12. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Eden
I was able to make it home just in time to change after my shift at the coffee shop. Thankfully, Mom finished the laundry, which meant I had a few warmer, and frankly way more comfortable, clothing options to pick from to get me through the rest of the night. I’d found her in the house, already drunk off a bottle of wine, tuning out the world around her in front of the TV.
I prop my feet up on the dash, blasting the heat in Aiden’s car as I wait for him. I look over to see my father’s car isn’t in the driveway.
Odd.
He's typically home from work by now, ready to get my drunk mother to bed before enjoying a glass of scotch for himself.
Where the hell could he be-
Sliding into the driver's side door, Aiden slings his bag into the backseat, its contents clacking together, clearly filled with a few swiped bottles from our parents' wine cellar.
"Do you know where Dad is?"
"Who gives a shit. I'm sure he’s still at work, or at a bar somewhere with his coworkers.” Aiden scoffs, backing out of the driveway.
"I need to tell you something about the party tonight. Zack was hanging around Nathan earlier and saw some texts about it on his phone. He invited himself to Luca's bonfire since he knows one or two of Luca's friends. I told Luca you probably wouldn’t show up if Zack is there-"
"It's fine," I say coldly, cramming my hands into the pocket of my hoodie. "It's not like I can avoid him forever."
"Trust me, I’m trying to," Aiden sighs, looking over at me.
"You know you could ditch this whole service hour thing. We could go grab some food, talk about how shitty this semester is going to be for me. I know you love pointless high school drama.”
"As much as I want to say yes, I think it's best that I go. I don’t want to disappoint Dad, now do I?
Or Roman, for that matter. Although skipping out on altar server services hours after what happened at the coffee shop might be needed to douse the flames still burning under my skin every time I think about his stupid hands on my body. I’m not willing to risk the outcome of rebelling against him or my father so boldly.
Getting these service hours done will be one step closer to never having to be alone with him again.
God, I forgot about confession. The idea of becoming perfectly pious crosses my mind. I’ll never sin again. That will be the plan .
"Is that Dad’s car? And look, isn’t that Zack’s Toyota?" Aiden pulls into the Saint Michael’s parking lot, heading in the direction of our dad’s black Mercedes sedan.
Aiden comes to a stop, parking next to my father, the man barely noticing we’re here as he continues to talk on the phone.
Getting out of the car, I slam my door shut behind me.
Jolting, my dad lowers his phone, his eyebrows raising as he rolls down the window.
"Cutting it close on time, Eden."
Looking back at Aiden, I roll my eyes.
"I made it, didn't I?" I cross my arms over my chest.
"I suppose so," My dad scoffs, craning his head to look at Aiden. “I'll see you both later tonight."
Leaving the conversation at that, he rolls up his window and gets back to his phone call as he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the road –going in the opposite direction of our house.
"I can walk you in, Eden-"
"It's fine," I smile, cramming my hands into my pockets. “I’ll see you at seven. Go help Luca set up for tonight.”
As I make my way to the front doors of Saint Michael’s, I reread Luca’s texts from earlier.
Looking forward to seeing you tonight! Haven't had a proper social in months. Feel free to feed me all the exciting details of your training with Father Briar! (PS tell Aiden I would love some extra help setting up)
I make my way to the quiet space designated for altar servers to change. I close the door, turning the lock, pulling the handle a few times to make sure no one can get in.
Turning around, I see a freshly ironed, white server’s robe on one of the benches, a note placed on top.
Eden Faulkner
Glaring at the virgin white material of the robe, I roll my eyes.
"Of course you want me in this," I hiss to myself, biting back a slew of vile curses.
Growing up, every aspect of my life was controlled by my parents, down to the clothes I wore. Sundays were a parade of pristine dresses and polished shoes, symbols of a family cloaked in piety and perfection. But beneath the surface, the tight seams of my perfectly pressed clothes mirrored the suffocating grip my parents had on my identity. Each outfit they forced me into was a constant reminder of the freedom I never had.
During her first week of college, my roommate, Ivy, invited me out for drinks. I found myself at a dimly lit bar, a place my parents would never approve of. The air buzzed with laughter, clinking glasses, and a freedom I hadn’t known before. As the night wore on, the tight grip of my past began to loosen.
The neatly pressed blouse I had worn out of habit felt out of place in a college setting. My hair was tousled, my lipstick slightly smudged, but for the first time, I didn’t care. In a spontaneous act of defiance, I borrowed my friend’s oversized jacket, embracing its comfort. After that night, I threw away almost all the shirts my mom had bought me before leaving home.
Glaring at the mirror, a thought passes over my mind.
There aren’t any rules for what can be worn under the robe.
If he wants me to dress like one of his perfect little virgin servers, fine, I will.
Tearing off my hoodie, I stare at the black lace bra Zoey convinced me to buy, my breasts strangled in its overpriced material. Usually, I would never wear something like this under my clothes. But since I’ll see both Roman and Luca tonight, the idea of being a little scandalous for one, or maybe both of them, gave me the courage I needed to get out of my comfort zone. I felt like I was taking a little control back of my body.
The light from the setting sun filters through the blinds, casting shadows across my scarred skin. I take off my pants, bundling them with the rest of my clothes, and throw them in a wad in the closest empty locker.
Going back to the mirror, I look at the bruising along my neck where the makeup has started to wear off. My fingers drift to the chain with my cross, adjusting it carefully so I don’t irritate the sensitive skin. Swallowing my nerves, I pull on the white robe, kicking off my shoes as I pull my arms through the sleeves, the cold tile floor on my bare feet grounding me as I work to stifle the tension in my chest.
"Nothing’s going to happen. It’s just a few hours. You can do this.”
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 up my 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."