In anguish, I’d finished what Stephen had started in defiling our home. Engulfed in darkness, I’d gone wild in here and made a prayer of it.
Those same feelings of futility finding me still.
Even now, torn-up material lay amongst the spoils of a war that had been ravaged and raged against my creator. Scattered evidence of what I’d done. A maniacal act.
In here, alone, the night everything changed, I’d gone quietly mad. Wielding a sledgehammer. Trying and failing to dismantle the pews. Doing what I could to leave no place for anyone to sit and worship.
God no longer deserved that.
I’d moved on to the stone carvings of saints. Smashing my mother’s favorite, St. Mary Magdalene. Then all the rest, imported from Italy those years ago when she’d felt safe here. Never imagining that just outside this place would be the site where she’d take her final breath.
My soul had been decimated that day. The consequences played out in this chapel by a young man who’d lost his faith in everything. No part of me was recognizable from the young man I’d once been.
I was as good as dead inside.
All those years ago, I had promised to kill every Glassman in that family. Yet, I’d brought that girl back as though second-guessing my own will.
“Lord, it’s been fourteen years since my last confession.” I opened my palms to show I still didn’t care about any of that. “But that’s not what this is.”
You know it, and I know it.
It’s a fucking miracle you’re even hearing from me. Fourteen years since you tore my life apart. I never asked you for anything. All I did was give. I gave you me.
My fucking soul.
What you gave in return was worse than any nightmare. You dragged up hell from the depths and sent all that darkness to live permanently inside me. You made this my life. Since the day you let him kill my parents, you ceased to deserve my loyalty.
Have you come for the last piece of my soul by placing Stephen’s daughter in my world? Challenged me to do the right thing? You kill indiscriminately and expect me not to do the same. Yet I am made in your image, Father.
This is what I offer you.
A front-row seat while I destroy her. We both know you’re into that.
There, on the floor, remained my mother’s rosary. A useless trinket. I stepped over it and moved toward what had once been an altar.
“Would you like your sacrifice to be here?” I raised my hand as though trying to hear. “Still silent after all these years. I’ll handle it myself then. Handle her.”
Making my way back down the corridor, I retraced my steps toward the dungeons.
It felt like the walls were closing in. The silence was a testament to the depths of this structure.
Down here, no one will hear you scream.
I was surprised to find the cell empty—the place I’d left a sleeping beauty.
The sound of running water led me to her.
Nudging open the door, I peered inside.
She was standing naked beneath an antique shower head. One in a long line of showers that afforded no privacy. A remnant of when these had been military barracks. She didn’t see me, not at first.
I remained at the threshold.
She was a beautiful creature. A lithe nymph bathing beneath the spray. Her hands ran over her slender frame as though trying to make the most of the lack of soap. Glancing left, I saw her discarded clothes sitting in a puddle of water. With nowhere to hang them up in here, they’d become victim to the ancient drainage system. Putting them back on would leave her cold. I doubted she’d redress in soaking wet clothes. There was nothing left for her to wrap herself in other than that old blanket. For some reason, I didn’t like the thought of her shivering.
There were no luxuries here. Nothing to make her feel welcome.
Anya tilted her face up into the water. Then opened her eyes. She froze, glaring at me with concern. Her innocence was emphasized by her nakedness or perhaps it was because she suddenly became self-aware and cupped her palms over her breasts.
“Come here,” I ordered.
Hesitant at first, she left the shield of the pouring water and closed the gap between us, peering up at me. If she was ashamed of her nakedness, she didn’t show it. Though she’d tried to seduce me before. So her willfully revealing no embarrassment shouldn’t be a surprise.
Something told me God was laughing at me. Laughing at my sudden change of heart because me caring about her comfort wasn’t the work of a monster—but even monsters had their moments, I mused. A chink in their armor where light shone through. Or maybe it was merely a prelude to sin. The way an animal plays with its prey before that fatal strike.
Either way, being here with her felt so damn good, my flesh ignited by her innocence. By the way she relented and came and stood before me. Her big eyes peering up in trust.
To the far left was an old cabinet and I vaguely remembered there being old towels in there—not ideal but they’d do.
I lifted one out and stretched the fabric wide. With a nod, encouraging her to step into it.
She looked at me suspiciously and then stepped into the center of the towel. “What’s happening now?”
“I’m drying you off.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean ‘why’?”
She let me rub her body with the towel, remaining still, raising her arms for me and even relaxing a little. Anya felt pert and yet soft, her body yielding to the strokes of the towel.
“No one’s ever done this.”
“Hasn’t anyone ever taken care of you before?”
Her eyes widened as she realized what this was. Or maybe what this wasn’t.
That ancient chapel had done its best to remind me what kind of monster I was. This was what I had hungered for—her fear, her vulnerability. Yet something inside was cracking.
“I don’t want it to hurt,” she whispered.
“It’s just a towel.” I tugged it tight around her and tucked it in.
My hands found their way to her face, and I held her.
It would be easy to lean in and kiss her.
Reassure her that she was safe. That she was safe from the ghosts of this place.
But I didn’t. Instead, I’d wrapped her up in a towel.
Keeping her safe from me.
“Hold me.” She leaned in and wrapped her arms around my body.
With my arms by my side, I peered down at her. She was holding on for dear life.
Fuck it.Wrapping my arms around her, I relented to what she seemed to need in this moment. This affection felt alien to me. This closeness far away from the man I was or even had been. She’d run away, I should be punishing her for it, not this.
“I like it,” she confessed. “I’ve never been held like this before.”
“Not by your mother?” I made it cruel.
“No.” She peered up at me. “They never hugged us.”
“Never?”
She shook her head, causing water to drip off her locks.
I was failing to do what I’d promised all those years ago. Maybe because some part of me found her more useful than I’d first admitted to myself. What else could this rumination be? But a subconscious realization she was worth more to me alive.
I brushed a wet strand behind her ear. “You may return to your bedroom,” I said coldly. “Don’t disappoint me again.”