Symbolism & Innocence

Built A Cathedral But We Didn't Pray

A/N: This is the most I could do since I hit 1K, I'd like to thank y'all for reading, commenting and voting. I know I haven't been the best person when it comes to writing, but I'll try. And let me know if I get some of the translations wrong- I'm Catholic, but I don't speak the prayer in Spanish. So if I make a mistake it'd be ace if you let me know.

English Translation: Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy Kingdom come, Thy  be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

The room is hot, sweat dripped down my back and soaked itself into my crisp button up. I slipped my hand underneath my matted curls and brought it away from my neck, hoping for some form of air to flow through the colored windows and give me relief from this hell-full heat. The air was stale and smelt of old perfume and cigar smoke. Candles lit all around; it seemed as if these people were doing everything they could to sweat the devil out of everyone. They were succeeding. I thought as I looked around the room, multiple people had fans with the Virgin Mother on it, while others just had their eyes closed as they listened along to the Father's rapid Spanish. Well, the sweating part I chuckled, Devil part not so much.

I jumped as clammy hand began making its way across my clothed thigh, painted nails scratching against the heated fabric. Chills spread through my body like a strike of lighting, powerful and never ending.

"Pay attention my love." My eyes drug themselves from the petite hand sliding further up my thigh, setting them on his profile. His eyes were set forward, but I could still see the intensity in his blue. He was silently following along as the Father read aloud a prayer. I sat up straighter, silently willing for him to move his hand, the heat from his palm seeming to burn a hole in my skin.

"Padre nuestro, que estás en el cielo. Santificado sea tu nombre.Venga tu reino." I turned towards the front as the Father along with the various people in the room began to speak together, Louis' voice seemingly louder than the rest, but in reality was nothing above a whisper.

"Hágase tu voluntad en la tierra  en el cielo. Danos hoy nuestro pan de cada día." Louis' hands rested on the tops of his thighs, words slipping out in fluent motions, I couldn't help but admire the way he curled his lips when he spoke the beautiful words.

"Perdona nuestras ofensas, como también nosotros perdonamos a los que nos ofenden. No nos dejes caer en tentación y líbranos del mal."

Multiple people in the room bowed their head in respects, some even going as far as holding them above their head, speaking the last word of the prayer alarmingly in sync. "Amén."

-Time Skip-

After a good ten minutes of Louis' greeting multiple people and me standing on the sides listening to conversations I couldn't understand, we'd finally made our way to the car park where my hatchback was sat. Louis was alarmingly silent, but I didn't want to question it. I placed my hand on the bottom of his spine and gently guided him as he walked, slowing my pace so he wouldn't have to double his own. I produced my set of keys from my back pocket and unlocked the car, opening the passenger door for Louis. He climbed inside, his short legs tucked underneath him.

I sighed and bent down, kissing his forehead, wanting to ask him what was wrong, but I knew better. He doesn't trust you, my subconscious reminded me. I shook the thought away and shut the door, rounding the front of the car and opening my own door, slipping inside and cranking the engine. I took one more look at him and rolled down the windows, blasting the cool AC- ridding the car of the irregular London heat.

After a few minutes with only the scratched CD to make up for the silence, Louis reached his arm out from under his shirt, turning down the volume.

I waited, knowing he was going to speak and that I was required to listen without say. I could tell he was nervous about it by the little tick each of his fingers made, as if he was counting each second until he opened up, then each second until he shut down again.

"When I was younger," I kept my eyes forward when his quiet voice broke the silence, his posture stiff.

"When I was younger my Mum always took me to the Cathedrals. Never any of my sisters, always just me and her. She always taught me to 'count my blessings' because one day she wouldn't be there to count them for me. And I understood this, at the rate my Mum was going I knew not even God could drag her out of that hell, much less a few measly blessings." He sniffled, eyes blurred with unshed tears. "Every night after supper, she'd always send me off to bed with a kiss, telling me that tomorrow would be a brighter day. She told me that God was watching us from above, making sure no harm came to us." His fists clinched as he shoved them against his eyes, voice cracking. "And I was so angry at her for saying those things, she acted like me and the girls didn't understand what was going on. Like we couldn't hear them. Did she seriously think we were that dumb?" he turned towards me, cheeks wet, his answer wasn't meant to be answered but I damn well wished I could have. He shook his head and pulled his knees up to his chest, chin resting as his tears flowed freely. "She acted like God could protect her, but how could he have when my Daddy beat the living shit out of her every night since the day I was born?"

I turned towards him and put my hand on the back of his neck squeezing softly, trying to find the words. I wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault, that it wasn't his mother's fault. That he was just a kid and couldn't defend himself, much less his own mother. I wanted to tell him that his father was gone now that I wouldn't let anything happen to him, that I'd keep him safe, that I would love him no matter what happened. But all that came out was- "I don't know."

And it felt like in those three words, was all that had to be said. He leant his head on the car door, wind blowing through his disheveled hair, and it went quiet. But I wished there was something more I could say, something I could do, but I knew nothing would change the way he looked at himself. I knew we were both to broken to build each other back up with false hopes, knowing we'd both fall back down. I just wished there was more to be done. But there isn't. And we can't change that. We can't change the others past. And I don't think either of us wants that anyway.