Church.

by Fantome, Stylo

  She’d started right after her fifteenth birthday. She’d gotten into an epic fight with Margo’s latest boyfriend. He used to come into her room late at night and would try to get his hands down her pants. On one particular night, she’d decided she’d had enough, and she’d ground her cigarette out on his eye lid.

  He’d hit her so hard, she’d needed to have her jaw wired shut.

  He dumped Margo, which had just made life all that much worse. Emma had locked herself in her room, but that hadn’t stopped her mother from screaming through the door at her. A lit cigarette had worked to distract the boyfriend, why couldn’t it work the same way in a different, yet equally annoying, situation? So she’d lit up a fresh one, then immediately pressed it into her thigh, and it had been like magic. Pain blossomed and blocked out everything else in her world. Her whole being, shrunk down into one tiny pinpoint on her body. It had been glorious.

  She only did it on special occasions. Truly desperate situations. Too many burns would get her too much attention – she’d been in group therapy sessions, she knew how the Cutters were treated. She wouldn’t go down that road, she refused. She would have to limit herself.

  So just eight. Eight little burns, hallmarking eight different supremely fucked up situations in her life.

  And now the ninth, and her first given to her by someone else.

  “They’re beautiful,” Church sighed, his fingers smoothing over the burns, though careful not to touch the fresh one. “I had wondered if someone else had given them to you.”

  “No. I would never let someone else scar me,” she told him, shaking her head. He glanced up at her.

  “Except for me.”

  “Except for you.”

  “I won’t do it again,” he promised, which made her laugh.

  “I hope you do it again.”

  “You’re crazy, Emma,” he stated, which scared her. But only for a moment, because in the next, he was leaning down and kissing her burns. “And I absolutely love it.”

  Close, Church. So close to actually loving me. Maybe even close enough.

  CHURCH.

  Fuck.

  Could anything possibly be more beautiful than that night together? I knew Emma was damaged, but jesus. She’d been broken down so she could be rebuilt just for me. She’s literally been trained her whole life to prepare her for a man like me.

  I could do anything to her. Truly anything. She loved the burn, she adored it. I could do it again, do it every night, and she would just continue loving it. Continue loving me.

  I thought I knew what real power was. Making someone fear me, that was the ultimate. Love was ridiculous, love was for saps. Love was for using and abusing people.

  Except now when I look at Emma, my heart beats a little faster. My eyes see a little clearer. I recognize her a little more. She’s no longer a tool. I can never, ever look at her like that again.

  She’s something else.

  Something that terrifies me.

  12

  Emma resisted the urge to scratch at her leg. The burn on her thigh was healing, so it was itching like crazy. Scratching would cause more pain, and inevitably an infection, so she had long since learned to leave them alone.

  Didn’t make it anymore bearable, though.

  Things were different. At times, it was like Church was more distant than before; his silences lasted longer, he disappeared into his head more often. He stared at her in that strange way, like he hadn’t been able to see her clearly a moment ago, but now she was in focus. He didn’t burn her again, but his touches became more aggressive. He bruised her from holding onto her so tightly, onto her hips, her arms, her neck. Like he was scared to let her go, like she might get away.

  Yet he was also still obsessed with Lizzie Benny – if anything, almost more so. Emma got the feeling he was using the other girl as a distraction of sorts. Whatever was going on in his brain, he was using Lizzie to get away from it. It upset her to see him struggling, so Emma tried to help. Tried to think of different things to do to make him smile, to make him happy. She felt a little bad that he’d set all his evil thoughts onto such a nice girl, but ultimately, Lizzie was just a test – who she was didn’t matter, she only existed for Emma to prove herself to Church.

  So she kept following her around, kept learning more about her. Learned her class schedule. Learned the route she took home. Ms. Renny volunteered at an old folk’s home, checked out a library book every day, and was a die-hard fan of the tv show Friends.

  Emma also discovered that Lizzie was afraid of her own shadow. A handy bit of information. Church loved fear, so Emma decided to give him what he loved best. Frightening notes shoved under Lizzie’s door. Scary texts sent from a burner phone. Pictures taken of her at night, while she was walking home from work. By the end of the week, the girl was a nervous wreck. She barely left her dorm room, except to go to her volunteer job and classes.

  Emma told Church about all her accomplishments. He’d seemed a little stunned at first – she’d done all this without his direction, just in the hopes he would like it. And like it, he did, very much so.

  Still. As fun as terrorizing Lizzie was, Emma started to feel ridiculous. It was tantamount to bullying, really. Beneath her, and certainly beneath Church. She knew he must have had bigger ambitions, and she was ready for them. She wanted to get them over with, wanted to move to whatever next level was waiting for them.

  Desperate times called for desperate measures. Church fucked her, whispered his perfect words, and Emma did her best to grant his darkest wishes. Rinse, repeat. Every day. Something had to give. So in between following Lizzie everywhere, Emma started following another target.

  Him.

  Mr. Harker, her math teacher, had a private office in the administration wing of the school. Church’s key card gave him access to all the school’s entrances, as well as Harker’s particular rooms. She came back late one evening, just as a night class was ending. In the semi-darkness, she made her way to the office. The door was slightly ajar, and after establishing that Church was alone, she pushed her way inside.

  “I’m on to you,” she said, shutting the door behind her. Church was at a computer at the back of the room. The sound of the keyboard clicking didn’t stop at the sound of her voice, so she went on. “I know what you’ve been up to.”

  That finally got his attention. Only silence came from his side of the room now.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? I mean, I know you think I’m stupid, Church, but jesus, I’m not a complete fucking idiot.”

  His breathing picked up. She was really getting to him.

  Ha ha.

  “You strike me as a blade kind of guy. I keep waiting for you to bring them out so we can play with them. But you never do. Are you saving them for her?”

  Ah. Finally. The squeak of the chair as he got out of it.

  “Let’s cut the theatrics, Emma – what are you talking about?” he asked, turning to face her.

  “I know what you were up to, all those nights away from home. What you didn’t want me to know.”

  “Oh really. Enlighten me.”

  “You’ve been stalking her.”

  It was true.

  Church did work late on occasion, grading papers and writing up questions for pop quizzes, but not very often. Not enough to account for all his late nights away from home. And certainly not enough to explain away those nights when he’d disappeared entirely.

  He’d asked Emma to follow Lizzie Renny, to learn everything about her she could, and Emma was an excellent student. Stupid man, had he really thought she wouldn’t notice him? Because learning about Lizzie, of course, meant learning about him.

  He really was obsessed with her. He watched Lizzie when he thought no one was watching him. He also kept notes on her – a nail file and a hammer had gotten Emma into a locked drawer in his desk at home. He had pictures that only could’ve been taken by himself, from outside her window. Outside her job.

  It ha
d hurt. God, it had hurt, at first. Fear was an aphrodisiac for Church, he lived for it. If he wanted to scare someone, if he wanted to hurt them, in his own way it was like he wanted to love them. He wanted to feel something with them. He’d never talked to Lizzie as far as Emma could tell, yet he wanted to share all these things with her. Wanted to be the center of her universe, even if from a distance.

  It drove Emma insane. She wanted to be the only planet revolving around him. Who was this girl, and what right did she have to captivate Church? Why couldn’t he be obsessed with Emma? What was so wrong with her?

  Thinking like that, though, wouldn’t get her anywhere, she knew. She couldn’t exactly complain about it to anyone. Only Church would understand her, and he would laugh at her. She wouldn’t handle that so well. So she had to approach him sideways. Casually. As if it didn’t bother her at all.

  Even though it really, really, really bothers me.

  “Okay,” he finally spoke, and he sat down at Harker’s desk. His portfolio case was sitting on top of it. “Okay, so I’ve been watching her. I told you I knew everything about her, why are you surprised?”

  “I’m not surprised, I just don’t get why you didn’t tell me. I don’t get why we’re wasting your time with this juvenile bullshit. It’s beneath you,” Emma said.

  “And you think you know what it is I really want to do,” he spoke slowly.

  “I think you want to hurt her.”

  His eyes drifted shut.

  “And if I did? How would that make you feel?”

  Terrible. Awful. Like you love her too much and me not enough.

  “I don’t know,” she finally whispered. “Like I’m wasting my time, too.”

  “It wouldn’t scare you?”

  “Nothing you do could ever scare me.”

  “What if I wanted to kill her? Would that scare you?” he asked. She frowned.

  “No. Is that what you want?”

  “It’s all I think about,” he breathed.

  “Why her?” Emma moaned. “She’s … nobody. Why do you want to be her god?”

  There was a long silence. Then he opened his eyes and sat upright.

  “I have to start somewhere, don’t I? Call it practice. You really wouldn’t care if I killed her?”

  Emma thought about it.

  “I would care very much. But I wouldn’t stop you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. Would you help me?”

  “I … I don’t know. If you asked me to … maybe. I don’t know.”

  He stood up and reached for her. Hooked his finger into the top of her pants and pulled her close to him.

  “Would you help me commit a felony, Emma?” he breathed, twisting and turning them, pushing her up against the desk, forcing her to sit on it. “Would you help me end someone’s life?”

  “I don’t know,” she repeated herself. “How many other people have you asked to do this?”

  “No one. Just you. I haven’t spoken all these years because I was waiting to say these words to you.”

  She closed her eyes and allowed him to push her back until she was laying flat on the desk.

  “For someone who doesn’t talk a lot, you seem to know how to say all the right words to me.”

  “Because I know you, Emma. I know your soul. Just like you know mine.”

  She could hear him fiddling with something, so she finally looked to the side and was surprised to see him fumbling with his portfolio. His hand was inside it, feeling around for something.

  “Do I, Church? Do I really?”

  “Yes. My soul and my mind.”

  The biggest knife she’d ever seen was pulled out of his bag and laid on the desk. She stared at it for a second, then she sat up and grabbed it. Pulled it out of its sheath and stared at the shiny blade.

  “I knew it would be a knife,” she whispered. “This is impressive.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s cliché. It’s a Bowie Knife, probably the most popular blade amongst serial killers and losers who collect knives.”

  “And yet you own one.”

  “I took it from Jerry.”

  Now that really was interesting. She raised her eyebrows and looked at him in surprise, and in doing so, she fumbled with the knife. Just barely, and she caught it, but not before nicking herself on the thumb. She hissed and pulled back.

  “What the fuck is good ol’ Jerry doing with a big ass knife? And a sharp one, at that,” she grumbled, looking at the wound. Blood was already beading on the tip of her thumb.

  “He hunts,” Church explained, standing between her legs and grabbing her hand. “Just like everyone else around here.”

  “He hunts with a knife?” Emma asked, then her breath caught in her throat as he put her thumb into his mouth, pressing his tongue against the cut for a moment.

  Just like I did when he cut his finger. To take care of him. He’s taking care of me.

  “No. He hunts with a shot gun. The knife is just extra,” he replied when he finally let her go.

  “So this is what you plan to use to kill her with some day?” Emma asked, holding up the blade in front of her face. It was so shiny, she could see her warped reflection in it.

  “I wasn’t planning anything,” he corrected her before he took the knife away.

  “Sure you weren’t. You just stand outside her house night after night wondering if you’ll ever get to see the finale of Friends,” Emma snorted. He glared, then gently shoved her so she was laying down again.

  “I wasn’t,” he repeated, and he started pushing at the hem of her t-shirt, forcing it up under her breasts. “I don’t want to kill her.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I want her to suffer.”

  Emma’s breath hitched as she felt the dull edge of the knife against her stomach. She went back to staring at the ceiling.

  “So why don’t you make her suffer?” she whispered.

  Before he could answer, footsteps interrupted them. Someone walking down the hall. The blade flipped over and it was now the sharp edge delicately resting against her flesh. The footsteps paused outside the office door. Just for a moment. Then they were walking across the hall and a different door was groaning as it was closed.

  “Because I can’t …” Church sighed, dragging the knife up her skin. One more ounce of pressure from him, one sharp breath from her, and there would be blood.

  “I think you’re scared,” Emma dared to call him out. The knife stopped moving.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re scared. All your life, you’ve been hiding from who you really want to be. Who you’re meant to be. I know, because I’m the same way. I’m always hiding. But now I don’t think that’s such a good idea. What’s the point of life if we’re not living it the way we’re supposed to? Fuck it. Do you, Church. I won’t judge you. I’ll help you. I want … I want you to be happy. I want you to be the best version of yourself.”

  She’d spoken the truth. She was too wrapped up in him now to think any other way. Dark Emma was laughing in the wind, throwing her life away for this disturbing man. If he asked her to do this for him, then she would do it.

  She would do anything for him.

  There was a long pause. Then, suddenly, the blade was slicing. Sharp and quick, but shallow. Hardly a cut at all. So fast, she barely had time to gasp before it was over.

  “Even if that ‘best version’ of me is a monster?” he whispered as blood trickled across her stomach and ran down her side. She let out a shaky breath.

  “Especially if that,” she replied.

  His lips were against her skin, kissing the cut. Then they were against her mouth, kissing her lips. She tasted copper and salt and her hands were in his hair, holding him close to her.

  “You would really do it, wouldn’t you,” he sighed into her ear as he pulled her t-shirt up and over her head. “You would help me kill her. Just like that, so easy.”

  “I would,” she promised, yanking and tugging at his shirt. “I would do anythin
g for you.”

  “I believe you. I really, really do.”

  “Good.”

  Emma had never in her life wanted someone as much as she wanted Church. It was a constant ache, something she felt all the time. When he wasn’t touching her, wasn’t inside her, she was uncomfortable. Void.

  As for him, she’d never gotten a similar impression. He clearly liked fucking her, and he did it as often as convenience allowed, but up until that night, she hadn’t really been able to tell either way.

  Now, though, it felt different. There was a desperation in his touch, an eagerness in his kiss. He was already breathing hard, like he couldn’t catch his breath. Like his heart was speeding out of control, just like hers.

  “I can’t believe you let me do this,” he breathed, lowering his lips back to her wound while he pulled her jeans away from her body. Emma quickly unbuttoned her shirt, then stared down at his head as he kissed his way along her hip bone.

  “Only you. I’d only ever let you do that to me,” she assured him, combing her fingers through his hair. He dragged his tongue between her legs, making her eyes roll back in her head, and then he was kissing his way back up her body.

  “Only me,” he repeated, pulling his pants apart and shoving them down.

  “Because I love you,” she breathed. He nodded and she felt his fingers curling around hers, squeezing her hand and guiding it to his very hard dick.

  “I know you do, Emma. God, I think it’s my favorite thing about you,” he whispered. “I want you to always be in love with me.”

  “I will, Church. I think I always have been, from that very first moment in the hallway,” she confessed.

  She would’ve confessed more, would’ve told him anything. Everything. But while he stroked her hand up and down his erection, he started kissing her again, his tongue taking up her whole mouth.

  She’d come into the office expecting some sort of confrontation. Possibly a fight. She never would’ve guessed they’d wind up fucking on her teacher’s – and his boss’s – desk.

  “You make me feel …” he was whispering, then surprised her by abruptly sliding inside her. She held onto him until her hand was pressed against her own wetness. “Like maybe there’s a home for me. Inside of you. When we’re like this.”