Supplicant by Sierra Simone

Author:Sierra Simone [Simone, Sierra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-03-10T18:30:00+00:00

5

Charley

Undefended and alone, now the girl must make a nest of pillows and blankets to protect herself. Tomorrow, the harsh London wilderness will be waiting. But tonight the girl must retreat and recoup. And cry.

I know things have to be bad if I’m Attenboroughing myself. Dazed and dizzy from three solid hours of sobbing, I manage to fake my way through dinner and homework with Jax, and then I collapse into a fitful sleep. Tomorrow is a double shift at Tesco, and the day after will be Tesco plus a catering gig, and I don’t have time for Church to be in my thoughts like this. For his words to be swimming through my veins and crawling inside of my heart.

Since the day I met you, you’ve been it for me.

Do I believe that? Does it matter even if I do?

I am your temple no matter what.

When you need me, I’ll be there.

Liar. He’s a liar. He wasn’t there when I needed him, he wasn’t there when he said he would be.

Except you never gave him a chance to be after the day of the wedding, a voice reminds me. You made sure he thought you were gone—you made sure he couldn’t be there for you at all.

Well, I refuse to feel bad about that. He did the worst thing, and when someone does the worst thing, they don’t get second chances. Especially when that worst thing was to save their career.

And yours, the voice says. Which makes me scowl. My career was lost anyway, and besides, I’m not interested in forgiving him for choosing anything over me. Not when there were seventeen thousand other ways he could have handled things. Number one of which was to have told the director to fuck off and then shown up to our goddamn wedding.

But you know what it means to him. His job is the literal manifestation of his desire to find God. Can you really blame him for that?

I want to. And I think I do, but in order to keep the blame bigger than the sympathy, I have to forget what an amazing teacher he was. How carefully he mentored all of his students and the pains he took to help each one of them improve. I have to forget about how he lit up on a dig site, becoming smiley and boyish and excited; I have to forget the awe in his voice and the humility in his face when he cupped fragments of forgotten worlds in his hands.

But I will forget it. I will if it’s the last thing I ever do. I’m not going to forgive him, and I’m not going to keep thinking about his cruel mouth and glittering eyes and smoky voice. I’m definitely not going to remember the jolt of pure rightness I felt when he told me that he belonged to me, that he wanted to be my temple again. I won’t remember the gouging agony in his expression as I told him

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