I walk back to the kitchen, because it’s the only way I can stop myself from forcing him to tell me his true feelings.
If I stay, the line we just drew would blur. Friendship is a fragile thing that we just established. I can already feel how easily it would shatter under the weight of everything we’re pretending not to feel.
14
EWEN
It’s been a week since I agreed to be Declan’s friend and he’s spent every day here since. First it was helping us feed the needy. Then he brought a bunch of food for the soup kitchen. He came to Mass on Sunday and sat front and center. He hasn’t been in for confession though. Now that I know who the dark man is in the light, I find myself still longing for his sins to be spilled.
I try to grasp the truths he’s revealed to me. He’s followed me since our fateful encounter years ago, and I never knew. I should be creeped out or scared, but I’m not. I’m actually anything but that. It’s exciting to know he’s been there, watching me accomplish my goals.
Does that make me a failure? Not knowing I was the prey stalked by a vicious predator. My confusion should shock me, but it doesn’t. I love that someone cared—cares. Watches. It’s everything I’ve always wanted.
After my parents left this plane of existence, I never felt important to anyone. Father Patrick was the closest thing I had to a father figure, but he was a priest who ran an orphanage. I never had his full attention. The nuns were the same. They cared for us but no one cared for one child more than another. Calebadopted me our freshman year of college. At first I thought it was because he felt sorry for me, the quiet guy studying religion with the goal of being a priest, but then he brought me into his friend group. They all made me feel welcome and invited. But still, none of them made me feel individually cared for. I was just an extension of Caleb.
Caleb, who is the closest thing I have to family. He’s the brother I wanted growing up and the only person who’s always there for me. But it wasn’t the same as being his only person. He was with Trish for years.
I’ve always wanted love and affection. I just never felt worthy of it, and I didn’t have an emotional connection to anybody.
Then that night I drank too much and found myself in the dark alley where I met Declan happened.
He made my body come alive. I’d never felt a mouth on me, and the way he looked at me was intoxicating. I felt like God at that moment. I had a dark soul on his knees, worshipping me. It was the best night of my life. Physically. I’ve tried to capture that feeling by myself, but my touch is never the same as his. My hand, no matter how much soap I use, never feels as glorious as his mouth did. My toes curled so hard when he swallowed me down they ached for days.
When I walked away, I had masked my features to appear as if nothing happened. I longed to go back to the murderer and feel his lips on mine. Rub my fingers across his stubbled jaw. Have his warmth consume me. He was the only person to make me feel normal. Not the sweet, kind man I had always been, but one who lusted. Lust was foreign to me. Nobody, and I mean not a single soul, made me want to be dirty. But he did—does.
And now, whenever he’s near, I think of dark, delicious things—like how his mouth felt on my body. At night after I’ve spent time with him, I touch myself. He makes me feel like ahorny teenager. Never before would I have filthy dreams and wake up with my semen coating my skin.
But all those wants and emotions are useless. I can never give into them. I’m a priest. My goal in life is to be a pillar of the religious community. And he’s a killer. The Reaper. The one who does all the blood shedding for the O’Sullivan crew. The largest Irish mob in Boston. You rat on the crew? You rape anyone in his area? Try messing with his sister? You can guarantee he will kill you and with a smile on his face.
A face that’s too attractive. I never thought a man could be beautiful, but he is. Perfect in every angle and slope. He’s said I’m an angel brought to Earth, but I think he is. Not in the obvious way people judge beauty, but in the effortless way he carries himself. His features are so angelic yet hard. But then again, even fallen angels were in God’s graces. His beloved children. Lucifer was his most loved. But even angels fall. Some deep into the depths of Hell.
A sudden pain shoots through my hand, pulling me from my daydreams of Lucifer on Earth. I look down and see I’ve cut myself on the garden shears. Clearly I wasn’t focused on the task. This garden has been my single outlet. The grounds around the church aren’t large, but they were neglected for years. This wasn’t a chore I wanted the nuns to do until it was an easier task. I know they would, but I couldn’t bring myself to allow them to get covered in the dirt. I took it on and have found peace in it.
The pain intensifies, so I abandon the chore and head inside. I take the back entry to the rectory, Beocca greets me the moment I open the door. I feel bad I can’t pick him up and love on him but avoid him for fear of getting blood on him.
Cleaning the wound takes longer than expected. It could probably use stitches. I could call Caleb and have him do it, but I don’t want to bother him. I’ve heard super glue can work as well as liquid stitches, and I know I have some in the rectory. Iwrap a hand towel around my hand and hold it closed, running downstairs to glue my hand shut. That’s when I hear the first crack of thunder, followed by the downpour.
Guess the gardening is done, and there’s nothing else scheduled at the church today. I could do some errands but dealing with the rain is annoying.
Beocca followed me downstairs, indicating I forgot to close the door. Luckily, Mother Helen isn’t here. She isn’t a fan of him running around. But he’s been useful. He caught three mice last week, so he’s been earning his keep protecting our establishment.
After I glue my cut shut and wipe the blood off of my hand, I scoop him up, I take us back to our place. We snuggle on the couch while I read a few passages from my Bible. He gets his treats while I make myself ramen, and he practically smothers me when we lay on the couch to watch a history documentary. Before I know it, we both fall asleep.
15
DECLAN
“So tell me, Dean, did you really think the Bianchi crew could continue to creep into our territory?” I stroll around the corner of the room in the back of the massage parlor. This is the second location they’ve opened to launder money. The first one is the restaurant on our border. We allowed that because we honestly don’t like feuding with the other crews. Okay, Ciaran doesn’t, but I do. It’s my outlet.
But this second location is smack dab in the heart of our area, and they’re running women through here, which is taking our girls and income. That’s not okay in our book.
Dean here is nothing but a lonely goon. He thought the Bianchis would protect him. Sure, he works for them, but they don’t care for theirs like we do. They see him as expendable.
The man looks around, scared, a smoke hanging from his mouth. He’s sitting in the back office of the makeshift operation, counting money. Money that I will be putting in my pocket as I leave here. It’s dirty money, so why not.
He recovers quickly, regaining his composure. “So, you’re the Reaper? Trying to come and scare us away?” He leans back in his chair, abandoning the stacks of cash. “I don’t think anything. Iknow we can and have. It’s only a matter of time before we run this whole town.”
His smoke still hangs from his mouth, the ash growing longer.
