Page 29 of Pray for Scars
He glances back at me as I do, and I swear I see a smile on his face.
It makes my chest tighten. My stomach flip.
But I bite my lip so hard I taste iron, bringing myself back to the real world. The world we can never be together in. Because we’ll kill each other. We’ll fucking rip each other apart. Because his family wants to kill me. Because he wants my brother dead, and no matter what I feel about my brother, I know I don’t want that. I know I want that boy with green eyes and blood on his hands to live.
Because he’s not the only one whose done terrible things.
And he’s not the only one that’s not sorry for them.
And Lucifer…I think he wants me to be sorry. He wants me to kneel.
Flectamus genua ante faciem Domini.The words he whispered to me last night in the dark room.
Kneel before the Lord.
I see the translation carved above our heads when we walk into the foyer of the church. A snake threads through the Latin words, and its tail curls into a 6 at the end.
I see beyond the stained glass edged around the front door of the church that it’s light outside. I slipped into Friday when I slipped into his arms.
Lucifer turns to me, taking both of my hands. He glances down at what little I’m wearing and shakes his head.
“Don’t run.” And then he lets go of me, turns his back to walk to the men’s restrooms, indicated by a sign to the right.
I watch him walk away, watch his muscles shift beneath his black t-shirt, his hoodie gone, watch that head of dark curls disappear into the restroom.
He’s trusting me.
Or he’s letting me go, so he can chase me.
The thrill is in the chasing.
I count to three.
One.
Two.
Three.
I turn to the heavy wooden door of the cathedral.
I remember a gate. I remember a desolate road lined with trees and fields and nothing else for miles and miles.
I remember the fact that I have no phone.
God helps those that help themselves.
Reverend Wilson wasn’t good for much. But in the end, he was good for that. I helped myself then, and I’ll help myself now.
I turn away from the door, sprint on bare feet back into the sanctuary, down the hallway. I take a right, another hallway.
A line of doors, some open.
Offices with phones. And the silence in the place rings in my ears. The Unsaints may be here, but they’re not on this corridor.
I’ve only got a few numbers memorized.
I’ve probably got half a second to choose one, two seconds to dial, three to speak, one to get the fuck out of here. I use all 6.5 seconds well, and when I hang up with Nicolas, I fucking fly to the back of the church, and as I slip out a back door, an alarm starts to sound, but I don’t fucking stop.
