born to die

11

BORN TO DIE ── charlie mayhew.

Sunday morning comes, but this time, I don't go.

For the first time in weeks, I stay home instead of heading to church. I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the clock as it ticks past the time I'd normally be walking through the church doors. A strange mixture of guilt and relief settles over me.

It feels... wrong. Like I'm letting something important slip through my fingers. But I need space. I need to think

I've been going every Sunday since I started volunteering, showing up, sitting quietly in the back, watching as Father Charlie delivered his sermons with that calm, reassuring presence of his. And each time, I'd find myself getting more and more tangled in these feelings that I shouldn't have.

I knew something had shifted after that night at the diner. The way he looked at me when he caught me crying, the concern in his eyes that I can't seem to shake... It's been gnawing at me ever since. I couldn't stop thinking about the way he drove me home, the warmth of his voice when he told me I didn't have to apologize for my emotions. There was something so kind in him, so genuine, and that only made it worse.

Because I knew. I knew I couldn't let myself feel like this about him. He's a priest, and I'm just... me.

So, I decided I needed to distance myself. I needed to stop showing up, to stop letting myself get pulled in by his presence. Maybe if I put some space between us, this feeling in my chest would start to fade. Maybe I'd be able to breathe easier, without his face crossing through my mind every time I close my eyes.

But sitting here, now, the silence of my apartment feels deafening. I can't stop thinking about where I should be—sitting in the back pew, trying not to notice the way his eyes always seemed to find mine for just a second too long. I imagine the familiar sound of the hymns filling the church, the steady rhythm of the sermon, the way his voice has always managed to calm something inside me.

I bury my face in my hands, breathing deeply, trying to quiet my thoughts.

This is the right thing to do. I need to break this..., or whatever it is. I need to stop this before it becomes something I can't walk away from. He's dedicated his life to something much bigger than me, and I can't be the one who complicates that.

But even as I try to convince myself, the ache in my chest only gets worse. Because deep down, I know that avoiding him isn't going to make this any easier. If anything, it's only making me more aware of the distance between us.

I lean back against the pillows, closing my eyes and letting out a long, shaky breath.

This is just for now, I tell myself. I'll take a break. Clear my head. And then maybe—just maybe—I'll be able to go back to church without feeling like my heart is constantly in my throat every time Father Charlie looks at me.

But deep down, I already know it's not that simple. the way he's somehow become more than just a priest to me—it's not something I can just turn off.

And part of me wonders if he's noticed my absence today. If he'll ask where I've been. If he's been feeling this strange pull between us, too.

I shake my head, forcing myself to stop. I can't keep doing this. I can't keep letting my thoughts circle around him like this. I need to focus on myself, on finding my balance again. I can't let these feelings grow any deeper than they already have.

So I stay home, wrapped in the silence of my apartment, trying to ignore the way my heart aches to be somewhere else.

But even as I try to pull away, part of me knows it's only a matter of time before I'm drawn back to him.