Page 8 of West Bound
“We all have those doubts,” I continue. “We question whether or not our choices really make sense. If it’s the rightthing or the wrong thing. Sometimes, our subconscious works through it in unusual ways. All of that is normal.”
“It’s normal to have those kinds of thoughts about a priest?”
“You’d be surprised what I hear in the confessional,” I lie. I wouldn’t know, but I imagine it happens often enough to younger priests. Her smile returns at that admission, and she nods her understanding.
“Ah, yeah. That doesn’t surprise me. Aria says you’re too pretty to be a priest.”
“Should Aria have been at confession?”
“I wasn’t trying to get her in trouble. In her defense, I think it’s hard to look at you and not have an opinion.” She hedges her bets.
“You’re blaming me for it then?”
“Well, if you represent the temptation of sin, we should all stay away from you, right?” She posits a fair conundrum, teasing me back in the process.
“It’s only the near occasion of sin if I’m likely to let you act on it.” I take a step closer to her, closing the distance between us. “If you think I have the same kinds of doubts. If I’m vulnerable to sin as well.” I reach forward and sweep a lock of hair out of her face, daring her to make a move in return. “Do you?”
She stares down at the small space between us and then looks up at me, surprising me with her next act of bravery. She takes the smallest step forward, leaving the Holy Spirit with so little space to move between us that I wonder if we won’t just catch fire right here on this dock. Her for breaking her vows and me for tempting her into it.
“Are you?” Her eyes lift to meet mine, fighting to hold steady despite the deep blush I can still see in the moonlight, the thrum of her heart at her pulse point, and the steadying breath she takes to calm her nerves.
“The collar doesn’t create a force field to protect me from the same sorts of base cravings any man might have.” Neither does the long wool skirt nor the high collar of her conservative clothing. If anything, it’s made them worse. I fantasize about peeling every layer off her. I dream about what confessions she might make with my tongue on her clit.
“So you have impure thoughts too?” Her brows lift with the honest inquisition.
I roll my lower lip between my teeth, doing my best not to smile at her description. Impure doesn’t begin to cover it.
“I think about it sometimes, yes. My mind wanders. Especially at night.”
“Would you ever act on it?” Her words are a soft temptation, and if she weren't a mark and a nun, I’d already have her on her knees. I’ve got to remember I’m playing her and not the other way around.
“There’s always the temptation. Under certain circumstances, I think it’d be hard to resist,” I admit.
She takes another step forward, erasing any distance between us, and her head tilts upward as she holds my gaze. I don’t flinch. She’s practically begging me to kiss her. And fuck, for a second, I want to. I want to know what she tastes like. I want to feel her lips on mine.
Which is exactly why I can’t. My brother was right about me going fucking soft out here. I have to remember what the fuck I’m doing. She’s a means to an end. A pawn I need to bend to my will. Seducing her but not fucking her was part of that plan. If I kiss her out here like this, I’ll be at risk of fucking up everything. I’ve been on this island too damn long, unmoored from the things that really matter and letting myself indulge in too much of the things that don’t.
“But what kind of priest would I be if I acted on every temptation? We have to hold ourselves morally accountable, orall of this is for nothing.” The last bit comes out sharper than I intend. A reminder to myself as much as her that acting on every impulse is the kind of base vulgarity that got me into this situation in the first place. It’s why I was out partying a thousand miles away instead of at home on the ranch when my parents needed me the most.
She snaps out of the spell she's been under. The one where she thought this ended like a fairytale, where I’m ready to give up everything I believe in for one taste of her. Her lashes flutter, confusion and a hint of betrayal behind them, quickly followed by another flood of embarrassment at having misread the situation.
“Oh. I didn’t. I wasn’t.” She takes a step back, and another, rapidly trying to reestablish the space between us as if she wasn't the one who closed it. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to imply that—” She doesn’t get the last word in because the next step she takes is over the edge of the pier. This time, it’s too quick for me to catch her, and she plunges into the watery void beneath, the dark waves lapping over her face and silencing her scream.
FIVE
Zephyrine
I’ve barely hadtime to register the pier disappearing from beneath my feet before I’m plunged into icy water, the sapphire sky disappearing behind wave after wave. I start to sink almost immediately, the weight of my skirts increasing by the second as the water soaks through the heavy fabric.
This can’t be real. I’m asleep. I’m just tired and imagined everything that came before this too.
It’s my first thought, however illogical given the circumstances. The very real version where I’m fading into the oblivion of a deep lake in the middle of the night.
I’d wanted to die for so long. To be erased just like he was. And now, when I least want it, I’ll get my wish.
Worse yet, I’m going out like this. Drowned by my skirts, a nun in training, so lonely and pathetic that I just threw myself at a priest. If I’m lucky, I’ll get a tiny cross on the shore like the mad king across the lake did when he drowned. Except I don’t have a half-finished castle to show for it. I have nothing to show for anything in my life so far.
I can’t let it end like this. Not like this.
