I told myself I wouldn’t go back to church today. That skipping the weekday service was the least I could do to stop myself from falling deeper. But when the clock struck six, I found myself standing in front of my closet, fingers shaking as I picked out the sheer white blouse that clung to my n*****s, the tight black skirt that hugged my thighs and made walking feel like a tease.
I didn’t wear panties.
It felt wrong. Dirty. Shameful.
But right.
When I walked into the nearly empty chapel, only a few candles flickered near the front. It was the prayer hour, and no one spoke. Just the rustling of pages, the soft creak of wood beneath knees.
I found a seat at the back. I didn’t pray. I watched him.
Elijah was at the altar, reading silently. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows. His col
