45. FUNNY HOW QUICK LUST TURNS INTO LAST RIGHTS
FUNNY HOW QUICK LUST TURNS INTO LAST RIGHTS
HIM
Isat alone in the small rectory, my body slumping with bone-deep exhaustion.
I had spent hours in prayer, searching the scripture for something to hold on to, some word or phrase that might steady the chaos in my head.
The Bible lay open in my hands, but the lines on the page felt distant, stripped of meaning.
My fingers moved over the delicate pages, but the words blurred before my eyes until they meant nothing at all.
All I could see was her, Violet. She lingered in my mind as vividly as if she stood before me, her smile hovering at the edge of my vision and pulling me in with an insistence I didn’t try to resist. I told myself to set it aside, to return to my calling, to guide my parishioners toward righteousness and finish the sermon waiting beneath my hand, but the pull only tightened.
Every prayer rang hollow, every line of scripture felt false the moment it left my mouth.
The memory of that first sermon at St. Ann's came rushing back to me. I had stood before the congregation, trying to focus on the words I was supposed to deliver, but my attention kept drifting to her. She was in the back row, seated by Elona, Maeve, and Bernadette, but she was the one I couldn’t stop looking at.
I tried, I really did, to keep my eyes on the congregation, to concentrate on the message I was delivering.
But there was something about her, something that made it impossible for me to look away.
And then the thoughts came, unwelcome and unclean, flooding my mind without warning.
They hit hard, dragging me toward a place I’d fought for years to leave behind.
Memories of past failures surfaced one after another and I couldn’t outrun them.
Her smile was all it took to unravel what I’d worked so hard to contain.
Desires I’d buried, sins I thought I’d left behind rose to the surface with sudden clarity, as if she’d held the key all along.
My hands tightened around the Bible in my lap, the paper crinkling in my grip as if it could somehow steady me, drown out the noise of my yearning.
But the more I tried to resist, the more vivid the memory of her became.
It was then that I noticed the letter.
It rested on the desk, stark white against the dark wood.
I hadn’t noticed it before, and I found myself wondering how long it had been there, and who had left it.
My hand hesitated as I reached for it, fingers grazing the smooth envelope, when a faint trace of lavender drifted up, stopping me cold.
The wax seal caught my eye, crimson, and stamped with the imprint of lips.
I knew who it was from before I even opened it.
My hands trembled as I broke the seal, a thrill of anticipation shooting through me despite my best effort to remain impassive.
Inside, the letter was elegantly penned, the script flowing smoothly across the page, each word carefully crafted.
Reading it was a slow poison, tempting me further into the abyss.
Dear Father Frederick,
I hope this letter finds you well, though I do suspect you’ve been fighting a battle of your own, one that no one else has noticed.
But I’ve noticed you, Father. I see the way you linger in the shadows of the town, trying to keep your distance from what pulls at you.
You might believe that your gaze goes unnoticed, but it doesn’t.
I see your struggle, and I can’t help but wonder . . . why keep fighting it?
The words haunted my head, each syllable digging deeper into my mind. You might believe that your gaze goes unnoticed . . .
She had been watching me. She had known all along.
A dark thrill slid through me and I was torn between my duty as a man of God and the overwhelming urge that Violet’s letter had awakened.
Why keep fighting it? The question hovered like a taunt, teasing me, pulling at the walls I had spent so many years constructing around myself.
The dam I had built to hold back the flood of temptation was beginning to crack. My fingers shook as I read on.
You’ve been preaching about sin, haven’t you? About temptation and the dangers of the flesh. But I have to ask you, Father, do you truly understand sin? Or have you merely constructed your own prison, locking away the very desires that make you human?
Each word felt like a blow, hitting me harder than any sermon I had ever delivered.
My chest tightened and my heartbeat thundered in my ears, drowning out everything else.
Do you truly understand sin? The question cut through me like a scalpel, the cold truth of it unraveling the neat and tidy bow I had wrapped around my faith.
Did I understand sin? I had spent so many years condemning others, warning my flock about the dangers of temptation. But had I ever truly confronted my own?
The answer came too quickly, too easily.
No. I had lived in fear of my own humanity, burying my deepest desires so far beneath the surface that I had nearly forgotten they existed at all.
But Violet’s letter, her words, were forcing open that dark, hidden place, forcing me to face what I’d long denied.
The letter continued:
I can offer you something you cannot find in your church, or in your sermons.
Something far more thrilling, more indulgent.
I am waiting for you at The Oily Cat, Father, the place you’ve avoided with such determination.
But I know you’ve been drawn to it. You want to come to me. You NEED to come to me.
The words on the page dragged heat through me, and a slow pulse between my thighs answered the invitation’s alluring promise.
Tonight, Father. When the sun sets, come. When you walk through that door, know this—I will be waiting for you, ready to show you the pleasures you’ve been denying yourself. And when you arrive, you will understand that the line between sin and salvation is far more blurred than you ever imagined.
Yours,
Violet
My hands were shaking, the letter crumpling in my grasp as I fought to breathe, my chest tight with conflicting emotions.
The line between sin and salvation. Was it truly as blurred as she claimed?
Could it be that my whole life had been a futile exercise in denial, that I had been living a lie, refusing to acknowledge the very desires that had made me human?
The temptation to cross that line, to step into the world that she was offering, pressed in on me relentlessly.
I rose unsteadily, my legs barely holding me as I paced the small room. My body shook as I took a step toward the door, the decision crashing over me.
It wasn’t a question of if anymore, but when.
And I wanted her. I wanted her now. As I reached for my coat, a restless energy surged through me, coiling tightly in my gut.
The thought of finally touching her, of feeling her body beneath my hands, sent a thrill through me that I didn’t bother to fight.
I knew that the moment I stepped through the door of The Oily Cat, everything would change. There would be no turning back.
With a shaky breath, I opened the door and stepped out into the fading light. The sun was setting; and the line between sin and salvation had never felt thinner.