Corn, Cows, and the Apocalypse (Part 1) (15 page)

-The act of Submission-

             
I negotiated his clergy collar back in my bra, which he watched with mild amusement.  I shrugged.  “It’s safe in there.” 

             
“Yes, I would feel safe…” He let his sentence trail off and shook his head.  He didn’t want to finish that statement any more than I wanted to joke about him kissing me.  It was just best to keep the below the belt stuff for our arguments.  “Thank you.”

             
“Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t seen my crude attempt at jewelry crafting.”  I slid over to him to show him the necklace I made for him while he was recovering.  “I took some liberties with the crucifixion theme.  I hope that isn’t insulting to you.”   

             
I raised the brown bootlace out of the box a little embarrassed.  I was certain a silver necklace from one of the local jewelry stores would have been less prosaic, but I didn’t have the time, and I was already on the theme of shabby crappy. 

             
The pendant was a folded nail that latched onto the lace by the bent nail head.  I dulled the end so it didn’t scratch.  The horizontal line to my cross was another nail, bent and hammered into oblivion.  With Devin’s help, I had managed to solder a piece of barbed wire across it.  Again, I dulled the points so I wasn’t offering tetanus on a platter, but they were still pretty sharp.  I debated on spray paint, but the rusted barb and silver nails, looked rather good together. 

             
I explained my creation and offered credit to Devin for his help.  Priest stared at the necklace without a single word to say, or any expression of noteworthy translation.  I chuckled and dropped my hand to my lap along with the necklace.  “It’s okay.  You don’t really have to wear it.  It was a lame attempt at pacification.” 

             
Before I could deposit it back in the box, he grabbed my hand and took it from me, all the while watching me.  I furrowed my brow when he offered nothing in return.  Not a
thank you,
or a smile or even a scowl.  His eyes skirted my head like I might have a brain sucker attached to it.  “Priest you don’t have to.”  I reached for it but he drew his hand away.

             
“Why do you still call me Priest if you insist that I’m not one?”  He held up the necklace.  “Why do you deny me my collar and yet offer me a beautiful necklace signifying Christ’s sacrifice to us?”

             
I coughed trying not to laugh.  “I think you’re taking liberties with that adjective.  I only meant for you to wear it as a reminder that…you’re not the only believer to have a bad day.”  I rubbed each of my wrists and hung my hands to mime hanging from a cross.  I hissed and mouthed “
ouch”
to him. 

             
His brow furrowed as he laughed at me.  He drew his arm behind me on the pew but didn’t necessary touch me, he just wanted a better angle.  “I feel like I’m meeting you for the very first time.  I know I was drugged up, but I don’t remember this side of you.”

             
“Perhaps it was because you were drugged up that I wasn’t so jovial.”  He smirked at me and under the scrutiny of a sober Priest I couldn’t quite hold his eyes.  “Give me that.”  I reached for the necklace again, but he tucked it behind his back.  “I feel stupid asking you to wear it, now.”

             
“I would sooner wear this prouder than my own skin.”

             
I stopped trying to grab the necklace and looked at him with the same befuddlement he had been offering me.  “Is that good?”

             
He nodded somberly letting his eyes close as he did.  “It means,” he pinned me with his eyes when he opened them again.  “I am prouder wearing this necklace from you, than I am of the body my creator gave me.”  He paused and took in a sudden inhalation of epiphany.  “However, I suppose I still have to give him credit for creating the woman that created the necklace.”

             
“Do you mind if we stop talking about Him?”  I asked even as his hand started to brush back my hair.  He stopped and nodded letting his hand fall away. 

             
“Sorry, occupational hazard.”

             
“I know, but you need to refocus your attention on you, not Him.  Your thoughts. Your feelings.  I hate to bring this up, but I need to ask you to do one more thing for me.”

             
“What’s that?”

             
“I need you to not kill yourself.”  I said blankly.  He raised his brow, but didn’t say anything.  “I know you’re hurting and I don’t mean to prolong a life that is in such agony, but you told me we were friends.”

             
“We are.”

             
“I know, but I thought you meant acquaintances or even neighbors.  When I saw you lying behind that altar nearly dead, I knew we were friend friends.  Count on each other friends. Not just can I borrow a cup of holy water friends.”

             
“I guess I never distinguished, but I see your point.”

             
“Anyway, I would like you to consider your second chance at life as a debt to me.  I expect you to uphold your part of the bargain by staying alive.”  He raised his hand gently touching my face with his two fingers that weren’t wrapped around the necklace.  He mumbled another Latin ditty.  “Priest, please stop blessing me.  I feel like every last favor you have left is being used up on me instead of yourself.” 

             
I pulled his hand down and held it away from my face.  “I don’t want you to give me strength to live without you. I want you to be strong enough to live.  Here.”  I wrapped his fingers tightly around the necklace.  “Bless this.  Put every last honest uncorrupted hope for the future of mankind into a super whammy blessing.”  He paused and I squeezed his hand tighter.  “Go on.  It’s not self-serving I’m asking for it.”

             
He closed his eyes and offered a long chant.  I waited patiently.  He spoke whispers of foreign words for nearly a full minute before he opened his eyes and looked at me. 

             
“It’s done.”  He actually looked spent.  The prayer truly did take the last of his good vibes out of him. 

             
“Good, now put it on.”  I said.  He complied as best he could, but he didn’t understand what to do with the loop I had pre-tied on one side of the bootlace.  “May I?”  I offered as any gentlewoman would when her man’s necklace was too hard to tie behind his head.

             
“Please.”  He said as annoyed as a child fresh out of their Velcro shoes. 

             
“First off.”  I set the necklace down and unbuttoned his first two buttons.  “You’re stifling collar is gone let’s be rid of this as well.  In fact…”  I tugged at the top button, but my finger couldn’t rip it free.  “Let’s just be rid of them all together.”  I leaned into him and gnawed the button off with my teeth. 

             
“Whoa.”  He leaned back slightly letting me get at it.  His hands rose as if he thought he needed to be participating in the action somehow.  “You are definitely not lacking confidence are you?”

             
“I’m sure some part of me has some humility left, just not with buttons.”  I spit out the choker button and moved onto the next one. 

             
“Imagine what August would say if she walked in right now and saw you nibbling my buttons.”

             
“Not half as much as she would if I was nibbling something else.”  I sat up and spit the button across the room.  Priest was grinning ear to ear at me and I could feel myself start to blush at what I had just said.  “Speaking of your nibblers,” I said quickly slumping back away from him to look over the room and hide my face while it cooled.  “Where is the harem?”

             
“Gone.”  He said simply.  I looked back at him, he wasn’t smiling anymore.

             
“Why?”

             
“You know why?”

             
I frowned.  “Are you going to bring them back?”

             
“I wouldn’t know where they went.”  He shrugged.

             
I wiped my lips, feeling a little thread on them.  “Are you going to start drinking again?”  When he didn’t answer I assumed he didn’t have the answer, or didn’t want to give it to me; either way I was reminded that he was an addict.

             
I wrapped the necklace around him and tied it to hit just at his sternum.  I leaned back and touched the charm.  It did look nice.  I smiled at him and looked at my watch.  I shrugged offering him no explanation for needing to leave other than it just being time. 

             
“Thank you for this.”  He touched the necklace.  “Thank you for my second chance.”

             
“All in a day’s work, or in this case about a week.  My hero training paid off.”  I headed to the door.  There were moments with Priest when I knew I had overstayed my welcome.  Mainly when he started giving eyes to his women, or started jonesing for a hit.  This wasn’t one of them.  This was the first time I felt truly welcome, and the fact that I had no desire to leave, was just as new to me. 

-
Too Many Issues, Not Drunk Enough To Deal With Them-

             
“Speaking of the last three months.”  Priest’s voice rose enough for it to make the church sound hallow and I stopped.  “Would you like to talk about it?”

             
I turned back to him, but I didn’t bother to offer a fake smile.  “Not really.”

             
He nodded in understanding.  “Would you like me to hold you while you cry cathartically for an hour or so?”

             
I opened my mouth to laugh, but it wasn’t funny.  It was the most honest offer of sympathy I could have ever hoped to receive.  He wasn’t insisting I sit through a session of psychoanalysis.  He wasn’t even suggesting I should cry or needed to cry, just that I could.  It was permission to freely feel whatever I want to feel, without any purpose other than to feel it. 

             
I didn’t know how to respond to that offer.  It was too simple to say yes or no to.  The truth was, I didn’t want to leave, and any excuse to stay might have appealed to me. 

             
Priest offered his arm to me, and I moved back to him.  I sat beside him not sure how to be held.  He guided my position leaning me back across his lap.  I rested my feet on the pew.  He wrapped his arms around me and drew me against his chest so I was looking over his shoulder as if I was a baby needing to be burped.  It felt strange and forced, but I let my head relax on his shoulder. 

             
I could smell my floral shampoo on Priest’s hair.  It was by no means a manly scent, but clean is appealing no matter the undertone.     

             
I started to enjoy the simplicity of the embrace.  It wasn’t tender like a “there, there please stop crying so you don’t snot on my shirt” hug.  It was strong and pressing like “I missed you so much, don’t ever leave again” hug. 

             
I realized at some point, that trying to cry wasn’t going to work and I tried to push away, but he shifted his grip to press my head back to his shoulder.  He wasn’t going to let me go that easily.   

             
I sighed and waited for him to tire of the experience, but he didn’t seem to be in any rush.  He was in essence hugging the pain out of me.  It was an interesting and generous therapy.  Unfortunately, it was also boring as hell. 

             
The thought of that made me huff out a laugh.  The vocalization of even that opposing emotion spurred me into an unexpected hyperventilation.  The last three months were suddenly on my doorstep and I knew I was about to lose it.  Not just sad tears, but a complete an utter breakdown rarely seen in adulthood.  This was not going to be pretty.

             
I tried to pull away again.  This was too much, too fast; I needed space to get control.  Priest didn’t budge.

             
I panicked feeling suffocated by my surfacing emotions.  I couldn’t get away from them, or Priest.  As strange as it might sound, I was about to have an emotional climax.  I could feel it coming, and I knew it would feel good to let it out, but I was so afraid of it.  Scared of all the anger and fear I swallowed over the last three months, and my unforeseen disappointment at it all ending. 

             
I squeezed Priest’s back, ripping at his shirt; as if to warn him I might explode if he let this continue.  The tears were already rolling from my eyes, and my heaving breaths were so ragged anyone listening would have been confused about the goal of my ascent. 

             
Half in frustration, half in relief, I tumbled over the edge with a wail that even the most sympathetic listener would be uncomfortable with.  I clawed at Priest’s back screaming irascibly against his stilled body. 

             
I sucked up stuttered breaths like a child unable to reconcile the consequences of being an emotional being.  At one point, I even bit Priest’s shoulder, for no other reason than wanting to punish him for letting me put myself through this. 

             
Through it all, he didn’t move, he didn’t speak; not to rub my back, and not to shush my wails.  His stillness was impervious and consuming.  I settled into a steady weep and let my body collapse against him.  When I had no tears left to cry and every emotion had been drained dry save one, I lifted my head and nuzzled his ear. 

             
He relaxed his grip and I pulled myself to face him.  There was only one other release I wanted at that moment, and it had nothing to do with feeling bad.  I touched his face and kissed his cheek running increasingly frantic kisses to his ear.  I sucked his earlobe, and moved down his neck. 

             
For a brief moment, I thought he might have orchestrated this whole thing to make me give into desire with reckless abandonment.  I even questioned if this would officially tip the scales to describing me as a slut. 

             
Two different men only a week apart?  Gasp!  

             
Before I could even get to the part where I denounced all propriety and forethought in lieu of pleasure, he said my name.  Not “Oh, Lenore keep going” or “Lenore you vixen,” but rather “Lenore” with the scolding question mark behind it. 

             
“No.”  I whined already knowing he was asking me to stop.  I wanted to finish trailing kisses down his body, but the lack of enthusiasm on his part made me feel like I was playing checkers against myself, and I was cheating to win. 

             
I huffed and pulled away without looking at him.  He already knew my plot and grabbed my arms.  “Lenore,"
Insert scolding question mark here
.  "Look at me.”

             
I repositioned to sit next to him instead of across him, and I stared at my feet.  “I’m sorry.”  I sounded like a teenager who didn’t really want to apologize even though she knew she was in the wrong.  “I just got carried away with my emotions.”

             
“I know that.  That’s why I stopped you.  Can you at least look at me, so I know you’re not mad?”

             
“I thought you were mad.”  I said looking up to him. 

             
“Why because a beautiful woman is kissing me?”

             
I wanted to respond to that with a coy dismissal, but it occurred to me that it would make it sound like I was fishing for more compliments.  Besides that, what was Priest supposed to say: “No, I don’t want you; you’re dog ugly.”  I could well have been dog ugly and he still wouldn’t say it.

             
“You should go home and get some rest.  I know I’ve put you through hell the last few days.”

             
“Yeah,” I nodded feeling even a little bit more rejected.  “Okay.”  I got up and headed to the door.  I wasn’t aware that he was following me out until he caught the door over my head to hold it open.

             
“Lenore,” I turned back putting me between the door and him.  As inappropriate as my outburst of affection had been, I wondered if it was the beginning of a deep end crush.  “I’m going to need you to stay away from me for a while.” 

             
Or not.

             
I rolled my eyes and started to walk out.  The third little sting of rejection was starting to fester.  He caught my arm, and I resisted the urge to twist out of it and pin it behind his back. 

             
“I’m going to need a little alone time to make some decisions.  You’ve brought a lot of things to my attention that I had been ignoring, or was too doped up to understand.  As much as I treasure having someone sober to talk too, I think those questions of sobriety you asked before need to be answered without the burden of disappointing you.

             
“The last thing you need is a lousy pot smoking drunk making you promises he can’t keep.  And the last thing I need is another reason to hate myself.  Do you understand?”

             
“Yeah,” I murmured. 

             
He chuckled and pinched my side making me squirm.  “Can you say that like you support me, and not look like I kicked your puppy?”

             
I smiled trying not to think about how much I would miss this calm, playful Priest when his sobriety went the way of the dodo.  “Yes, I wholly support anything you wish to do to encourage your steps away from your crutches.  Including, you know who.”

             
He smiled and leaned down to me.  I hoped it was a kiss, since I still hadn’t managed to give up on that notion yet.  It
was
a nice kiss, but approximately six inches higher than I wanted it.  My forehead rejoiced at the feel of his lips.  I licked my lips just in case he stopped there on the way by.  He didn’t. 

             
“Lenore, go home.”  He nodded to the truck. 

             
“For cripes sake, I’ve tried to leave like three times already.  Quit stopping me.”

             
“Quit letting me.”  He smirked.

             
I opened my mouth to object, but he was already closing the door.  Considering I was still leaning against it, I no longer felt the sting of the rejection.  I was immersed in the cold winter of it.  Painful, but it was starting to numb me. 

             
Speaking of cold, I was due for another shower.