Page 124 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part 1

She drifts past my shoulder, and by the time I’ve recovered enough from the surprise to turn, she’s standing in front of Jasmine’s door. Still as a mouse. Her eyes narrow on my T-shirt, then drag down my body slowly and snag on something in the vicinity of my knees, where I feel sticky. Shit.

She tilts her head. “Where were you?”

I open my mouth. Close it.

“Figured,” she scoffs. “Two years and you haven’t changed a fucking bit. Still sneaking in after midnight, still thinking no one notices the cum dripping down your legs.” She pauses. “They always notice.”

“Move,” I growl.

“No.”

“Hannah, move.”

“Haven’t you done enough?” Her harsh whisper cuts me like a knife. “I just got her to sleep ten minutes ago. She cried for an hour. About you. About what it means that the sword picked her, and you can’t stand it, so you shipped her off to the worst place she could visit right now.” When I don’t answer, she mutters, “God, you can be so clueless sometimes, or maybe you’re just a selfish cunt. You’re not the only person who gets hurt.”

“The Vatican.” The realization burns me.

“Jaz just watched a team of their holy best massacre our sisters.” Grief crumples Hannah’s face, but she takes a deep breath and smooths her expression. The glimpse of vulnerability is the first I’ve seen on her since she returned. She grew up in the Spain chapter.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I just wanted to tell her the same thing.”

“No,” she chokes out. “You don’t get to wake Jaz up just to make yourself feel better.”

“It was insensitive of me. I didn’t think⁠—”

“Didn’t think?” Hannah’s hoarse voice echoes. “Just like you didn’t think to tell us about you squirreling away important Sinner artifacts?”

My cheeks burn. “That was on a need-to-know basis.”

“Bullshit. The sword rejected you, and so you didn’t want anyone else getting the attention.” She sneers. “I can’t believe I used to look up to you. Can’t believe Jaz still does.”

“She stole my room!” I blurt out, temper flaring. “My clothes, my shit!”

Hannah’s expression goes passive, in that deadly way we all get. “Did it ever occur to you that she just wanted to be close to you? That she wanted something of yours, some place of yours, because you make her feel safe?” She sucks in a breath and whispers, “She’s just too broken to admit it.”

She steps toward her room but then stops. Her fingers curl into fists, and she grinds out, “If you wake her, at least have the decency to wash the priest off your legs first.”

I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the tears. When I open them, Hannah is gone. All the emotion I’ve held back rushes out, and I clutch the wall to avoid collapsing. The movement tugs at the stain on my legs. Itches. Begs for attention. I bend down and vigorously rub it off, but the rosemary balm Cisco used is still greasy, and now I’ve smeared it everywhere. It smells like him.

Heart in my throat, I rush to the bathroom and pull out the first aid kit. I grab a towel, wet it, wash myself, and then bandage my wounds. Each wrap around my thigh erases Cisco’s kindness, his compassion, his words … and it feels wrong. Like I’m erasing him too. Like my feelings don’t have a say. Like they never did.

By the time both legs are done, I grip the porcelain sink and stare at the drain. But my mind is racing. It’s not as though Cisco and I planned to feel this way about each other. It’s not like we didn’t try everything we could think of to avoid it.

The sound of voices filters through the wall. The orphans are next door. God, I hope they didn’t hear Hannah. I clench the sink harder until it creaks, but then I hear giggles and relax. A pause extends. And then someone starts singing Tomorrow from Annie. It’s nowhere near the right words, but the tune is distinctive. I grab my T-shirt, right over my heart.

Defiance surges through me.

No.

Fuck that.

I’m not selfish. I’m the furthest thing from it.

But for once, with Cisco, I want to be selfish. I don’t want to give him up. With the dawn of every realization, determination solidifies within me. I’m done. So, fucking done running triage on the entire world while mine turns to rot.

I want what I want, and I want Cisco’s eyes on me, not her.

Something like laughter bubbles up in my throat, giddy and mean.