thoughts in my head about you and the continual tightness in my pants.
We meander down Rue de Rivoli, keeping an acceptable distance between ourselves.
“I'll become a deacon first. Then a priest. If I behave myself, that is.“ I glance over at her, and a slow flush fills her neck and chest as she clears her throat and looks away.Is she attracted to me?
“I know you told me how you decided to become a priest, but you didn’t tell me why. What...” she chews on her lower lip as we pass through a crowd of tourists. “What made you decide to give it all up?”
I sigh and think about it for a minute. “I read this quote once, and I don’t remember where, but it struck a chord. ‘A sinning man will stop praying, and a praying man will stop sinning.’ When I read it, I thought the word wasspinning. At the time, that word was synonymous with my life. Spinning: I was spinning out of control. The drinking, the drugs, the sex. Spinning, never stopping, never taking a moment to have some introspection. I landed in Notre Dame by chance, by fate. And yet, something stronger than fate called to me that day. It was, quite simply, divine intervention.” She absorbs my words as we walk past the closing store fronts. Designer shoes, purses, a macaron shop. Children run ahead of their bemused parents. Lovers moseying hand in hand, their night just beginning. Lilith’s steps are leisurely, and she wraps her arms around herself. “Are you cold?”
She shakes her head. “No.” Looking up at me and smiling, she reaches into her purse and pulls out two cigarettes, offering one to me. I take it. After we light them, she inhales smoke. “How do you know it was divine intervention? Like, what if I told you I thought most religions were a cult, and that they prey upon broken people?”
“I’d agree with you. But I think prey is the wrong word. I think religionattractsbroken people. And that's not necessarily a bad thing.“ I mimic her and inhale a puff of the lit cigarette. I really should quit, but it's the one thing I can't seem to give up entirely.
She nods. “You must think I’m some kind of barbarian.”
I stop walking, roving my eyes over her face as she watches me with a surprised expression, her cigarette dangling from her fingers. “I think you’re a good woman.”Amazing. Beguiling. Beautiful.“I think you're lost, but you just need to find something to believe in—whatever that may be. Remember what I said about choices?“ I take a step closer, and I can't deny the satisfaction I feel when I hear her suck in a sharp breath at the proximity. “You're in control of your own life, Lilith. Only you.“
She grimaces. “A good woman.” She laughs bitterly. “You know...” she flicks some ash onto the ground and pins me with her hazel and honey eyes, “good women can be wild, too.” She winks and continues walking, and I can’t—won’t—move. The rush trills through me, from my groin to my limbs, when I think about taking her in one of the alleys to see just how wild she can be—
Lust.
Another cardinal sin.
Three for seven isn’t awful, but it’s certainly not great.
The Deceased Are Quiet
Lily
Present
Life isn’t fair sometimes. For example, Evelyn’s life, according to karma, should’ve been flawless—should’ve been good and rich and full. She deserved all the greatness in the world. Having dealt with a drug addict for a mother and a deadbeat for a father; having dealt with all of the discrimination that came with being poor in an affluent area... she never once complained. In every instance, she would almost unwaveringly choose to be good. Aside from the occasional joint or beer, aside from the questionable boyfriend she had one summer, she was perfect. Life handed her a pile of crap, and she somehow turned it into sparkling diamonds. That’s just the way she was.
And then I left her, shivering and alone, in that warehouse.
When I look at Salem, I see a little bit of her in him. The goodness—the internal light that skipped over me whenever our souls were created. Evelyn and I were ying and yang, and a small part of me thought that maybe Salem and I were, too.
He buys us greasy ham and cheese crepes from a small cart, not relenting once when I offer to pay. I’m honestly not even sure if seminary students make money. You know,greedbeing a sin and all that. So I feel especially guilty as he puts his wallet away and hands me the steaming crepe. We eat and talk, talk and eat, and I follow him blindly through the city. He’s right, too. Walking through the city is the best way to see Paris.
The sun is beginning to set, and the sky above the cream buildings becomes a soft, twilight blue. The antique lamps spark to life, and the streets quiet down a bit as people start to eat dinner. I love that about Paris—sometimes, dinner isn't finished until midnight. And even then, you're in no rush to go home. The smell of cigarettes and freshly-baked Camembert cheese permeates my nose, and the air cools considerably, though it retains a bit of the humidity from earlier.
