The Unholy Bride: In God's Name, I Kill

Chapter 5 : Burn The Devil's Lurk

Once upon a time, ten years ago, Scarlette was a newborn, my husband was a broken-hearted man from the death of his first love, and I was an eighteen-year-old nun serving the church standing almost a kilometer away from my car window.

It was the same church where I recited two vows and died twice—both witnessed by the Priest. First when my honor was tarnished, he was there watching silently through the window as I cried for help. Second, when I was reborn with vengeance only my name, he stood before us in front of the altar and officiated the wedding. So how can I continue to place my faith in the Lord when every time I look at His house, all I see was that night? How can I serve Him, when every sermon and the sound of the sanctuary bell only echoes with the memory of my own cries for salvation?

I tried everything to forgive. I bathed in holy water, bruised my knees pleading at the altar, recited every prayer known to man, memorized every verse in the Bible—searching for the strength for forgiveness. But sorry never felt like enough... it just wasn't fucking enough. Those ten years he spent in prison weren't enough; I had to take his punishment into my own hands, to let his suffering stain me as his blood dripped down my arms, just like the way mine had trickled down my thighs that night.

Adjusting my sunglasses, I reclined in the seat of my car, eyes fixed on the sight of the authorities leading the church ministers away, their hands shackled behind their backs. Ten years. That's how long it took to bring them down, to bring this place to its knees because it seemed like my case wasn't good enough to be a reason for the authorities to do so. So, I bided my time, gathering evidence of their corruption and exploitation—more than enough to expose them. It was only then, after ten years of careful planning, that I finally revealed their vile deeds to the young lilies and sacristans.

I stayed there, watching as the authorities cordoned off the church with tape, and just then I took out my diary when the last echoes of the commotion faded, and the scene was finally clear.

Dear diary,
congratulations, the church is down.

After I wrote the words in a messy handwriting, I accelerated my car to go home, but then I pulled over when I spotted a familiar face on the sidewalk—my husband with some of his colleagues, and a woman clinging on his waist.

I took off my sunglasses to see them more vividly in the sunlight and kept a stoic expression when they started making out, even though one of the men they were with locked eyes with me. I didn't avoid his eyes because just like him, I was trying to decipher who he was, since I hadn't seen him before. He wasn't on my bulletin board, not one of my husband's usual friends—unless, of course, he'd made some new ones. The man seemed to be so curious who I was, but I already drove away because they might catch me creeping over here, knowing it could ruin my plans. For now, I will keep playing the naive, innocent, and weak wife my husband has.