Sinner's Prayer

The Way You Felt

Jack makes it home in a mannerly time, parking in his usual spot and stepping through the door. It smells like his mother's just about done cooking and he tosses his keys into the bowl.

His father isn't currently present, probably still tending to their stock of cattle out in the fields, so Jack takes the opportunity to grab his dinner to go, plucking a cola from the fridge and fixing a bowl of stew. Eleanor watches him quietly, lips pulled tight.

"Honey, you ain't bein' banished ta yer bedroom," she'd said, wishing he'd join them for supper rather than hiding away.

He knew he wasn't "being banished," so to speak. But, with everything so fresh, it was better he gave his parents a wide berth until things settled.

"Really, Ma, it's okay," he assures, balancing his bowl as he snatches his drink from where he'd set it on the counter. "I'll see ya fer church tomorrow," he says sweetly, bending to give his mother a quick kiss on the cheek before he turns. He's gone before she can protest any further, retreating to his boyhood room and nudging the door shut with his heel.

He sets his bowl on his desk, leaving it to let it cool, sets beside it his bottle of cola. Then he kicks off his boots and removes his hat. Raven locks less full, flattened by the weight of his stetson and matted from the day's sweat.

Jack falls back on his mattress with a heavy sigh, soaking in the events of his day. Such a beauty like Ennis being practically dangled in front of him like a carrot was a cruelty in itself and silently, Jack wonders if it's some sick sort of punishment bestowed onto him by his maker.

He really shouldn't be feeling these things. He knows that. He knew it back in the snow of winter when he'd brought Sam inside, knew it before when he was just looking.

Jack feels a pang of helplessness. He doesn't know how to stop feeling this way.

He runs frustrated hands over his face, palms digging into his eyes, mind still swirling to Ennis, to Sam.

All the dirty things they did.

Heat pulses, Jack's stomach turns.

God have mercy, he thinks desperately. Please have mercy.

In the morning, he makes good on his promise to meet his mama down the stairs for church. Supposedly, John's day had started before daybreak, so Jack would be accompanying his matriarch on his own. Dressed in a nice white button down and dark jeans. Eleanor frowns at the state of his dirty boots, though Jack sends her a cheeky smile, trying to mask the distress he'd felt in the night.

She muses at the dark stubble in his face.

"Should I go shave?" Jack inquires, voice playful. His mother shakes her head.

"It ain't so bad, makes you look grown," she says. Her dress is a lovely pop of color against the plainness of their walls, a sweet periwinkle that sits softly against her light complexion.

His mama wore shades of blue often, like she owned the color.

Jack walks her out the door, plucking keys from the bowl that his father knowingly left in place. He opens the door for his matriarch, giving a little hand motion.

"C'mon, pretty lady, I know how you like ta be early," he grinned, batting away thoughts of dread in regards to visiting the church once more.

"Aren't you sweet," Eleanor coos, stepping out of the house into morning dew. He drives the two of them down the worn county road in a comfortable silence. Mrs. Twist is a soft spoken woman compared to her husband and son, and normally doesn't engage in conversation unless spoken to.