Covet (Sinful Secrets 3)

tonight. I’m grateful for church, just this once. I’m fucked up today. Just woke up feeling…dark. Then at baseball, some guy slapped me on the back, right near my neck. I spun on him. Went to grab his collar, but I stopped myself in time. I think the mayor saw it go down, though.

Afterward, Freddy invited me to get some beers down at the bar. People kept buying me bottles to say thanks for coaching them, and I kept putting them away.

I said sorry to back-slap guy as I took off, and we shook hands, so I think it’s all good now.

I can feel how drinking the beer wasn’t good, though. Since I’ve sobered up, I feel like I’ve sunk a little lower than before the bar. It’s that real bad, heavy, anxious, apathetic feeling. Fucking mess.

I stop at the back edge of the plateau. Hold my breath and then release it. It’s darker tonight. Darker than the last time I was up here. I sit down beside some bushes, draw my legs up to my chest. Baby—fuck, she’s such a good girl. She sits right beside me…like she knows. I want to hug her, but I’m sort of scared I’ll hurt her. I wrap an arm around my knees and try to smooth my breathing out.

“I’m the princess, you’re the prince.”

I’m not. I’m not the prince. That’s why I called my agent earlier…before I got in bed. Told him what happened with the taper meds and asked if he could get me out of here early.

There’s a ship coming—right now. The Celia. Left from Cape Town yesterday, will be here the night of the twentieth. She’s a research vessel. Not too many people on board. I’ve got a ride back on her, departing the twenty-first.

“It’s too much for someone like me. Because you’re leaving, see? And I’ll be here without you. And I know how that works out, you see. It doesn’t work out pretty.”

With steady hands, I untie Baby’s leash and stand up. Walk slowly across the plateau. I hear myself swallow, louder than the tide. It’s pretty calm tonight, and quiet. No sunlight to turn the squiggle of the waves above me golden. But it’s nice and dark. And peaceful.

She would never get over it.

You’d drown, like her parents.

Those thoughts make me feel like I should really do it.

Take yourself out. Piece of shit. If you can’t do this right, you can’t do anything. You already failed at living real life every time you tried.

I crouch down by the ledge, squeezing my head between my palms. My heart is racing so damn fast. I’m worried I might pass out. Fall before I’m ready.

Oh fuck. Fuck. I rub my eyes till I see golden shapes. I pull my hair. Why does nothing help me? Maybe I’m not meant to be alive.

I see the lines of light above me, feel the cold weight of the water. That’s why I came here. Not for her. I came here to sink myself.

“I can’t go back. I can’t. I can’t…I can’t.”

I cover my mouth with my hand. Sit back with my legs in front of me. I cover my mouth with both hands. I don’t want to leave her. I don’t want to sink like that. I hold my head as tears roll down my cheeks.

I’m so fucked up. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what it would be like with me.

I scoot closer to the ledge. I can’t feel anything. I just want to be done with this. I don’t want to feel this way. I can’t be fixed. I claw at the ground. I punch the ground, ripping up my knuckles.

Something warm nudges me. Baby presses up against my back and…she won’t move. I look out at the stars, so bright and unreal. My ribcage expands as I breathe. Baby doesn’t move a hoof.

It’s all I need. The crest smooths out. I breathe until my body feels less frenzied. Till my thoughts are coming in a straight line.

Finley. I just need to see her. Just another couple days…so I should take advantage of them.

Baby follows me home. When we get there, I feed her and whisper “thank you” in her velvety ear. Then I climb into the bed that smells like Finley, take some of her potion, and sleep.

Eleven

Finley

Perhaps I’ve got a sinner’s black, blasphemous heart, for I feel no guilt as I step inside the church for Sunday morning mass. I still pray as if I’m one of the lambs. When it’s time to ponder gratitude, I say a silent thank you for him. If the Lord truly knows my soul, he’ll understand.

Will I be cast into the fiery pits? Will I truly? I wonder most of the service. I think perhaps it depends on whether I stay and live the life I committed myself to, the one I always presumed the Lord wanted for me.

But does He, though? What does the Lord want for me? And what of me? What can my heart bear? At this point, that’s the question. Never before—never before Declan—had I given thought to what I needed…much less what I wanted. It simply didn’t dawn on me. I never had a suitor. Never in the schoolhouse. Not for so long.