Lucia—
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"You know, you should talk to him," Priest Dixon says, placing a plate of three-staked pancakes, eggs, bacon, and a half-empty bottle of syrup before me.
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I pick up the fork on the side of the plate and scrap at the top of the pancake while leaning on my left palm. "I know, but I just...never get the chance to."
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"Lucia, you had the chance to yesterday and you avoided him."
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"I didn't avoid him." I shrug, playing with an oddly shaped bacon on the side of my plate with my fork.
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I glance up at him when he doesn't respond to find his eyebrows raised and his head cocked to the side as if he's asking "Really?"
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I glance around the room before putting the fork on the plate and pushing the plate toward him. "I'm not hungry."
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"Why not?" He asks, still facing the sink as he rinses off the skillet.
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I shrug. "I'm not hungry."
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He doesn't respond. He just wipes the water off the pan with a paper towel and puts it back in the second cupboard below the sink. He wipes his hand on the paper towel and then trashes the paper towel before reaching over the counter to pull my arms from their crisscrossed position.
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I try not to cringe at his now pruney hands as they cover mine.
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"Don't think I was stupid for not asking you what you ate yesterday like I usually do even though I know you ate nothing yesterday."
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I chew on the inside of my cheek and become fixated on his collar.
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"Or did you?"
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Now he's just taunting me; he knows I didn't.
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I don't respond. I just continue chewing on the inside of my cheek, still keeping my eyes fixated on his collar.
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"That's what I thought," he says.
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"So, why aren't you hungry?" He asks.
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I wince quietly and dig my chin deeper into my chest.
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"Don't you dare feel ashamed. Tell him."
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It feels wrong to say, but most importantly, it feels wrong to be doing it.
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"I'm...fasting." I chew on my lips so hard, I'm surprised that I don't draw blood.
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I glance up at him when he doesn't respond, and he's just staring at me with emotions that aren't negative but I can't pinpoint what they are and I'm not sure I like them.
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He's not disappointed. That should be a relief, but why does it still feel like I inhaled pepper?
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I scrunch my nose to remove the peppery sensation when he asks, "Why?"
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I freeze. It feels like someone's drenched cold water on me.
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I shrug and bite my cheek, subtly shaking my head.
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Why am I fasting?
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"Because you should. You heard the sermon on sacrifice through fasting. This is the only way to please God. If you don't abstain from food, how will you crucify your flesh."
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My heart thuds.
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Right. I swallow, trying to get over the harsh tone of the voice in my head.
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"Lucia." Priest Dixon softly squeezes my hands. "Look at me."
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I reluctantly peek at him from under my eyelashes.
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"Is it for the same reason? Are you trying to please Him again?"
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Yes.
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I shrug and then shift in my seat. This feels weird; the feeling in me every time 'fasting' or the reason I'm fasting is brought up feels weird. It feels like I'm under the scrutinizing gaze of an investigator.
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He lets my hands go and then double-taps the counter, "I won't force you to eat if you choose to continue your fast, but please try and cut back on the fastings."
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I can't.
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"You're hurting yourself," he says, before turning to finish washing the dishes.
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My heart skips a beat.
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I'm hurting myself. Then, maybe I should...
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"No. You can't stop. Imagine what He'll say, or even do."
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My heart clenches as the familiar image of a menacing manly figure looming over me with nothing but anger in his eyes clouds my mind.
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But...
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I tug once at my right thumb and bite hard on my lips as a crease forms between my brows.
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Should I?
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"No."
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My heart thuds and the peppery sensation in my nose returns as I hesitantly drag the plate to me.
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I try to turn off the red alarms in my mind as my right hand hovers over the fork before lifting it off the plate.
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I let out a shaky breath before digging the fork into the bacon, tearing off a piece, and then lifting it to my lips. I stare at the piece of bacon and my toes curl in my Converse sneakers and my mouth suddenly tastes tart. I force the bacon into my mouth, ignoring the pounding going on in my chest and the screams thrown at me from the voice.
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My grip on the fork hardens as I try to swallow it. My insides churn as I cut off some pancakes. Then swallow. Then take another bite. And another. And another till half of the food on the plate is gone.
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I glance up at Priest Dixon to find him beaming at me.
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"You've made Him angry."
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I swallow, trying to move past the concave feeling in my chest. I try to return his smile with a closed-lip smile.
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"Here." He hands me a glass of water. "You did great! Hurry. You're already late for work."
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Right. I stare at the glass of water and wonder if I should drink it. If it'll make God mad too.
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I chew on the inside of my cheek as I grab the glass and gently down the water, trying to ignore the feeling around me that makes me wish I'd shrink.
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"Silas." Priest Dixon calls with a strange tone of concern and panic.
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My head whips toward the door more because of the name than the tone of Priest Dixon's voice, causing water to trickle down my chin.
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He's here!
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My heart starts to jump until I notice his wheezing form leaning against the door frame, causing me to suck in a sharp breath. I let my eyes roam over the grimace on his face, the crease of his eyebrows, and the bits of beaded sweat between them.
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A wince escapes his lips every other second.
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My eyes travel to his left hand clutching below his rib and I spot a sharp tear in his black shirt and a huge crimson stain coating his hands; it's...still...fresh.
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I leap out of my seat to rush to him, but Priest Dixon beats me to it, so I just stand by the edge of the counter, realizing that I wouldn't have been able to do anything considering we were still...fighting?
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I bite my lower lip as my eyes run over his face and I notice the black eye under his right eye; it's faded. I also notice the small cut on his upper lip. I let my eyes roam his face before locking on his eyes. His stare hardens, matching the intensity of a glare.
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I inhale sharply. I'm not wanted here.
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Right.
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I dart glances around the room before grabbing my bag from the chair behind me and heading for the door. My heart pounds harder with each step I take closer to him as I try to avoid his stare, well, glare.
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"I'm leaving." I try to ignore the grey eyes boring into me as I stand a couple of inches behind Priest Dixon.
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"Okay. I'll try to fix him up," He pauses as he puts Silas's left arm around his neck, causing Silas to wince.
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His tone sounds assuring. I don't know why. Silas and I aren't anything.
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I try to move past the thought and avoid looking at Silas as Priest Dixon carries him past me and the smell of cedar engulfs me.
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I make the mistake of glancing behind me when I catch his somewhat softened eyes on me with a mix of what looks like regret in them, causing me to quickly avert my eyes.
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***
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"Hey, Cici."
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My heart flutters at the nickname but then thuds at the familiar sound of a noisy bar.
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I thought she quit alcohol. I knew it was too good to be true.
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I set my art book and pencil beside me on the floor, straightening up to hear what she'd say.
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"I'm going to be home late tonight," she screams into the phone.
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I can tell, but at least she sounds sober.
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"Hmm" is all I say.
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"I thought you weren't drinking anymore?" I ask her, trying not to sound judgmental.
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"My friends decided to celebrate after finding out I joined a recovery center," she says. "Don't worry, I won't have much to drink."
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I bite my lower lip, not liking the term 'much' before saying, "Okay. Just be careful."
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"I will, sweetie." She sounds excited, and it's making me nervous.
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"Come on, Amy!" I hear someone exclaim on her end.
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"I'm coming. I'm talking to my daughter." She screams back, causing me to pull each side of my headphones away from my ears.
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"Well, sweetie, you heard, I gotta go-
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"Wait. Mom." I call before she hangs up. "The rent is due soon, and I was wondering..."
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Well, I was wondering, since she's sober now, if she can pay for the rent, and I can save up for my Florence trip instead.
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"I was wondering if you could handle it." I chew on the inside of my cheek, hoping she'd pay this time instead of...
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"Sorry. Not this time, sweetie. My salary is short, but things will change."
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I try not to bang my head against the wall I'm leaning on as I hear the all-too-familiar excuse of her salary "being short." However, I'm unsure how I feel about this promise of "change."; she is still at the bar after all.
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"Bye, sweetie."
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"Bye," I mutter, staring at my screen.
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"Yo Lucia! Chips refill in aisle 5." Margaret juts her thumb behind her before disappearing the same way she came.
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I sigh, wishing my lunch breaks were longer.
ns 15.158.61.51da2
