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Myheart races, slamming against the tight confines of my chest.WhenIcan’t take it anymore and am super close to hyperventilating,Iend my pretend prayer and sit back, coaching myself to breathe—just breathe.

Ican do this,Itell myself as the opening note for the entrance hymn drones from the organ and everyone rises to their feet.

WithZak’sarm pressed against mine, even though this church is nowhere near being packed like sardines,I’mnot totally convinced thatIcan.

Atleast the bright lighting and the sunlight streaming in through stained-glass windows helps—it’s not dark, and we’re not on the approach.Heisn’t chasing after me for my blood; he’s not latched onto my neck, eating me for dinner.

Mymouth waters at the familiar scent floating around my nostrils, his signature cedar and vetiver.

Fuck.Me.

Howthe hell canIbe terrifiedandturned on at the same time?

Heraises his hands, palms facing the ceiling and showing off the roses and rosary tattooed on his inner arm and surrounded by a banner with the dateDecember19, 2013. “Andwith your spirit.”

Focus.Listento the damn priest for once.

“Holy, holy, holyLord…”

Zaksings along with the church, reciting “Hosanna” from memory with his hands clasped together in front of him.Hearinghis voice beside me makes me fall completely silent soIcan focus on listening to him.

Momelbows me, glaring at me while singing and indicating for me to join.

Imouth the words, singing softly soIcan still hear him.

Idon’t realizeI’mliterally drawing closer to him and his siren song of hymns until my hip bumps into his.

Hemight be singing toGod, butIcan pretend he’s singing for me in this moment.Evenbetween the readings proclaimed by lectors,Ican pretend he’s singing just for me.

FatherTomasapproaches the ambo with a smile that’s always plastered to his face, and he begins to preach.

WhenIglance inZak’sdirection, his fists are balled up at his sides, veins popping up prominently beneath tattoos.

Itake a deep breath and look over at him.

Oh.

Oh,Idon’t like this, at all.

He’sstaring at me—well, notatme, but at my lap—with flared nostrils and a jaw that tics as he grinds his teeth.

Hiseyes have gone dark, just like they did on the approach.

Itake a deep breath, hold it for a moment, and let it out as quietly asIcan without bringing attention to myself or letting it turn into tears of terror.

Guesshe wanted to sit next to me so he’d be closer to his next meal.

Thisis the longest fuckingMassever.

Momgrabs my hand and lifts it up.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, no.No, no, no.

“OurFather” echoes throughout the church.Tentatively,Ihold up my other hand, swallowing hard and prayingZakdoesn’t decide it’s a tasty snack.

Hiswarm hand wraps around mine.