born to die

23

BORN TO DIE ── charlie mayhew.

The following week passes in a blur of emotions, a chaotic mix of hope and uncertainty. I try to push thoughts of Charlie to the back of my mind, but every time I step into the church or volunteer for the food drive, I feel his presence lingering. Despite the moments we've shared.

I'm stacking cans in the church's storeroom when I hear the unmistakable click of Sister Megan's heels echoing off the tiled floor. I look up, offering her a polite smile, but her expression is anything but friendly. Her brow is furrowed, her expression serious. I can feel a knot of anxiety form in my stomach as she calls my name.

"y/n. Can we talk for a moment?" she asks, her tone firm but not unkind.

"Sure," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady, but I can sense the underlying tension.

She leads me to a small meeting room off the main church area, its walls lined with old books and photographs of past church events. Once inside, she closes the door behind us, her expression unreadable.

"I've noticed you've been spending a lot of time with Father Charlie lately," she begins, her tone taking on a more serious note. "Is there something going on between the two of you?"

I feel my heart race, and I quickly shake my head, my throat tightening. "No, Sister Megan, we're just friends. We work together on the food drive."

Her gaze narrows, and I can tell she doesn't believe me. "I see," she replies, crossing her arms over her chest. "But you must understand, as a priest, Charlie has taken vows that he is committed to. It's crucial that he remains focused on his responsibilities."

I swallow hard, the weight of her words pressing down on me. "I understand that. I would never want to interfere with his duties."

Sister Megan steps closer, her voice lowering as if to emphasize her point. "But this is more than just friendship, isn't it? I've seen the way you look at each other. I'm always watching and from what I've seen It's... concerning."

Her accusation stings, and I feel a flush creeping up my cheeks. "It's not like that," I insist, desperate to defend us. We're just getting to know each other."

She raises an eyebrow, skepticism clear in her eyes. "Just getting to know each other? Or something more? You need to be careful, especially with someone like Charlie."

"Why are you being so harsh?" I ask, my frustration bubbling to the surface. "He's a good person, and I know he's committed to his faith. I'm not trying to come between him and his vows."

Sister Megan sighs, "I know he's a good person, and that's why I'm worried. He's dedicated his life to this church, to God. You can't just play with that because it's convenient or exciting."

"Play with it?" I reply, my voice rising. "This isn't a game to me! I care about him!"

Her gaze now burning into me, "I've seen the way you look at him. And don't think I haven't noticed how he looks at you, either."

She takes a step closer, her voice lowering. "This isn't just a 'friendship,' is it?"

I can feel my throat tightening, a painful lump forming as her words settle over me. "Sister, I... I would never... Father Charlie is a friend. I respect him," I say, my voice wavering.

She huffs, crossing her arms even tighter. "You're young, naive. You probably think you're doing no harm, but he's a priest, a man with vows to uphold. Do you have any idea what it would do to him if this got out?"

Her words slice through me, and I blink back the sting of tears, my vision blurring. "I would never hurt him," I manage, my voice barely a whisper. "I... I just want to help here, to make a difference."

She scoffs, her expression filled with disdain. "If you really wanted to help him, you'd leave. Spare him from this temptation. Don't make things harder for him than they already are."

The tears start slipping down my cheeks, unbidden and unstoppable. I try to turn my head away, to hide the vulnerability I feel pouring out, but her harsh gaze stays pinned on me.

"I... I didn't mean for any of this to happen," I stammer, feeling the full weight of her accusation pressing down on me. "I just wanted to do something good."

She softens for a moment, but her expression quickly hardens again. "If you truly care about him, you'll stop showing up here like this," she says. "For both your sakes."

Her words hang heavily between us, and I can't bring myself to respond. My heart aches, and I'm left questioning everything— whether I should have come here in the first place, whether I've overstepped, whether my feelings have been wrong all along.

Without another word, she turns and walks out, leaving me standing alone in the cold storeroom, the echoes of her accusations lingering in the silence.

As the door closes behind her, the tears spill over, and I press a hand to my mouth, trying to muffle the sob that rises from somewhere deep inside me. The weight of guilt, confusion, and loss settles heavily on my shoulders, and I feel torn between the connection I can't deny and the reality of his world that I don't belong to.

if sister megan checked me bout my man i'd be crying too 😭😭😭