In This Castle

Page 3

Chapter 1

I help at the little coffee station after the service. Most Sundays, I don’t want to, but my family’s well known, and I’m expected to ‘be the example.’ I’m carrying a long sleeve of cups across the square courtyard, where I can see everything—and everyone. They gather there like cockroaches. I should say ants, but I’m dramatic. There are so many people walking, talking, laughing, hugging, that I become almost invisible. I like that.

In a split second, Blake’s presence fills the open courtyard, and I start watching him from the corner of my eye. I don’t understand myself sometimes—just moments ago, I hated him. He makes me cringe, yet I want his attention. He makes me feel insecure, but I still want him to want me. From the sea of voices, I catch his laughter echoing—and suddenly, my heart races, and my palms go sweaty.

           Blake knows exactly how to ignore me. He can be so physically close I catch the scent of his expensive cologne, and yet he stays emotionally distant—like we’re strangers.

Then I spot Alejandro, a church friend I actually enjoy talking to. He’s into fashion, a little too feminine for my romantic taste, but witty—hilariously so. As we start talking, all my senses heighten. I laugh louder than usual, lean in more than I need to, exaggerate my hand gestures. I want Blake to hear me, to notice.

And I hate that. I feel stupid for doing it, but somehow my body insists—it needs to prove I’m not thinking about Blake, when really, I am.

           The courtyard starts to clear out—people must be heading to the second service. I lost track of Blake. Damn. He’s probably part of that worship team too.

Dammit. Now I’m getting a little melancholy.

          But before I can slip too deep into my own thoughts, his voice cuts through the stillness. Blake’s voice makes clitoris throb, “You looked like you were having a good time with Alejandro.”

I hate that he startled me, I hope that he didn’t noticed that I jumped a little. I turn toward him with a smile already plastered on my face, one I didn’t even realize I was putting on.

“Yeah, Alejandro’s hilarious,” I say, tossing my hair like I’m in some rom-com I didn’t audition for. “He actually knows how to carry a conversation.”

My voice is too light. Too practiced. I’m performing, and I know it—but I can’t stop. It’s safer than whatever truth is waiting under the surface.

“You never answered my texts,” he says almost in a heavy whisper.

“I didn’t know you actually wanted me to answer,” I sneer, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

I grab a rag and wipe at invisible crumbs and phantom coffee stains.
I don’t look up—I don’t want to seem eager.

“So…” he says, his voice lower now, the smugness back.
“I’ll see you tonight after the 7 o’clock service? Same place. Don’t be late… or you’re not getting this holy meat.”

When I realize he left, I come down to earth and wonder if anyone saw him talking to me; I look around and I don’t see anyone whose opinion matters to me.

My panties are wet, very wet. It makes my mouth smile, but my spirit ache. It stirs my flesh, but unsettles my heart.

I know I’m a descarada… but right now, my flesh wins. And it doesn’t care.