Page 50 of Forgive Me Father

"Who the fuck cares what Eric said. I'm telling you that's not what happened," She cries, her voice trembling. "How many fucking times did you meet him? Maybe three times when he happened to come to our dorm room when you weren't busy fucking some random guy? I knew you for months, and not once did you ask me my side-"

Stopping her tangent, she looks at her phone, tapping the screen.

"Ivy?" she yells. "You did not just fucking hang up!"

She tosses her phone across the grass. Her hands cover her face. Her screams become muffled by the sleeves of her hoodie. Her sobs are strangled, her voice ragged from crying for so long.

"None of you were fucking there," She sobs. "No one but me and him were there," She cries. "And now I'm alone in all of this."

I take a step closer, and she shifts slightly, just enough for me to get a full view of her face.

Beautiful, rich eyes swollen from tears, rosy cheeks, dark brown hair framing her face, and a full pout that looks almost angelic. She’s too focused on rummaging through her bag to notice me, pulling out a small cloth with trembling hands.

This is none of my business.

I should just leave her alone-

But then I see it, the glint of sunlight reflecting off the blade, and my stomach drops as she rolls up her sleeve, revealing fresh lesions on her skin.

All straight cuts.

All by her hand.

I watch in shock as she slides the blade across her wrist, the cut leaving a trail of red, the pain silencing her sobs.

She adds another set of marks, her face twisted in pain. The sight of someone so beautiful choosing to hurt herself ignites a deep anger within me.

"Do you fucking hear me now?" She hisses, yanking a necklace from her throat and tossing it to the grass.

She stares at her bloodied wrist, her fingers slowly turning the blade, and my heart pounds as I realize she’s no longer holding it horizontally.

"D-Do you," She chokes out, "hearme—"

"Stop," I hiss as I press myself against her back, my hand closing around her bleeding wrist, my other hand grabbing the blade, ignoring the sting as it cuts into my fingers. I toss it away, watching it land next to her cross and phone.

"Oh my God, don't-" She sobs, her voice trembling with fear. "Please don't tell anyone."

She almost killed herself, and she’s worried about what people will think?

How fucked up is this town?

I continue to hold her in place, her body trembling beneath my touch.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I whisper, trying to keep my voice calm. "But you were going to hurt yourself." She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "What kind of person would I have been to let that happen?"

She laughs, but it sounds defeated. "Either you’re from the church, trying to kiss my dad’s ass," She sobs, "or you’re not from here. Anyone else would’ve let me do it," she hisses, the self-hate in her voice cutting deeper than any blade.

I hold her tighter, feeling the blood sliding down her wrists coat my fingers.

"Yeah? And what if you did it? Then what?" I ask, trying to redirect her thoughts.

“They always told me in Catholic school that suicide’s a mortal sin. So, I guess a spot in Hell would be it for me.”

She's Catholic.

The only Catholic church in Idlewood is mine.

Perfect.