Bad Habits: A Dark Anthology

by Yolanda Olson

  With a deep breath, I opened the office door. “Father Kent?”

  “In here, child.”

  Solomon’s voice. I closed my eyes in sadness and longing, just standing there holding the doorjamb to support my weight

  It was the first time since I’d arrived that I actually longed for home. To Mother Mary Margret, to my closet and trapped souls. To Hannah and Jack and even old Sister Bethany’s food.

  Since I’d been here, I’d been… good. No tricks or pranks, my kite retired and dejected. There simply was no wind for it to rise, and no one I cared about to summon an ounce of enthusiasm for.

  “Constance?” Father Kent inquired from the back somewhere.

  “Ye—” I cleared my throat, finding my voice. “Yes, Father. I’m here.” Shutting the door, I looked around the room, taking in the small but clean layout. A coffee table, two decent sofas, and a standing shelf of books decorated the room. A perfect waiting area for engaged couples or parishioners waiting to meet their representative of God.

  I passed through the waiting area and into a backroom, where an open doorway showed me Father Kent’s profile. He was sitting at his desk, and when he saw me, he turned his head and waved me in, standing up.

  “Please, come in and have a seat.” He put his hand on my shoulder for a second, then must have thought better of it as he looked behind me toward the waiting area. I took a seat in the chair closest to the door. My heart skipped a beat when I heard him shut the door, giving us privacy.

  My eyes were heavy with on-coming tears, and I curled my hands into fists at my sides, shutting my stupid eyes until my temples screamed. What was wrong with me? There was no way I was going to cry in front of this man.

  “Constance, look at me.” He placed his hands on my knees. The breadth and warmth of his touch both anchored and jolted me.

  I opened my eyes to find him squatting down in front of me, his beautiful face filled with concern.

  “I have not abandoned you,” he said, determined.

  I turned away from him and looked over my shoulder. I couldn’t bear his words, his eyes.

  He took my chin and turned me gently back to face him. “In fact, this is where you’re meant to be, child. My Constant Star.” When my lips trembled, he traced them with his thumb. “You are my Beloved, and you are home. You are mine.”

  My hand flew to his and pushed him away. “What game are you playing, Father? How cruel can you be? I don’t know you, and you’ve obviously heard of my reputation of being… a troublemaker. Insane. Rebellious and flighty. I may be those things they say I am, but I’m not stupid. If it’s me your wish to dip your stick in, then at least be honest with me! If you want to fuck, say it, don’t stink it up with this fantasy shit.”

  Ignoring my outburst, he shook his head, tilting it to the side. “Shh… Listen.”

  Glaring at him, I frowned. “What?”

  “Constance, listen to me,” said Solomon in my head, in the room, all around and nowhere, but definitely not from the mouth and lips of the man before me. “He is me, and I am him. Trust me, child. You will know all soon.”

  I stared into Father Kent’s amber depths, my breath trapped within my lungs. Strangely, a picture of Hannah and Jack came to me then, and for a split second I felt… guilt. Understanding. Laughter bubbled up inside me.

  At last the puppeteer had traded places with the puppet.

  “Never!” Father Kent said adamantly, his face filled with hurt and something else I couldn’t begin to understand. “Never feel guilty for opening passion’s doors, Constance. Never.” With angelic grace, he stood then and plucked me up into his arms, carrying me to his desk chair. He held me close on his lap and kissed my temple. I shivered. No one had ever touched me like he had. Ever.

  The first thing he did was take off my veil and headpiece. Next, he leaned back a bit to undo the pins that held my hair in place.

  “Just like this.” His voice was deep and reverent as he combed my hair slowly with his fingers. “This is how I’ve always pictured us together. You in my arms, with your moonstruck hair gathered in my fingers, so long and silky.” He sighed and smelled my hair. “Such beauty, my Constance.”

  I didn’t know what to say, what to think… only feel, and at that moment, as I leaned back into his strong embrace, giving into his warmth and scent, I felt content for the first time in my life.

  “You are home now, with me at last, Constance.”

  I shut my eyes and considered all that had happened over the past few days. “It’s really you? But that’s not possible. How?” When I opened my eyes and met his, something sparked. “You’re real, aren’t you? The voice… the… whatever, who I’ve known my whole life, like my own thoughts?” It still didn’t seem possible. Far from it, but with his arms around me, I believed.

  “It is me. And we have a lot of work to do, you and I, my Beloved. No more questions, just trust.” He kissed my cheek, nuzzling my head to the side. My body broke out in chills and I released a moan.

  His hand slid under my habit, taking its time leisurely up my thigh in firm strokes. It was too much, and I wiggled in his lap, but his grip on my hip stilled me. It was then that I felt his erection, hard and hot against my other hip.

  “Do you feel my cock, my beauty?” he whispered, his tone husky, with a trace of something I’ve never heard in it before. I loved it. I wanted to hear it again. “Tomorrow night, my darling Constance, I will take your sweet cunt and taste you.”

  His words made me moan again. I wanted him now, I burned for him. I didn’t want to wait.

  Reading my thoughts, he laughed. “Oh but you will. I’ll have you—”

  A burst of noise broke the spell.

  “—Father, Oh!” Sister Diane froze, her hand still on the doorknob. She looked from him to me with eyes wide like a bug. “Forgive me…um—”

  I couldn’t see his face, but I heard the danger in his voice clearly when he addressed her. “Out, woman.”

  She paled and ran, slamming the front door of the parish office in her wake. Terrified and frozen myself—I’d never heard Solomon speak like that before and never wanted to again—I tried to sit up, but he held me tight, his arm around my waist a heavy bar of steel.

  “Have no fear. She will keep quiet, Constance.” He kissed my head again, his voice back to normal now. “Go back to the parish and finish your work. I will come to you after mass. But first…” He captured my jaw with his fingers, his palm cupping my neck, turning my mouth to his. I closed my eyes and felt his perfect soft lips touch mine. I had never kissed a man before. Never wanted to. But Solomon was more than just a man.

  Opening my mouth to his, I tentatively touched his tongue with mine, marveling at the warm, wet softness, the sweetness of him. I tasted him gingerly, cautiously. He groaned, and pulled me closer, sweeping inside my mouth, taking from me. My toes curled and my breath hitched. When his hand squeezed my hip again in warning, I reluctantly pulled away with a pout, which had him chuckling.

  “Tomorrow,” he whispered on a smile that dazzled me and made me feel drunk.

  “Okay.” Smiling and feeling shy, I got up off his lap and straightened my habit. He handed me my veil and helped me look presentable, then kissed me on the forehead.

  “I’ll see you soon, my Beloved.”

  Chapter Six

  I had maybe fifteen minutes before I had to be in the kitchens to help with lunch. My mind was still lost in a swirl of disbelief, excitement, and lust as I quickly avoided the main room were the Sisters gathered and made my way to my room to change. When I got to the end of the hall, though, someone was standing by my door.

  Sister Diane was a pretty woman, probably around twenty-nine, thirty. But right now hate and disgust made her ugly.

  I sighed, knowing exactly how this would play out. She wasn’t going to leave and let me pass until she’d said her piece, so I might as well get it over with.

  “What can I do for you, Sister?” I asked patiently.

&nb
sp; She looked me up and down, then met my eyes with a sneer. “Slut,” she hissed, spit practically flying out to hit my face. “Whore! We don’t want you here, so you will leave tonight.”

  I straightened, standing tall. I was impressed. Right to the point, she went. I appreciated that. Made my job easier.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Sister, but I’m not going anywhere. Now please move.”

  She blinked. “I said we don’t—”

  I put out a hand, stopping her. “I heard what you said, but it’s not up to you to kick me out. If this is what Sister Abigail has decided, surely she will come to me about it. Now, again, please move.” I scooted past her, hoping she’d get the damn point, but instead, she grabbed me by my shoulders and pushed me further out into the hall.

  Fuck that.

  Her veil was in my hands in seconds, ripping it off. I grabbed her by the hair and pushed her down to the floor to kneel at my feet. Yelping and snarling like a dog, her hands reached up, clawing at my grip on her hair.

  I leaned down and got in her face. “Silence.”

  She stilled, mouth shut, eyes wide on me.

  I nodded. “Better. Now, this is how this is going to go, Sister Diane.” My grip loosened, and once I was sure she’d remain still and kneeling at my feet, I released her. “Since you’ve demonstrated that you can obey, I will give you a gift, not a punishment. It’s been a good day, Sister, and I’m feeling… benevolent, you could say. Would you like a gift, you selfish little creature?”

  She nodded. Her eyes had already begun to soften, even growing heavy with a twinge of desire. Interesting.

  My hand caressed her soft cheek. “Good. Come to the dining hall ten minutes-to-six. There I will have your gift waiting.”

  “Yes… Sister Constance.” So meek.

  “Now leave me.” I left her there on the floor and went into my room to change.

  The rest of the afternoon went by in a blur of activity. There were boxes everywhere in the main room, filled with pamphlets, gift bags, bibles, baked goods and more. At around five o’clock we called it a day and spent the rest of the next hour in prayer and reflection.

  This time yesterday I was ready to get this stupid event prep over and done with. I wanted to go home, had had enough of this mission crap. It was boring and, strangely enough, lonely. Not that I had anyone other than Solomon to talk to, and he had disappeared by then. I’d even missed the Reverend Mother.

  Now, though, hope burned. The world had changed, something miraculous had occurred. I wasn’t alone in the world, and my only true friend was real. More than that, he was like an angel straight from Heaven. Kind, strong. Tangible. And he was all mine.

  Oh, I still wrestled with the improbability of it. But in the end, I always came back to who I was, the gifts I possessed that not another among me wielded. I knew I was different, odd and “not right in the head.” I’d seen and done many things that shouldn’t have been possible. But I never in a million years thought I’d have this. Intimacy. The love and touch that a woman and a man experience together.

  I shook myself from my thoughts and dropped the act of praying. I had things to do and a gift to give.

  Sneaking out into the kitchen and to the dining hall, I waited for Sister Diane by the exit door. I knew the homeless started arriving and camping out around five, even though they had to wait an hour or so before we opened our doors. So it was only the work of a moment when Diane showed up—looking curious but much more chastised—that I opened the door to the outside and pulled her along with me.

  The evening sun greeted us in the west, outlining three men who leaned against the building. When they saw us, they straightened, hunger and wariness painting their haggard faces. And very surprised at our sudden appearance. Not stopping, I crooked a finger for them to follow, pulling Diane in the direction of the woods behind the church. They followed.

  When we were far enough away from any prying eyes, I released the Sister’s arm. She fell at my feet and looked up at me, waiting. Anticipating.

  God help me, I was starting to actually like the woman.

  From the corner of my eye, I could see the three men had arrived. I looked over at them as they, too, stood waiting. My eyes traveled up and down their body. Not too old, not too young, pretty healthy-looking. They’d do.

  I turned back to the woman at my feet. “Something I learned long ago is that when people insult another, throwing accusations or insults back and forth, it’s usually because they themselves are what they charge the other of being. You called me a slut, a whore.” Here she shook her head adamantly, now becoming afraid. I touched her head. “Be still, listen. It is you who yearn to be used, to be passed from man to man.” I gentled my voice then. “To desire is not wrong, Sister. If it were, you and I wouldn’t be here, neither would anyone. Desire is the fuel to life’s spark. Without it we cannot create.”

  “Yes, Sister.” She lowered her eyes. “You are very wise. He was right to choose you.” She looked up at me again. “Please forgive me… Mother.”

  The word jolted me, and for an instant it felt like the whole wooded-area around us waited on bated breath, waiting for my acceptance. I felt the concept she offered surround me, touching my spirit with infinitesimal, probing fingers.

  Setting it aside for later observation, I waved it all away and leaned down to kiss my fellow Sister’s lips. They were warm and trembling. There was no passion in the act, only a benediction. Having given it, I whispered, “Do as thou wilt, Daughter.”

  I released her and turned to the men. “She is yours to take. Make it fast if you want to eat. We close our doors at seven.”

  And then I left them to it.

  When I made it back into the dining hall, I ran right into Sister Abigail.

  “Child, what are you doing? You need to be in the kitchen! Do you see the time?”

  I looked at the clock on the wall above the serving table. Six on the dot. Wait. Kitchen?

  “Yes, you! It’s your night.” She shooed me with a hand as she began setting up for dinner, rummaging through the shelf that held all the to-go boxes.

  Shit.

  She was right. On the board that hung on the swinging kitchen door was my name in chalk, right next to “Friday’s Dinner Duty.” I sure didn’t volunteer for it, so this was the first time I’d heard of it.

  I frowned. Did the Sisters want to die? I didn’t know how to cook!

  I opened every cabinet, searching for something simple that I could just take a can opener to. Not a damn thing, not even bread for sandwiches. All they had was fresh food that, when combined, went into a stew or casserole. Even if I knew what the hell I was doing, there wasn’t any time for casseroles.

  There was only one thing to do.

  I sprinted out to Sister Hazel’s office, switched on the light, and found a phone book. After a brief phone call, I went back into the dining hall and went to wait by the exit door. The nuns were just now starting to bustle in, and Sister Abigail stood at the ready behind the buffet-style setup with not a dish of food in sight.

  “Well? Is it ready yet?” she asked.

  I folded my hands and stood patiently. “On its way.” Ignoring her soon-to-be tantrum, I watched the rest of the room. Each Sister was silent as the grave, and it was getting to the point where I’d had it with their walking-dead attitude. Maybe it was a good thing I was assigned dinner tonight. I had a feeling things were about to get interesting for the Sisters of Trevorstone Parish.

  With that thought in mind, I murmured that I’d be back in a moment, leaving Beady-eyes trailing me with a death glare, and ran to the storage area in the back of the kitchen. I grabbed four containers of boxed-wine—the Church was never without alcohol—and a punch bowl with a ladle attached. Then I set myself up at the counter and made a pretty decent punch. I even found a jar of maraschino cherries, much to my delight. I remembered having them once at a carnival we sponsored for charity a few years ago. Such yummy circles of goodness. I popped a few
in my mouth, grabbed the now-filled punch bowl, and headed carefully to the dining hall.

  The exit door opened as soon as I entered, and the by the time I sat down the punch in front of a gaping Sister Beady-eyes, the smell of pizza greeted my nose.

  I paid the delivery guy with a check I’d taken from Sister Hazel’s check book I’d found in her office earlier, just as Sister Diane squeezed in past him and the door. I grabbed her arm, keeping her at my side.

  “Sister, just in time,” I told her, then handed her five pizza boxes, while I took the rest to the buffet table.

  After delegating tasks to the nuns for napkins and plastic cups, I welcomed the homeless from outside with a wave of my hand out the door. They came in quietly. I didn’t see any sign of the three men I’d met earlier, but I really didn’t care one way or another.

  “Pizza! Sister Constance,” Sister Hazel cried, striding over to me. “We do not eat… outside food. We prepare our own healthy food, food that we—”

  I tried not to roll my eyes. It was difficult, but I did it. “Yes, yes. I know. But I was running out of time. Pizza will do just as well in our bellies.” I grabbed a paper plate for myself and waited in line behind the men, ignoring the Sisters. Their disapproval was audible, but it was done, and they’d get over it.

  By the time we’d fed the men and had seated ourselves at the table, the punch—which I instructed was only for us—was pretty much gone. If the Sisters noticed anything sinful about it, they didn’t mention it. In fact, for the first time since I’d been here, the conversation was actually worth taking note of. Sure, it wasn’t stimulating conversation, but it was speech, at least. Unlike the sedate, drawn-out dinners we’ve been having.

  Just then, I felt a tickle between my shoulder blades. Solomon.

  Sister Diane caught my eye across the table. I nodded.

  She stood and walked toward his chair as he sat down. “Father, would you care for some punch? And Sister Constance was kind enough to order us pizza! What kind would you like?”