Corn, Cows, and the Apocalypse

The Act of Submission

I negotiated his clergy collar back into my bra, which Priest watched with mild amusement. I shrugged. "It's safe in there."

"Yes, I would feel safe if..." He let his sentence trail off and shook his head. He didn't want to finish that statement any more than I wanted to joke about him kissing me. It was just best to keep the below-the-belt stuff for our arguments. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet, you haven't seen my crude attempt at jewelry crafting." I slid over to him to show him the necklace I made for him while he was recovering. "I took some liberties with the crucifixion theme. I hope that isn't insulting to you."

I raised the brown bootlace out of the box, a little embarrassed. I was certain a silver necklace from one of the local jewelry stores would have been less prosaic, but I didn't have the time, and I was already on the theme of shabby-crappy.

The pendant was a folded nail that latched onto the lace by the bent nail head. I dulled the end so it didn't scratch. The horizontal line to my cross was another nail, bent and hammered into oblivion. With Devin's help, I had managed to solder a piece of barbed wire across it. Again, I dulled the points so I wasn't offering tetanus on a platter, but they were still pretty sharp. I debated on spray paint, but the rusted barb and silver nails, looked pretty good together.

I explained my creation and credited Devin for his help. Priest stared at the necklace without a single word to say, or any expression of noteworthy translation. I chuckled and dropped my hand to my lap along with the necklace. "It's okay. You don't have to wear it. It was a lame attempt at pacification."

Before I could deposit it back in the box, he grabbed my hand and took it from me, all the while watching me. I furrowed my brow when he didn't respond. Not a thank you, or a smile or even a scowl. His eyes skirted my head like I might have a brain sucker attached to it. "Priest, you don't have to." I reached for it, but he drew his hand away.

"Why do you still call me Priest if you insist that I'm not one?" He held up the necklace. "Why do you deny me my collar and yet offer me a beautiful necklace signifying Christ's sacrifice to us?"

I laughed. "I think you're taking liberties with that adjective. I only meant for you to wear it as a reminder that you're not the only believer to have a bad day." I rubbed each of my wrists and hung my hands to mime hanging from a cross. I hissed and mouthed "ouch" to him.

His brow furrowed as he laughed at me. He drew his arm behind me on the pew but didn't necessarily touch me; he just wanted a better angle. "I feel like I'm meeting you for the first time. I know I was drugged up, but I don't remember this side of you."

"Perhaps it was because you were drugged up that I wasn't so jovial." He smirked at me and under the scrutiny of a sober Priest I couldn't hold his gaze. "Give me that." I reached for the necklace again, but he tucked it behind his back. "I feel stupid asking you to wear it now."

"I would sooner wear this prouder than my own skin."

I stopped trying to grab the necklace and looked at him with the same befuddlement he had been offering me. "Is that good?" I asked.

He nodded somberly, letting his eyes close as he did. "It means," he said, pinning me with his gaze when he opened them again, "I am prouder wearing this necklace from you than I am of the body my creator gave me." He paused and took in a sudden inhalation of epiphany. "However, I suppose I still have to give Him credit for creating the woman that created the necklace."

"Do you mind if we stop talking about Him?" I asked even as his hand started to brush back my hair. He stopped and nodded, letting his hand fall away.