Page 42 of Forgive Me Father

Shaking my head, I tighten the rope around my waist and leave the changing room. As I make my way to the altar room, loud shouting breaks my train of thought.

"How does it feel to be defenseless, Zack?" Roman's voice shouts, my body seizing up at the sound of anger in his tone.

Peering at the double doors, I spot water seeping out, with strange swirls of red mixing into it. The color twists through the water as it spreads across the floor, making me pause, unsure of what I’m really seeing.

Taking a cautious step forward, I realize that I forgot to put my shoes back on as I walk across the tile and closer to whatever is spilling out from the doorway.

"Swear to him-" I hear Roman continue, a muffled voice sobbing uncontrollably.

With a shaky hand, I grab the handle of one of the large double doors and gently nudge it open. When I’m able to stand fully in the doorway, I look up towards the altar, my hand coming up to cover my mouth to hide the shock of what’s in front of me.

Bleeding from his head, Zack cowers before Roman, whose eyes are clouded with rage. Trembling on the floor, Zack looks utterly defeated—his head wet, clothes drenched, and a thin trail of blood smearing the side of the holy water pool. Roman, looking anything but godly, steps closer, his gaze locked on Zack, too consumed by his fury to even notice me standing there. Despite the fear and shock gripping me, a dark sense of satisfaction stirs underneath, watching Zack reduced to this.

"Get the fuck out of this cathedral and take your dirty ass clothes with you. I'll be seeing you on Sunday. Open your mouth about any of this, and I'll say you attacked me first. I'm sure your track record will make that story pretty fucking believable." Roman snaps, pointing to the bag of clothes resting behind Zack.

Gripping his head as he snags his stuff, he stumbles as he turns to make his way out of the room. His eyes lock with mine, my hand dropping from my mouth as I try to find the words to say.

Zack swallows, his body frozen in place.

"E-Eden," He stutters, Roman quickly stepping aside, finally taking notice of my presence in the doorway.

Roman stands before me, like a dark angel, teetering on the edge of heaven and hell. His face is drained of color, making him look almost ethereal as if he’s been touched by something beyond this world. His chest rises and falls with a raw intensity, his fists clenched at his sides, the sight of blood staining his fingers only adding to the dangerous allure that radiates from him. There’s something undeniably magnetic about him in this moment—both terrifying and irresistible—that sends a thrill through me, leaving me captivated by his every breath.

This is the man he truly is, concealed by his sacred vows.

This is the man I let touch me.

Unpredictable. Rageful. Vengeful. Dangerous.

Yet, here I am.

I could turn around and leave. I could go to the police.

My legs moved on their own, as if guided by a force greater than myself, pulling me forward, closer to him. I hadn’t told them to move, but it was like something divine had taken over, leading me toward what I needed to face. It felt like the very ground beneath me was drawing me closer, beyond my control, like I was being called.

My fingers dipped into the cool water within the font, without hesitation. The sensation of the cold liquid sent a shiver upmy spine, the holy water clinging to the tip of my finger like a whispered prayer.

I stare up at Roman.

"In the name of the Father," I murmur, my fingers tracing from my forehead to my shoulders. "The Son," I continue, letting my hand rest briefly over my heart. "And the Holy Spirit," I whisper, the words barely audible as I finish the sign of the cross.

Without another word, I nudge past the man, moving forward with a quiet resolve.

May my silence unsettle him.

Micah 3:8: "But as for me, I am filled with power, with the Spirit of the Lord, and with justice and might."

Chapter 12

Eden

Istep onto the altar, my heart racing, as my fingers trace the cool metal of the chalice. It feels both forbidden and strangely comforting, like I’m grounding myself in something familiar. I move to the paten, running my hand over its smooth surface, trying to escape the chaos in my mind. The soft linen of the corporal brushes against my skin, offering a small sense of calm. I linger near the candles, drawn to their warmth, letting the flickering light steady my breath. Gripping the ciborium, I focus on its weight, trying to anchor myself as my thoughts continue to swirl.

I can feel Roman creeping up behind me, his breathing audible.

"Eden-"

"Where should I sit?" I ignore his need to talk about what I walked in on. “Still to your left?” I point to the wooden seat.