OPHELIA

Chapter 9: love me!

“I’m sorry.” I blurted; sweat formed on my skin. The Pastor stopped fidgeting with the books and papers from his bag and sat down. In that second he reminded me of my father—his chiseled jaw line, and popping facial features, gave me a weird comfort.
Apologizing wasn’t my field of expertise but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Thrill me, what are you apologizing for?”
“I…ummm… I don’t know… It seems to be the right thing to do.” I picked my nails
“What else do you want to say?”
“Me?”
“Yes.” He crossed his feet.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I’m a pastor what do you think?”
“Let me guess, God told you to.”
“You’re smart.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“You don’t believe you’re smart?”
“I don’t believe in God.”
“That’s sad because He believes in you.” He picked up his Bible from the couch.

“What’s in it for you then?” I asked to change the topic.
“I don’t think you should know now but why did you choose that line of work?”
“For money. What else would make someone do something like that? Money answereth all things—it’s written in the Bible.”

“That’s not what you say when you're asleep.”
My eyes widened. “I sleep talk?”
“Always.”

Embarrassment got the better of me. “You already know it then; why ask?”
“Got you! So there is another reason…” He paused; his eyes said it all; he was hungry to know more. “Don’t be frightened, you don’t say much.”

That was a relief—my dirty linens were secured. “I…I don’t want to talk about it.” I stuttered.
“That’s okay…” He smiled. “You scared me this morning.”
“How did you know the pills were in my mouth?”
“God told me.”
“God. I know He wants to punish me; that’s why he won’t let me die.”
“Are you sure? If He really wanted to punish you, He would have let you die; that way, you'll go to hell. That’s a better punishment.”
“So what are you saying?”

He leaned in. “I’m saying, He loves you and this is not the end of your story.”
I scoffed. “How can you say that God loves me? You have no idea what I've done… This love ideology makes my life harder.”
“Why?”
“If I’m not punished, the guilt will kill me.”
“So…how much punishment is sufficient to take away the guilt?”
“I don’t know; my life maybe?”
“But Jesus already gave His life for you.”

“What about you?” I asked as tears surged to my eye lids.
“What about me?”
“Do you love me?”
He tilted his head to the side. “Would I be here if I didn’t?” He said when he realized my question had no ulterior motives.
“The first time we met, do you remember I drugged you?”
“You didn’t rape me did you?” He looked afraid. It was awkward.
“No I did not. But why didn’t God save you from me?”
“What?”
I squeezed my eyes and tears escaped. “I… injected you with my blood.” This was the end of us.
He looked like he had seen a devil. “You did what?”
“I… I …”
“What did you just say?” He asked again. This time he seemed to be connecting the dots.
“You’re joking right?” He looked shattered. I wanted to take back my words. “Why are you silent?” He asked again.
“I guess I don’t qualify for your love or your kindness. You can stop wasting your time and money on me.” He looked at me with calculative eyes. He almost bumped in to the nurse on his way out.

Ophelia! I put his family in danger. He was never coming back. If I were him I wouldn’t come back. I guess Prince was right—“Don't bite the hand that feeds you." He always said. Worry overshadowed me—the hospital bills, my medication, who was going to pay for that? I struggled to get down from the bed…I needed to get on my feet as fast as possible.