5. Celine
Celine
The past four days have been full of doing literally nothing. I would wake up in the morning, grab a coffee, and then spend the day sitting inside the apartment. I’d order takeout because I didn’t feel like going anywhere else and have binged-watched three shows.
It’s pathetic, I know.
I should have been job-hunting, but I’m hopeful I’ll get a text from Catherine about Ortega Publishing soon. I’m trying not to drive myself crazy over the fact that I haven’t heard from her. I mean, she is a newly bestselling author, of course, she has a busy schedule.
Not only should I have been job hunting, but I should also have gone outside more than just to run to the coffee shop.
Whether it was for a walk or to sit out in the sun while enjoying my morning coffee, more fresh air would have done me good.
But no. I decided to lock myself in my apartment and wallow in my self-pity.
Lounging on my couch the past few days had been nice, until yesterday, when my skin started to tingle with the need to do something other than wasting away my days.
After I could no longer sit still, I called Vince and asked if we could go out. Seeing as it was Saturday night, he didn’t decline. Neither did Amelia.
We stayed out late, had quite a few drinks, and I danced with a couple of guys.
None came home with me, though, because I wasn’t in the right headspace to be with a man in that way.
I was way too drunk and could have easily agreed to sleeping with someone, but I knew deep down it wouldn’t have been a good choice, given how much alcohol I had consumed.
I lay in bed, with a headache that is pounding against my skull like someone is trapped in there and is trying to break out. I wince when I sit up and look at the time on my phone.
I need to meet with my parents at the convent in an hour, and I’m dreading it. While sitting at home, doing nothing, I never found the right words to say to them.
If anything, I pushed the thought of them and the church to the back of my mind because I didn’t want to deal with it. I was already upset about losing my job, and I didn’t want to make myself even more upset by the thought of making my parents angry.
But today is the day I have to put on my big girl pants and stand up for myself. I can’t keep believing the guilt trip my mother always gives me. It’s the same thing every single time, and I fall for it every single time.
Not this time.
I climb out of bed to head to the bathroom to plug in my curling iron. Might as well make myself look decent to make my mother proud, even if it is only for a second, before I piss them off.
Maybe if I look like the perfect church-going daughter, she won’t be as mad when I break the news. I laugh at the thought while I wrap the first strand around the iron. She will be mad regardless of how I look.
When I’m finally done with my hair, I put on a light blue sundress, and then apply my makeup. I look at myself in the mirror and curl my lips in disgust because I do appear as the perfect daughter my mother always wanted.
Clenching my jaw, I turn around, make my way into the kitchen, and grab my purse off the counter. Inhaling a deep breath, I head for the door, mentally telling myself that everything will be okay.
My mother is waiting in the lobby when I arrive, and my father is nowhere to be seen. I was hoping they’d be waiting for me outside, but at least they haven’t gone all the way to the chapel yet. My mother’s attention finds me as I approach, and a smile grows on her face.
“Well, don’t you look beautiful!” The compliment is genuine, but then again, it always is when I am living up to the standards they set for me.
“Thanks,” I respond with a stiff smile. “I was wondering if we could talk?”
By the time I’m done speaking, she is fidgeting inside her purse and pulling out a tube of her favorite red lipstick. “About what?”
“About what I wanted to talk over lunch with you,” I say, attempting to hide my annoyance. “Where is Dad?”
“Oh, he is off talking to Father Keaton,” she answers, rolling her lips together to spread the color.
I’m not waiting for him to come back, because it might be too late then. “I’m not going to church.”
Her hand goes still as she is about to put her lipstick back in her purse. “But you are at church.”
“No, I know, but… I’m not staying.”
She finally drops the tube into her bag and then gives me her full attention. I try not to shrink under her disappointed glare.
“I can’t be the daughter you want me to be, and I’m sorry about that. Going to church every Sunday isn’t what I want to do with my life. I don’t even believe—”
“Stop it right there, young lady!” The sharpness in her tone makes my mouth close tightly and my spine straighten. “I will not have you saying that nonsense in the home of our Lord.”
“This”—I gesture to the church—“isn’t the life I want to live.”
“Let me guess, you’d rather live a life of sinning and getting drunk with your delinquent friends all the time?” She takes a step forward. Her hand lifts to squeeze my cheeks, and she inspects my eyes. “I mean, look at you. You are hungover right now.”
“God forbid I am an adult and want to go out on a Saturday night!” I shove her hand away as she stares at me in horror. “And my friends are not delinquents.”
Her face turns red as a tomato. “I have had it with you, Celine Faith! Which is why I don’t regret doing this one bit.”
My brows dip in confusion at her words, but before I can ask what she means by regretting whatever it is she is doing, I hear my dad’s harsh voice. “Suzanne.”
She turns to look at my dad, who is standing with Father Keaton. “Richard, she is out of control.”
“I did nothing wrong!” I raise my voice in defense, distancing myself from her.
“Celine,” Father Keaton’s soft voice grabs my attention. When I slide my eyes to him, his face is holding a calm expression. “Will you walk with me?”
I’m so angry right now that I want to tell him no and leave them all, but the calmness on his face has me taking a step in his direction. He smiles, gesturing for me to follow him down the hall.
I walk beside him and glance over my shoulder at my parents. They both stand there, watching me for a moment with aggravation plastered on both of their faces. One more second goes by before they turn and walk out of the church.
Where are they going?
“Your mother is only worried about you,” Father Keaton informs me.
“She has nothing to worry about,” I say, glancing back over my shoulder to the empty lobby.
“She says that you do not believe in God.”
His words pull my attention away from where my parents stood and to the side of his face.
He stares straight ahead, that serene expression remaining in his features.
I swallow hard at his statement because it’s one thing to admit that to my mother, but how do I admit that to a priest?
Someone who devotes his whole life to God.
He glances over at me. “It’s okay for you to say it. I won’t take any offense.”
Licking my lips, I find the courage to be honest with him. “No. I don’t believe in a God.”
We round the corner, and the chapel comes into view. Standing in the hallway, just outside the doors, the same nun who gave us the tour last week waits patiently, her hands clasped in front of her.
“Hello, Father Keaton,” she greets him before smiling at me. “Hello again, Celine.”
“Hi.” The energy in the building has shifted drastically, from peaceful to unsettling.
There is a static charge of unease in the air that makes my skin crawl, and my chest tightens from the discomfort.
I swear it has grown darker in the hall, even with the sun shining through the windows behind us.
Whatever is going on is starting to set off sirens in my head, yelling at me to get the hell out of here.
Taking a step back, I hook my thumb toward the hall behind me. “I should get back to my parents.”
“They left,” Father Keaton casually tells me. That once serene gleam in his eyes has now vanished.
My feet stop moving, stuck to the stone floor beneath me, and I slowly lower my hand to my side. “What?”
“Sister Alice will show you to your room,” he states.
“My what?” I stare at him in perplexity.
Those who are confused about their faith, or who would like to have a closer relationship with God, come here to learn what it means to have faith and to serve. We have bedrooms for them to stay in while they spend their time here.
Her words from the other day ring in my ears when the realization hits. “As much as I appreciate the offer, I’m going to have to decline.”
I take another step back, inching closer to the hallway that leads to the lobby, but Father Keaton gently grabs my arm to stop me. “I fear that is not an option, Celine. You did sign the paperwork.”
“Paperwor—” My voice trails off as my eyes grow wide. “You had me blindly sign papers saying that I would attend your convent?”
“I’m sorry, but your mother said it would be the only way.” He gives me a look of remorse.
“So you lied to me?” I laugh in disbelief that my mother would do something this drastic, and I rip my arm out of his grasp. “Lying is a sin, Father.”
“And I will pray for my forgiveness later. For now, please follow Sister Alice to your room.”
My eyes dart from Father Keaton to Sister Alice, the latter looking at me with worried eyes. In that brief moment, I decide what I need to do. There is no way I’m staying in this place. I need to get out of here.
Without a second thought, I run.
I take off towards the lobby, sprinting down the hall as fast as I can, my breath already turning sporadic, making my chest hurt, but I don’t stop. I get halfway down the hallway and chance it, peering over my shoulder to see Father Keaton, not running after me but walking with a relaxed step.
Which makes this whole situation creepier.
Before I can turn my head back to continue my escape and watch where I’m running, I slam into a hard wall. With a grunt, I stumble backward, losing my balance, and almost fall to the ground when strong hands grip my shoulders to stop me from hitting the ground.
I rub a hand over my chest from the impact of crashing into someone, and then I look up to find confused golden-amber eyes staring down at me.
“Are you okay, Celine?” Father Alexander asks, his voice full of concern.
“No—I—” I attempt to get the words out to explain why I’m running like a crazy person through the halls of a church, but I can’t because of my labored breathing, which won’t calm down because of the fear rolling through my body.
“Celine, you are alright.” Sister Alice’s calming voice sounds from beside me.
I turn my head to the left to look at her, then at Father Keaton, who is now standing on my right. He is blocking the only path to the exit, and the hope of getting out of here deflates. When I bring my eyes back to Sister Alice, she is staring at me with sympathy.
“Everything will be okay.” She reassures me.
“No, it won’t,” I say, tears brimming in my eyes.
She nods, giving me a pitiful smile. “Come. Let me show you to your room.”
I drop my eyes to the carpet, accepting defeat, and wipe away a stray tear before stepping towards her. They aren’t going to let me out of here. Not after I basically signed my life away.
My heart continues to race as I walk at Sister Alice’s side, and the air is so quiet around us that I’m sure she can hear how loud my heart is pounding in my chest. We turn the corner by the chapel, passing by the courtyard, and continuing on until we get to another turn.
“How long will I be here?” I ask as we approach a wide staircase.
“Until your mother sees a change in you. She is only worried about your well-being,” she explains while we climb the steps. “Your parents will visit once a week.”
Lovely.
I think I’m worried about my mother’s well-being if she were able to hand me over like this without batting an eye.
“And if I don’t change?”
“Then that is for her to decide.”
When we reach the top of the landing and stop a few feet down, she opens a door, and my eyes grow wide.
It is a small room, with old hardwood floors and beige walls. As I walk into the room, I am met with a worn-down dresser to my left that fills the entire length of the wall. On top of it sits an alarm clock with the time glowing red, and a few candles next to it.
To the right is a bed, hidden behind a curtain, and when I pull back the fabric, I’m met with a twin-size bed and a photo of Jesus hanging on the wall above it.
Dropping the curtain, I look to the far side of the room.
There is a window, and when I walk over to it to take in the view, I find myself in the courtyard.
At least I have a pretty view in my jail cell.
“There are gowns in the dresser that you are expected to wear. If you’d like, after you change, we can wash your belongings for you.”
I clench my teeth tightly and inhale a deep breath before I turn to her. “That’s okay.”
Her head dips in understanding. “Lunch is over, but I will have someone bring you up a plate of food. Dinner will be at six. I will be back up here before then to escort you down.”
Sister Alice dismisses herself, leaving me alone in the silent room. A teardrop escapes and rolls down my face, and I don’t bother wiping this one away because I know it would be pointless. More will fall, and I will welcome them.
My mind is racing at the predicament I am in. How could my parents do something like this? If I want out of this place, it won’t be by walking through the front door on my own terms.
My brain gets bombarded with a million thoughts about the situation until it finally settles on an idea. Maybe I can pretend like I have found a relationship with God. If my mother believes that I’ve accepted God into my life, she will allow me to leave this place.
I’ll have to act my ass off to get out of here, because if I don’t prove to my parents that I have changed, then there’s no way for me to leave.