She sat under the tree across the road, quietly humming to herself in the fading light. The windows of the ancient building were dark, but she knew he was in there; he always was at this time of night. His routine was constant, as was her vigil.
This was as close as she dared to go to that place – in the dark, or when the lights blazed in the windows and music and loud voices spilled into the street like water. Like blood. She would not go near. Instead she sat here, waiting for him.
A bird in the tree above her called out, and fluttered away. She rubbed the gooseflesh on her arms, told herself it was from the cold. It wouldn’t be much longer. As she checked the contents of her bag once more, she thought back to the night she first met him, a chance happening that had changed everything.
They told her to stay away from him, that he would break her heart. Boys like him always did. He drew her in, a flame, hot and vibrant, dazzling her senses. She thought of his lips, the things they had whispered, so near but never touching. She thought of the way his gaze had roamed her face, her throat, lingered on the pearly buttons of her new white cardigan…
Movement across the road. The door opened slightly, a dark form slipped from the shadows, illuminated now by the streetlamp’s glow. He was clad in black, his dark hair slicked neatly back to reveal his face, handsome and confidant. He looked around, taking survey of the empty street, and then turned left toward the park.
He walked, as always, like a man who knew the mysteries of the world, and how to control them. The black flowed out behind him, blending with the shadows. She saw the glint of silver at his hip, felt the sudden heat between her thighs. This was a need she could not restrain.
Moonlight followed him as he entered the park. In a few minutes he would be enclosed by darkness and silence. She emerged from her hiding place and stepped into the light, holding tight the bag that contained everything she would need. She was done with waiting. Tonight she would have him, his cassock and cross be damned.
She smiled, and wondered whose name he would call.
©2009 Laurita Miller
Laurita enjoys walking through revolving doors. Her work has been featured at Gloom Cupboard, Six Sentences, and in several anthologies, including the upcoming Harbinger 33. She blogs here: http://ringkeeper.blogspot.com/