Chapitre 10: REPEATING HISTORY.
𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦 𝐃𝐞𝐧𝐞 sent the parishioners home to 'in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.' Hundreds of joyful faces and overflowing baskets spoke for themselves – the mass was a success. And although the event had ended at 9:30 p.m., the guests still mingled in the chapel until the clock hit 11.
When the people had finally left, we stayed behind and tidied up the space for the next day's worshipping. The cleaning process had taken us another 30 minutes during which I noticed Valeria's gloomy face and angry side-to-side thrusts as she swept the flower petals off the floor. Approaching her frightened me, but I still did.
"What's wrong?"
She glared at me, then at the broom she was squeezing. "I haven't seen Ronan yet," she said. "He promised he'd come during mass and—I waited for him in my room like a dumb ass but he never showed up."
My scalp prickled.
"Maybe something came up?"
"Like what? The guy doesn't do shit all day besides playing video games and snoring in the pool on his ridiculous inflatable duck."
"You've been to his house?"
"Um, yeah?" She gave me a 'duh' look when it was far from duh. "Like, a bunch of times?" Duh look.
Valeria's recklessness astonished. Although…who was I to be astonished when I, a nun, even to some pathetic degree, summoned the devil. In the fucking monastery.
"Well, why don't you call him?" I suggested.
This was the last thing I wanted her to do, not wanting her, or anyone for that matter, to find out where Ronan really was. Also, heaven only knows how much I wanted to tell her the truth. Yet the words, 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦, surely turned me into a liar, even to the only true friend I had who never ever lied to me.
"I did. He's not answering." Her lips pursed exasperatedly. "It's not like him. He always answers my calls."
I forced a heavy sigh in hopes to appear distressed.
"Have you not seen him at all?" She asked.
"I—" I paused. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘋𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨? I thought, but then I pictured her red physiognomy and thought, 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦? And lied, "Haven't."
"I don't get it," Valeria kept shaking her head, the broom creaking beneath her. "It's not like him at all…" Then she stared at me hard. "Where the hell is he?" Her demanding eyes made me very nervous.
"I've no clue, Val," I shrugged. 𝘒𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭. 𝘒𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭.
She frowned. "With all the crazy shit going in Montreal…no. He wouldn't go there…he's not stupid…" she muttered to herself. "Maybe something 𝘥𝘪𝘥 happen…"
"It's possible," I prompted. "I'm sure it's nothing serious though and he'll respond soon."
"I fucking hope so," Valeria barked at the flower vase she was moving. "He promised me a heater."
We parted in the dormitory's wing, Val – right, and I – deeper down the hallway and left. Once I had reached my door, I was so afraid to open it my hands trembled.
By then it was nearly midnight, with the lights long off and grand silence long on. The monastery was in-and-out veiled in darkness and quiet. Through it all I could distinctly hear my heavy breathing and feel my turbulent heartbeat. I was bracing for something terrible. I did not want to get inside, my legs wouldn't budge. I had to force them.
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[music recommendation: Are We having A Party? by Cliff Martinez]
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I unlocked the door and stepped into another kind of darkness, thicker, blacker, quieter. The air reeked of wickedness, which the archbishop had had supposedly banished.
I couldn't see anything when I had entered, not even my own hands in front of my eyes. I couldn't hear a sound, so I wasn't sure if anyone was even in my room. I could only feel the constant warmth.
When I moved deeper in, I heard the door creak and lock itself behind me. Then I felt a presence. And a kiss on the shoulder. I shuddered.
"Who's there?" I quavered.
"Take a guess," responded a familiar voice.
"Ronan?"
"Warm."
I swallowed before pronouncing the name I loathed more than anything. "Asmodeus."
"Hot."
In the next few moment, candles, fifty or so of them, as if they were alive, began to crackle to life, revealing Val's boyfriend, in his unbuttoned stained shirt, stretched out on the concrete bench with a tureen by his side. His wolfish smile and bottomless black eyes turned my stomach upside down. My head began to spin at the sight of him.
𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.
"Indeed, Genevieve Griffith, you are damn good at following orders."
"I have no choice. I am your servant."
"Precisely. You are one privileged bitch."
I wanted to respond with a reciprocal remark but reminded myself of who I was really speaking to and bit my tongue. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘙𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘯, I told myself. His body was just a wrapper for the darkness that only spat insults.
He was possessed, and it was hard for me to process. It was hard to take in the man in front of me who appeared perfectly human yet contradicted it simultaneously. His eyes sharp on a candle, hand hovering statically above the flame. Hovering and burning. It looked agonizing, but he didn't even flinch. I flinched instead, when he looked at me.
"Liking what you see?" He—it smirked.
"How did you do it?"
"Do 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 exactly?"
"How did you know how to—" I paused, frowned.
"How to get this imbecile in here? I am very resourceful, you see. And, of course, not without your help, sugar." He blew me a kiss. My frown deepened.
"But the chalice? The open door? The timing? How were you able to predict all that?"
"What is soothsaying to an all-knowing god? Nothing but a child's play. Besides, I'm good with math," he replied. "Unlike an idiot like you who cannot put two and two together."
𝘐𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘯 𝘐'𝘥—but I swallowed that too. 𝘗𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘙𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘯. I wished it was him and not the monster in the bloody-looking tunic who sat staring at me mischievously with its black empty eyes and a sinister grimace.
"What now?" I croaked.
His next response rang with pleasure, "Now I will fuck you senseless, virgin."
Bile surged up my throat. "𝘕𝘰." I exhaled all the air in my lungs. I was mortified. "You cannot touch me. You cannot do this to me."
"Can't I? Oh, right. The old fart expelled me—" a nonchalant glance at Ronan's shiny Rolex, "—twelve hours ago." His grin widened. "Too bad I'm still here."
I heard myself utter, 𝘸𝘩𝘺? My heart cried.
Just for a moment Ronan looked grave when he replied, "Sinners don't drive out sinners." And the wolfish grin returned. "So your hierarch can shove his aspergillum up his holy ass."
"The bishop is not a sinner," I said.
Asmodeus bursted out laughing. Thankfully it was tolerable for it sounded human, albeit terrifying nevertheless.
"I have encountered quite a number of nuns, and you are by far the dumbest. All humans are sinners, since the day of their birth. Since the dawn of mankind. Since you chose 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴."
Ronan's burned hand dove into the tureen and pulled out the apple that had been marinating in it the whole time.
"This." He stretched the swollen crimson fruit out for me to see, wine and the sticky juice dripping down his fingers. "Over your creator. You had one job to do and still fucked it up 𝘣𝘪𝘨 time. Well, I 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 do not mind repeating history, especially with an 𝘌𝘷𝘦."
What he was saying and doing deeply upset me. I looked down, unable to bare his awful 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯stration.
"What's the matter, nun? Can't handle the truth? Look at me."
I felt him rise. My scalp tightened.
"No. Please." I held his demonic gaze as he drew near. My heart sank. With quivering lips I began to mouth the Lord's Prayer. A finger was pressed against them.
"Shhhhh…spare me this bullshit." His other fingers slid to my neck; a small smirk adorning his mouth. "Look around, silly goose. You have only me to beg."
"I beg you, don't do this," I shook, imagining his gruesome words put to action any second now. My body swelled with fever. "Don't hurt me."
"Hurt you? What for? You have obeyed me. Placed my will before own hunger and thirst. You must be rewarded, not hurt."
"B-b-but you said—you said you'd—"
"Poor little mouse," he cut me off, looking rather amused with my trembling. His eyes moved quickly studying my face, as if to keep up to the fear flashing all over it. "Refraining has surely weakened your spirit. You must nourish at last. Here." He brought the ugly-looking fruit to my mouth. "Sate yourself."
Pungent smell stuffed my nostrils. "I—don't want it," I murmured carefully.
"Oh but you do," Ronan murmured back. "There is nothing you want more. It is in your fucking nature, to want it." His black eyes took the color of the apple he was offering me. I gawked into their hypnotic garnet glow, falling deeper into their bloody depths. "Just one bite," his murmuring dropped to a hissing whisper. I suddenly felt hungry, and thirsty.
"If only…just…one…"
I was losing my soul, do you see? And I comprehended it with perfect clarity. That harrowing feeling, which to this day I recall in sharp horror, I would never wish for anyone to experience.
However, a still scarier thing was the ease with which I was trading my soul for a bite of the disgusting fruit. How could I sell my infinite soul for hunger? For thirst? For the insatiable feelings that can only ever be satisfied for so long?
I did not bother to ask myself those questions. Didn't have a care in the world. I only opened my mouth acceptingly and gawped at the laughing bloody eyes of Asmodeus as my teeth sank greedily into the swollen juicy flesh. And let me tell you, this was the fruit made in heaven, so obscenely delicious and flavorful it was.
The sweetest honey could not compare to the sweetness that rushed down my throat. The richest wine could not match the one that intoxicated me. It was magical. It blew my mind, and my mind sunk into abyss of pure euphoria. I felt the room with candles sway before my eyes. Or it was I who swayed. Either way, I loved it. I fucking loved it.
"The good takes the bad. As above — so below. My flesh is your flesh. You are mine, I am yours." I heard him say.
It sounded like an oath. I reacted. Found him in a blurry kaleidoscope of dancing lights and shadows. With eyelids low and heavy, I watched the man that towered over me.
Disheveled brown hair, handsome face, unbuttoned shirt and hard muscles underneath it. He looked like a dream, which I simply did not want to end. I wanted a bite of him like he was the apple. I wanted to taste him. I wanted to feel the rush of the sweetness again. The intoxication.
I felt my veil slide down my head, not by my hand. And then my wimple.
𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧? 𝘈𝘩, 𝘺𝘦𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘶𝘯𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘦.
I felt my curls graze my neck. I heard the sound of threads popping, my habit was being ripped apart. Then whatever was underneath it. Then I felt naked, beyond skin. And wet in a place I thought would never be wet.
"My name, slave." I felt him breathe into my ear before he kissed it.
"𝘈𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘶𝘴." I moaned, just like he wanted it.
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
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