Page 7 of Priest’s Sin

"Good. See you in two days."

He hangs up before I can respond.

I sit in the parking lot for another twenty minutes, phone dark in my lap, trying to remember how to breathe normally.

My apartment is cold when I get home. Small, drafty, furnished with secondhand everything that was supposed to be temporary four years ago and somehow never became anything else.

I drop my keys on the counter. Peel off my work polo. Stand in the bathroom staring at my reflection under fluorescent lights that make everything look worse.

The bruise on my shoulder is greenish-yellow now. Fading. Almost gone.

There'll be a new one soon enough.

I turn on the shower as hot as it'll go. Stand under the spray until my skin turns pink and the tension in my shoulders loosens to something almost manageable.

When I finally get out, my phone is lit up with three more messages.

*Love you babe*

*Can't wait to see you*

*Wear that blue dress I like*

I delete them without responding.

Set my alarm for eight. Crawl into bed. Stare at the ceiling until exhaustion wins out over anxiety and I finally, mercifully, fall asleep.

Two days later…

I'm standing in the designated smoking area behind the supermarket, a sad little corner near the dumpsters with one bench and a sign reminding employees that breaks are limited to ten minutes, trying to make a cigarette last as long as possible.

I quit smoking three years ago. Started again six months ago. My mother would be horrified if she knew, which is maybe half the reason I do it. The other half is that it's one of the few things that's entirely mine. My choice. My self-destruction. Nobody else gets a say.

I'm three drags in when I hear footsteps on the pavement behind me.

My whole body tenses. Preparation. Defense. The automatic response I've developed to unexpected sounds.

"You know those things will kill you."