a sinner's preach

1: i think about god and possibly you

[take no offence to anything religious mentioned, i might be just writing bullshit most of the time but i really liked the concept of this.] camila/you. lmao also i'm not catholic/christian or anything, i just know.

- - -

There is a girl I know, her name is a prayer to my lips and I don't know it at first because she looks like trouble.

I pass her on the way to school, she sits on the ninth step of an abandoned building, behind her the doors and windows are locked and it looks a little burnt, just like the cigarette hanging from her mouth. She's leaning back, eyes hooded staring when I look at her through the window when we stop at a traffic light.

She has dark eyes, wears a black leather jacket, worn out black jeans and shoes but when she winks at me, I turn away quickly and forget about her appearance. She dresses nothing like I do, not even her friends do.

I hear my dad's voice from the front with a tut, "huh, college drop outs." He snorts, "they gave into their addictions and now they're living on the streets like a bunch of rags."

I shouldn't think much when I pass them but I think about the girl with the cigarette off her lips.

I meet her on Sunday, on the way to Church she's walking past when she gives me a one look over at my dress, something she never got the leisure of seeing when I was in the car since its all I really wear. Another wink and this time a smile, she's walking away quickly with a bunch of other people who wear ragged up clothing like her and have blunts in their mouths. I hear my dad's voice in my head telling me that I shouldn't become one of them, or at least I have no reason to.

Camila.

Church is a breeze, for some reason during another days communion on Monday she's there. Sitting at the back row and surprisingly by herself, my dad nudges me, whispering into my ear that the girl from the ninth step is staring at me.

We come every time we can because my dad is good friends with the pastor, Sunday's aren't the only Church time in my family, by that I mean only my dad and I since my mom left us.

He shakes his head, we eat our bread, drink our wine then we're leaving.

My dad walks past without a second look when we're walking past the last row, me trailing behind with my head down. He despises the girl, she might not have a cigarette on her lips right now but he still despises the way she's dressed, the way she sits and the fact she just merely exists.

She holds my wrist just before I leave, my dad isn't looking back when I halt on the last row.

"Camila." She says before letting me go, she has no expression on her face when I look at her, but I can tell her dark eyes are actually brown because she's just staring ahead and not me.

I wordlessly leave without looking back, my dad waiting for me outside with a strange look but I don't explain myself.

Camila.

Camila.

Camila.

At first I know it's her name, a chant of distress because I'm not sure what she wants from me. I spend time in my room trying to figure out how she knew I was going to be in communion that day and why she thinks I want to know her name, not that it's bad. I'm just curious.

On Tuesday I see her again on the way to school, she stands in front of the abandoned building and my dad doesn't stop the car but she watches me pass. We look at each other and this time she's standing, a little slouched, hands in her leather jacket, hair flying in all directions because of the wind and again, another cigarette between her lips.