chapter 4 Nicholas
1506 Words
Nicholas p.o.v.
I thought about Xenia all day. I thought about her during my reconciliation hours, I thought about her as I prepared my sermon for morning mass, I thought about her as I ran the Bible study, as I prayed my nightly prayers...and as I breathe in the fresh air. I thought about her every second of my every single day...like a prayer being chanted in the congregation.
I thought about her golden brown hair and that throaty melodic voice...that night, something about her was different, what was it?
I didn't know what was worse, that I had been thinking about those thoughts or that I had been thinking about Xenia of all people...or that I wasn't surprised when I felt that way, as if I'd already known what had been going on between us...it's been going on from a very long time now. Like I'd been walking on with a black cloud floating over my head, ready to rumble any second.
This all started one year ago, at the wedding of that young helper boy, Ronald. I'd just finished my vows and announced them husband and wife when I noticed Xenia. She was sitting alone in the farthest corner of that half-empty church, looking at everyone with a small smile on her face, even after they all treated her badly.
In church, numerous orphan children live, and kids these days...they weren't as friendly with her as I thought they would. However, it's not their fault either as their parents died serving the king or fighting in the war king started. So no one actually liked royalty here, even I had a hard time getting accepted by these people because of my royal blood.
So, when I noticed Xenia sitting alone, I sat with her on that small wooden bench. We talked like normal father and daughter would do until one conversation led to another and I didn't know how... but we started talking about marriage and she blurted out that she wanted to marry me. And I laughed, obviously. Marriage was one of the things I could never do...and If I could then, I would never marry Xenia anyway, she was my daughter.
I did feel proud though, as girls always wanted a man as good as their father and knowing that Xenia saw that perfect exemplar in me, I felt satisfied, thinking that I did good being a father. The thing I didn't notice at that time was, that Xenia wasn't a child anymore, the way she looked at me...I didn't notice that because even though Xenia was eighteen, she was still a child in my eyes.
However, something changed that day, I didn't sleep remembering those blue lips and wide eyes...that burning body of Samara, instead, I slept with a smile on my face, thinking about those peering blue eyes...long golden hair, and those rosy lips saying, I want to marry you.
No matter how much I tried to stop that feeling, no matter how much I tried to confront that I hadn't noticed Xenia, staring at me or inhaling my scent...or that night, satisfying herself, moaning my name...yes, I did hear that, she wasn't quite enough. And after heeding my name, from her breathless voice, all I could do was run away to the rooftop before I'd broken that door and enter the bathe...God knows, what insane things were going inside my mind that night. But somehow, someway...I managed to stop myself.
It’s not like I’d been a corpse after becoming the priest—I was still very much a man.
In early days, it was hard to control...but as tiimes passed, those needs supress somewhere on their own. I won't lie and say I never notice any woman...I do. Sometimes. But it would only a glance or the administration of beauty. That's it. I have to follow my vows...I needed them like the air to breath. I needed to be a prist the people deserve...someone who is worthy of their trust.
Especially because of my past and what had happened to Samara. I swore to myself, that I be the kind of priest who incited trust. And that involved me being incredibly reluctant both publicly and privately when it came to my oaths...and being celibate was one of them.
So even though her husky voice echoed in my ears the rest of the week, I firmly and deliberately tamped down the memory of her voice, her touch and that night... and went on with my duties.
I was lost in my thoughts when I heard the booth open next to me. Someone settled in and I sat back, concealing my sigh. I had a rare free afternoon today, so I thought perhaps I could go and visit Father Alexander, he was my confessor before and God knows I needed to confess. I needed to let it all out. So, I intended to go early but the one day I had been looking forward to skating out early, to taking advantage of my rare free time...
Focus, Nicholas. I ordered myself.
Someone cleared their throat, “I, uh. I wanted to confess my sin to god.”
I closed my eyes, exhaling a deep breath, it was no ordinary woman, it was Xenia. Her voice was low and beguiling, the acoustic rendering of the ocean.
" Leave.", I said and then was shocked at myself. My voice came harsher than I intend and I never gave orders like that either.
" Why...Aren't priests prohibited to refuse their penitent?", She countered and it made me stop for a second. I wasn't refusing her, was I? It's just...I didn't want to hear whatever guilt her little heart was carrying.
Why...because I had already an idea about what it could be, what it could be to make Xenia enter this confession room, just after the bible study with Sister Lagertha. She was an old strict lady, distinguished to frighten young women by telling them about carnal sins. Sister Lagertha could be quite intimidating sometimes as several times I'd spend hours listening to the confession about sinful s****l desires of my feeble penitents. And if I was not wrong, today was the first time Xenia had gone to that consultation so, I could reckon why she was here, in this wooden booth next to me.
" I am not refusing you.", I said, my voice gentler, " You will feel more comfortable talking to a female lay minister rather than me.”
She let out a long breath. “I just…the things that are weighing on me...the things I had been thinking, and doing with myself...I don't think I could tell them to someone else."
" Don't, Xenia.", I warned, " I will ask Sister Mary, you already know her very well, and she will hear you."
I could hear her breathing, short and deep like she was trying not to cry.
“I—don't want to tell her,” she said. “Thank you for suggesting. I should go now.”
There was no doubt that she was crying now. I could hear her pulling the cloth from the box, and my eyes could catch only the faintest suggestions of movement through the screen, her golden brown hair and the pale white of her face.
A really base and awful part of me wanted to hear her confession, wanted to hear her whisper those things in her breathy voice, I wanted to take her into my arms and hold her, kiss her, feel her.
God, I wanted to touch her.
What the f**k was wrong with me? I hadn’t wanted a woman for twelve years. And she is Xenia for god sake...Xenia to whom I raised like my daughter and now this...How could I even think like that?
“I should go now,” she said, echoing her earlier words. “ And no need to trouble sister Mary. Everything is fine.”
“Wait—” I said, but the door to the booth swung open and she was gone.
My head rested over the wooden wall behind me as I stared at those strange patterns excavated over that small booth, the collar around my neck suddenly felt suffocating for some unknown reason. I sighed, twelve years of experience in priesthood and reconciliation made me immune to all kinds of sinful confessions...Man or women, I could counsel without being apprehensive about their s****l desires. But for the first time, I didn't...I couldn't do that, I just couldn't. Perhaps it was the right thing to do if I'd heard her confession... Controlling myself could have become worst.
As I sat there alone in that dark booth, I wondered what I would tell a parishioner who was in the same situation. What I would offer as my honest insight into what God would want...and the answer was simple.
Confess your sin to God openly and sincerely. Ask for forgiveness and the strength to overcome the temptation.
And lastly, remove yourself from the temptation for... forever.
- Writer
