Once Brielle had exhausted all other options, she went to the priest. The church doors were locked so she went to his house (no place was far, in town).<\/p>\n
The priest was in his fifties. He was aging poorly, melting as if he was rotting from inside out. He considered her there at his doorstep. The priest was in his robe. He invited her in. Brielle was surprised by the simple, minimalist layout. Humble, yet elegant. The priest had good taste.<\/p>\n
\u201cWant anything to drink? Water? Soda? Juice?\u201d the priest said.<\/p>\n
\u201cGot anything stronger?\u201d Brielle said because she had heard it said in movies.<\/p>\n
The priest nodded seriously. He opened a kitchen cabinet and pulled out a horizontal bottle of scotch.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s open it,\u201d the priest said, smiling.<\/p>\n
The priest poured two fingers of scotch into two glasses. The priest handed her a glass and then sat in the other chair.<\/p>\n
\u201cCheers.\u201d<\/p>\n
They drank. The priest waited for her to speak.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am cursed,\u201d Brielle finally said, \u201cI don\u2019t believe in curses. I don\u2019t believe in the supernatural. I don\u2019t believe in God. I believe in logic. I believe in what\u2019s rational. Science.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you are cursed,\u201d the priest said, cutting through.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes. I feel misery. My thoughts are negative. My mind criticizes me from the moment I wake up, until the moment I go to sleep. It\u2019s chemical, right? So, I go to therapy, for years. Think of the money I\u2019ve spent on therapy and drugs. I\u2019ve ruined my body with the drugs. The side effects. They have you change the drugs when the drugs don\u2019t work. Up the dosage. Lower the dosage. I can\u2019t eat, then I eat too much. I lose my sex drive. I\u2019m sleepy all the time, or I am awake for days, manic, anxious. So, I try and work out because that\u2019s the other thing they tell you to do. I take a chunk out of every single day to exercise, run, lift weights. Guess what, it doesn\u2019t work. When I look around at the gym all I see are other people, oblivious, chasing highs. Desperate, like me, but somehow sadder. Pushing themselves to grotesque extremes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBrielle,\u201d the priest said, \u201cwhy are you here?\u201d<\/p>\n
She finishes the scotch and sets the glass on the table, atop a magazine.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow do I find joy? How do I cure this illness? You know how my mother died. They call what my father had alcoholism now. He drank himself to death. Is that any more dignified than a bedsheet noose?\u201d<\/p>\n
The priest winced, finishing the glass of scotch.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou want to know the truth?\u201d He said, \u201cI think some people can\u2019t be helped. Like an infant dying. It\u2019s useless tragedy. That sadness is all around us.\u201d<\/p>\n
Brielle snickered, scolding him, \u201cThat\u2019s harsh, for a priest.\u201d<\/p>\n
He said, \u201cYou go to a church for the priest\u2019s advice. You came to my home. Why?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cChurch was locked,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cEven a priest has to sleep,\u201d he said, \u201cyou couldn\u2019t wait for confession?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe last time I saw you,\u201d Brielle said, \u201cI was 14 years old, and I was with my family at the bar one night. I started playing outside because some of the other girls were busy sneaking shots of absinthe. I used to hate the flavor of anise, black licorice. Then I saw you, walking by. You stopped what you were doing to talk to me. You were so handsome.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was younger,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d Brielle said, \u201cbut you were always older and wiser, somehow. We were all obsessed with you. When I saw you, I felt so joyful. Remember, we went walking together on that trail?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBrielle,\u201d the priest said.<\/p>\n
\u201cRight? We went walking the trail and then we were holding hands. I hadn\u2019t held hands with a man who wasn\u2019t my uncle or cousins, family, you know. I was thrilled. You must be at least 15 or 20 years older than me. It felt so innocent.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease, it\u2019s nice of you to visit and talk about the past, but I don\u2019t need to hear this right now.\u201d<\/p>\n
Brielle continued, \u201cYou were such a gentleman. Somehow you made me feel so pretty. I felt seen. When you kissed me, it was nice. I wish I could have just remembered the nice part.\u201d<\/p>\n
The priest got up and walked over to the kitchen counter. He poured himself more scotch, his back was turned away from her.<\/p>\n
Brielle said, \u201cThen you kissed me again and it was rougher, and you grabbed at me. I would say you grabbed at my ass and tits. You did, but really you just grabbed at my body. Blindly.\u201d<\/p>\n
Brielle laughed, \u201cI later realized you must have just been inexperienced. You didn\u2019t know how to touch a woman. I stopped you from going further. You would have gone further. Right there on the patch of dirt.\u201d<\/p>\n
The priest drank, poured himself some more.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo I get any, Rodrigo?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
Rodrigo turned around.<\/p>\n
\u201cI shouldn\u2019t have done that. I regret it, I really do.\u201d<\/p>\n
Now Brielle looked angry.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh please,\u201d she said, \u201cI\u2019m not here for an apology. I\u2019m not here to ruin your day. You came on to me and when I asked you to stop, you stopped. I went home. It\u2019s not about that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen what is it about?\u201d Rodrigo said.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was the part I left out of the telling of the story,\u201d she said, \u201cwhen I stopped you. When I pulled away from kissing you, I saw your face. You should have seen it. Your face. The disgust. The disappointment. You were like a six-foot-tall baby about to cry. The truth is, in my head, at the time, I had to stop myself from laughing. You looked ridiculous.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGet out,\u201d Rodrigo said, quietly.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat was the first thing I wanted to say to you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThanks,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWant to hear the second thing? You\u2019ll like the second thing.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rodrigo rolled his eyes, \u201cfine,\u201d he said, \u201clet\u2019s hear it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease,\u201d Brielle said, swishing her empty glass.<\/p>\n
She felt completely outside of herself. She was playing a part. She was speaking lines that were written and memorized. What was she doing here? Rodrigo poured her the rest of the scotch and sat back down, exhausted. The scotch was fiery in her throat like swallowing a campfire ember.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe second thing I wanted to say to you is, I\u2019m ready,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cFor what?\u201d Rodrigo said.<\/p>\n
Brielle set the glass down and walked over to the seated priest.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen I was 14 you wanted to have sex with me, I wasn\u2019t ready. I\u2019m ready now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can\u2019t be serious,\u201d the priest said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy not?\u201d Brielle said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t,\u201d Rodrigo said.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause of God? Really? Is that your excuse?\u201d Brielle said.<\/p>\n
She straddled him. He quaked beneath her.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. I can\u2019t,\u201d he said, \u201cI\u2019m old. And so are you.\u201d<\/p>\n
She was amused at him trying to wound her. She groped his genitals. He half-heartedly pushed her off. She got rougher. She kneaded him.<\/p>\n
\u201cStop, get off, you whore,\u201d Rodrigo said, \u201cI wouldn\u2019t fuck you, especially after what you said about me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI hurt your feelings,\u201d she said, getting off him, standing up, \u201cgood.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re insane. A basket case,\u201d he said, getting in her face.<\/p>\n
\u201cI should tell everyone what you did to me. What the priest did to a 14-year-old.\u201d<\/p>\n
The priest looked horrified. He was smoldering. He was belligerent.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy are you doing this to me?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you don\u2019t fuck me right now, I will tell everyone what you did,\u201d she said, \u201cI promise you that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGet out,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan\u2019t you see I want you angry?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
The priest shoved Brielle on the bed. He parted her legs. He furiously unfurled himself from his robe and trousers. He tugged at his penis while peeling off her underwear. He tried to stick his penis in, but he was soft. He was sweating, red in the face. So desperate, Brielle giggled as she rolled off the bed.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are you going?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve had enough,\u201d she said, shaking her head, gathering her things, \u201cI got what I came for.\u201d<\/p>\n
She left the priest there, holding his flaccid penis in his hands, with that look on his face, like he was a child who just had his toy snatched away.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
How do I find joy? How do I cure this illness? You know how my mother died. They call what my father had alcoholism now. He drank himself to death. Is that any more dignified than a bedsheet noose?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":19663,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-18946","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-ian-crutcher-castillo"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18946","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=18946"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18946\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19664,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18946\/revisions\/19664"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/19663"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18946"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18946"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18946"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}