Chapter 5
Morgan
Youth Service is over and it’s just me and Gabe. I pick up soda cans and stack Bibles in the corner.
Gabe turns on music, but unlike thirty minutes ago, it isn’t Christian Rock. It’s an R&B song. I’m not allowed to listen to that kind of music, and I’m surprised he turned it on.
My chest freezes, because this is what I hoped to avoid: alone time with Gabe. Every instinct in me tightens.
“Hungry?” I say, ignoring the smooth rhythm. I slip my purse over my shoulder. “We can grab some dinner.”
In public.
He reaches for the door, but only to lock it. The click sounds louder than it should.
I close my eyes for a moment, then try again.
“Gabe, what happened last week was fun, but wrong. We can’t do those things again.”
Instantly, the color drains from his face and his brow creases.
He’s hurt and it pains me to see him sad.
“Why not, Morgan? Because you’re worried about what God thinks? We both know the teens that just left here are already having sex. They’ll go to heaven, so why are we waiting?”
“We’re supposed to set an example.”
He shakes his head and moves closer. The room suddenly feels smaller. I hold myself but stand firmly in place.
“Nobody will find out.” He lightly kisses my cheek. His lips linger too long. The edge of his prominent nose is cold against my skin. “It’ll be our secret. We’ll end up together, anyway.”
I scrunch my nose. “We will?”
He nods confidently, then lands another kiss on my temple, more sensually. My stomach knots.
A shiver runs down my spine.
If I am being honest with myself, my body wants to feel more, but the guilt is pressing down too much.
I step back and clutch his shoulders to keep him an arm’s length away. My palms are damp.
“I’m not ready.”
“Then we can do that other stuff,” he pushes.
“You’re not listening to me.”
“I am, but this is us. We’ve known each other since we were kids. It doesn’t matter.” He swipes my hands off of his shoulders and moves close once more. The gentleness is gone. His hands reach for my dress pants, and he tugs the button open.
“Stop,” I say in a hushed but panicked tone.
He doesn’t.
He holds my waistband and kisses my mouth at the same time. I bend backward to escape.
Cold air hits my legs as he jerks my pants and underwear down in a swift motion.
“Gabe, no. I mean it,” I hiss, still trying to be quiet so nobody outside of the room can hear.
Suddenly, the back of my thighs hit the edge of a table. The wood bites into my thighs. He crowds me, forcing me to sit. I push and swat at him, but shockingly, he doesn’t relent. My limbs feel slow and useless.
My heart thunders in my ears as I clamp my knees together. However, his hands pry them apart.
“I’ve seen your pussy. Don’t be shy. I like it.”
“That’s not why—”
His hand moves down, but I smack his face so hard, my own palm ignites in fire.
But that doesn’t stop him.
I grab his wrist with both hands to hold him back, but he’s stronger. I know it’s coming, but I don’t want it to.
Make it stop.
I gasp as his index finger plunges inside of me.
“Fucking stop!” I shout this time, solidifying one of the few times I’ve cursed. “Get off of me! Now!”
“Come on, Morgan—”
I think this is how it happens. Unexpected. Behind closed doors.
Just then, the sound of the door flying open commands our attention. A whoosh of air replaces Gabe’s body as he’s dragged away. The room explodes with movement.
I gawk and take in the sight of Jack attacking Gabe. His fists are fast and connect with incredible force. There is no hesitation in him. No uncertainty. I hear the impact of knuckles striking flesh. Blood droplets spray onto the carpet. Then, Jack throws Gabe onto the floor and kicks his ribs.
Frantic, Gabe crawls toward the door.
Jack stalks after him, slamming his heel down on his spine.
Gabe curls into a ball as Jack continues delivering powerful strikes.
This isn’t just an attack. Jack isn’t angry. He’s focused.
And he’s going to kill him.
I run and push on Jack’s shoulder again and again. “Enough!”
“No, fuck this guy.”
Another kick.
Gabe cries like a lamb at slaughter.
“Jack. Please! He’ll die!”
I wedge myself in front of him, acting as a barrier. He finally stops kicking long enough for Gabe to stagger to his feet and clumsily dip out of the room.
Jack pivots around me, his wolf eyes fixed on the hunt. I clutch his waist from behind with both arms and pull back.
“Let him go, or I’ll call the police on you!” I warn.
He spins around. “What? That creep was raping you.”
“Almost,” I correct, and look away. “He didn’t. Just slow down. I need to think.”
“Think about what?” he balks. “That fucker needs to pay. Smartin’ up.”
“No, you need to smartin’ up. Murder is a life sentence!”
That’s when I notice Jack’s eyes snap down and flicker.
I’m still half-dressed.
“Oh my word!” I say and cover my crotch with my hands. “My clothes.”
Jack is already snatching them off the floor. He tosses them my way and looks at the ceiling. His jaw is clenched tight. I can’t tell if he’s being respectful, or if he’s repulsed.
Quietly, I begin to dress. It’s difficult to get a pant leg on because my whole body is shaking. My foot won’t cooperate.
Once finished, I clear my throat.
He turns around. “You alright?”
I nod.
I’m not.
He walks over and studies my face. “He hurt you?”
I shake my head, feeling just as powerless under Jack’s intense gaze as I did with Gabe, but in a very different way.
“Why are you here?” I whisper.
“The guy at the front desk said you were in a room down the hall. I heard screaming, then broke the door open.”
I draw in a long breath because I can barely keep from passing out.
All I can say is, “I can’t believe that just happened.”
He hesitates, and asks slowly, “You can’t believe a pastor would try to fuck you?”
I pause, thinking about that loaded question, but ultimately disregard it. Doesn’t matter. I’m too frazzled.
I pace in short strides, reality sinking in faster. My stomach twists, and I feel nauseated by the horror of it all. “How could Gabe do that? I trusted him with my whole heart.”
Jack must see my distress building because he lowers his voice.
“Morgan, chill. You’ll be alright.”
Tears pool in my eyes.
Don’t cry in front of him. Never cry. Keep it together.
Desperate to salvage my last thread of dignity, I ask again, “But why are you here? Eugene sent the check.”
“I got it. Thanks, but I’m here to talk to you about my brother.”
I can barely focus, my mind spinning and body still trembling.
He hesitates, but I need him to talk. Say anything. Anything other than the thing that is about to make me break.
“Go on. About your brother.”
“Um, okay... My brother, Noel, he’s a good kid. He has this fascination with you, and it got out of hand.”
I nod slowly, pretending I’m really listening so he doesn’t stop.
“And I understand Noel snuck on your property and probably scared you. If you could have your dad drop the charges, I promise Noel won’t bother you again.”
I blink.
He stares, waiting. He knows it’s the worst time to ask for a favor. We both know, but I just needed to dull the shock. But the silence that follows his plea is what I feared: reality.
I crumble, falling to my knees and sobbing into my hands. The strength drains out of me all at once.
“Shit,” he says.
I sense his presence as he crouches next to me. The scent of his cologne fills my nostrils, and something about it is comforting. Warm. Familiar.
“Do you want me to get someone?” he asks.
I sob more, my body shaking harder.
“Okay, I’ll find someone.”
He rises but I snatch his forearm.
I don’t want him to go. I know that much. Alone feels impossible and Gabe could come back.
I look up at him through glassy eyes.
“Stay,” I say, breathless.
He glances around like he didn’t hear me correctly. “You want me to stay? I can call the cops? You know, to arrest him.”
“Oh no!” I snap. “This kind of scandal would ruin the church. If people found out our youth pastor attacked me, it would destroy the community’s trust.”
“Typical,” he grumbles.
“No police. Just stay with me,” I say louder.
His lips form a tight line, but his long legs stretch out as he sits beside me. I lean onto his shoulder, slowly at first, then press my face against his chest and cry again. His chest rises slow and solid beneath my cheek.
Low, he groans and mumbles, “Fuck me,” then pats my back like it pains him to show kindness. Like he doesn’t know where to put his hands.
It’s confusing. I can’t tell if he likes or despises me — If this is him showing compassion or restraining annoyance.
Either way, I stay. I let myself believe I’m safe in his arms. When the tears stop, he stands, pulling me to my feet.
I’m disoriented and even ashamed. I’m confused. I’m mad. I’m sad. I’m so many things it feels worse to narrow it to one.
Suddenly, he lifts my chin with his knuckle. His blue eyes sear into mine. It’s so paralyzing that the world stops spinning. His thumb drags across my cheek, rough at first, then slower, but he realizes too late what he’s doing.
“All better,” he mumbles, and drops his hand.
Something’s wet under my chin.
“Fuck,” he says. “I got blood on you.”
I gasp softly and take his hand. Two of his knuckles are split open from the fight and seep blood.
“Oh my goodness. You’re hurt!” I search for a first-aid kit. “I’ll get you a band-aid.”
He chuckles. “I’m fine. Come on. I’ll walk you to your car. It’s dark out.”
“Drive me home,” I blurt, not a question, but an order.
I don’t recognize my own voice. I hold my breath, unsure who I am. I just barked an order. That’s not me, but I don’t know what to think, feel, or do.
Except I want him to drive me home. Now.