born to die

002

BORN TO DIE ── charlie mayhew.

It's Monday morning, but my mind is still stuck on Sunday. I'm sitting at my desk, trying to focus on the emails piling up in my inbox, but no matter how hard I try, my thoughts keep drifting back to church. More specifically, back to Father Charlie.

I hadn't expected him to linger in my mind like this. When I approached him yesterday, all I wanted was to find a way to help out, to get involved in something bigger than myself. But now, all I can think about is how I'm going to see him again on Saturday when I start volunteering at the food drive.

I try to shake it off, telling myself it's just excitement about doing something new, something meaningful. But There was something about the way he smiled when I offered to help, the way his eyes seemed to hold mine. And now, I'm replaying that moment over and over in my head.

I glance at the clock. It's only mid-morning, and the week feels like it's stretching out before me, endless and slow. Saturday feels so far away, but at the same time, the thought of it makes me nervous. I'm not even sure why I'm feeling like this. It's not like I don't know how to talk to people, and Father Charlie was nothing but kind. But still, there's a part of me that's anxious about seeing him again— and there's no denying how handsome he is.

I stand up from my desk, walking to the window to clear my head. The sunlight shines through the glass, warm on my skin, and I close my eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply. Maybe I'm overthinking it. He's a priest, after all—there's nothing more to this. Jesus, he's literally a priest!

But the memory of his soft smile, the way he thanked me for volunteering, comes rushing back. I can't deny the way my stomach flipped at that simple, innocent gesture.. It feels... forbidden, in a way. And maybe that's part of the problem. The idea of it, of him, lingers in my mind like something I shouldn't even be thinking about.

The rest of the day passes in a blur, my mind constantly wandering back to Saturday. Every time I try to focus on something else, I end up thinking about what it will be like to see him again. What we'll talk about. What it will feel like to stand beside him as we work, our hands busy. By the time I crawl into bed that night, I feel ridiculous. It's just a volunteer shift. That's all it is. But as I close my eyes, I can't help but picture his face, that kind and gentle look, the warmth in his voice when he said my name.

The week moves painfully slow. Monday blends into Tuesday, but every day, my mind wanders back to Father Charlie. I keep telling myself that it's just nerves, that I'm overthinking it.

Thursday passes in a blur, and by Friday, the anticipation has built to the point where it's almost overwhelming. Every time I think about seeing him again, my stomach flips, and I can't figure out why. I'm just volunteering.