To do so will cost me everything.
If I give into lust, my soul will die.
I will be an empty husk for eternity.
And there is no coming back from it. Once I take that path, I’m turning away from God. I’m turning my back on paradise. Even if I try to pass beyond the pearly gates, He will not accept me.
I will be forever doomed and damned. Cursed to wander this earth with paradise just out of reach.
Since the day I had my first period at the ripe old age of sixteen, it’s been drilled into my head that I must not lust. I must not want or hunger. I must not give into desire or other base, human instincts.
Whatever I do, I must not give into the creature that hunts me.
Glancing down at myself, I take in my own body as if it’s betrayed me.
My skin is glistening with moisture and my sleep shirt is damp, the faded blue fabric clinging to my breasts. I could have sworn I had my pink flannel pajama pants on… but I must have kicked them off somehow in my sleep.
With my panties.
From the waist below, I’m utterly bare and exposed. Even my socks are gone…
Squeezing my eyes shut, I choke back and swallow my mortification.
Then I lower the bottle of holy water and splash what’s left all over my traitorous pussy.
“Help me. Please, please, help me, Saint Benedict. I implore your strength and grace for the welfare of my soul,” I plead, hoping it’s not already too late for me. “Help me, oh great Saint Benedict, to live and die as a faithful child of God, to be ever submissive to His holy will, and to attain the eternal happiness of Heaven.”
I splash every last drop of holy water on myself, vigorously shaking the bottle until it’s completely empty.
But I still feel unclean.
Jumping up from bed, I dash over to my altar and clumsily grab another bottle. Knocking over my cross in my haste.
Yanking the stopper out, I close my eyes and splash the entire bottle on myself.
Unable to bear the sight of my own nakedness.
And when I reach the bottom, I still feel dirty.
I go through two more bottles, two more bottles I cannot afford to waste, chasing the need to feel clean and whole again.
But the feeling eludes me.
In pure desperation, one more bottle is opened and splashed, leaving me only a single bottle in case of an emergency.
This fourth bottle seems to empty quicker, but like the others, I’m left feeling the same.
Tainted.
Wanton.
Dirty.
Weak.
I almost reach for the last bottle. Almost.
Then I realize I’m literally performing the very definition of insanity.
No matter how much holy water I soak myself with, I will never feel clean again.
Not unless I find a way to open up my skull and splash holy water all over my brain.
Because that’s where it all lies, ultimately. That’s where the true sin was committed.
Inside my head.
I let him in, and I may never get him out again.
Even now, panting in front of my altar and dripping with holy water, desperate to be what I was before I went to sleep, his face flashes across my eyes.
The image is a little blurred and faded from the dream, but his beauty is so powerful, so utterly soul-shattering, my knees nearly go weak.
Then I see his body. Muscles straining against alabaster skin as he moves above me. Furiously driving himself into me…
Knees truly going weak now, I reach out and grab onto the edge of the altar to keep myself upright.
He’s not here. He’s hopefully nowhere near me… but for the first time in my life I ache.
I ache with an unbearable longing.
It’s not lust, though. It’s not even desire.
It’s something else completely and more terrifying.
It’s as if I suddenly realize I’m not completely whole.
There’s a part of me out there… this other half walking around I need to complete me. To fill up the emptiness.
And if he was standing before me, if he was truly here, in the flesh… no amount of prayer or holy water could help me resist him.
It would probably take God himself appearing between us to keep me from succumbing to him.
Jolting with that alarming thought, my nails bite into the wood of the altar, digging through the finish, and I shake my head, trying to clear it.
God… I need God. That’s all I need, I remind myself.
His blessing. His salvation.
Nothing else compares. Nothing else can.
Fortifying myself with these truths, truths that have been spoken to me since I was a baby, I lock my knees and release my grip on the altar.
Breath after shuddering breath, I comfort myself with the idea that God’s love and grace is even more powerful than that creature’s allure.
Whatever that… monster could give me would be insignificant in comparison.
After fifty or so breaths, I start to feel better.