#madechoices

     the  wide  eyes  of  a  frightened  child  dominate  her  face,  quick  to  attention  at  any  stray  movement  or  SOUND.  as  if  every  moment  was  a  moment  too  long.  danger  . . .  lingered.  “ i  have  to  . . .  go. ”  she  begins,  her  voice  lacking  confidence.  “ but,  they  find  me  again. ”

sitting in the gunning kitchen as an adult feels like a completely different experience than it had as a child.  he was pretty sure the mug of hot chocolate used to be bigger than his head and that miss millie was much much taller.  yet here he sits, hands resting on either side of the mug with the woman who looks much younger than her years have let on.  sarah is somewhere, but sarah isn’t why riley is here.

“  why?  ”                 he repeats the single word, wanting to lift the mug to his lips but finding his arms refusing to move.  he’s thought about that exact question more times than he can count over the last four years.  locked away with only the books of religions he no longer believed in, he only had his thoughts to mourn the loss of worldly innocence.  why punish yourself for something you no longer feel will have other worldly repercussions?

                   @madechoices   asked:   [KISS]   <3.

the   two   of   them   had   been   spending   an   awful   lot   of   time   together   since   mildred   gunning's   husband   left   for   the   war,   and   at   first,   john   hadn't   thought   much   about   it            ―            she's   a   devout   woman,   never   missing   a   single   daily   mass   to   partake   in   the   monsignor's   sermons   and   the   sacrament.               some   days   it   was   even   just   the   two   of   them            ―            others   only   showing   up   for   sunday   mass   or   special   occasions            ―            but   not   millie,   no.               she   was   there   at   st.   patrick's   every   single   day.

as   the   days   turned   into   weeks,   and   the   weeks   into   months,   john   could   feel   something   changing   between   them.               it   was   something   he   hadn't   felt   since   he   was   younger,   and   that   something   was   infatuation.               he   prayed   every   day,   even   until   this   very   sinful   moment,   he's   praying.             for   weeks   the   monsignor   reflected   upon   his   emotions   and   asked   God   to   give   him   guidance,   for   him   to   ease   the   temptation.               yet   every   morning,   he   sees   mildred   gunning   in   the   middle   of   the   church,   sitting   in   the   pews,   and   he   could   almost   swear   that   she   was   reading   his   thoughts            ―            and   the   things   she   saw   she   didn't   mind.

monsignor   pruitt   tried   to   convince   himself   it   was   all   in   his   mind,   that   she   was   only   being   nice            ―            polite.   but   the   way   she   looked   at   him,   the   way   she   opened   up   to   him,   the   way   she   spoke   to   him            ―            it   was   becoming   impossible   to   ignore   that   she   felt   the   same   as   him.

which   brings   them   to   now         /         RIGHT   NOW.               john   stayed   in   the   church   all   day   after   mass   that   monday.            it   had   just   been   him   and   millie   yet   again,   and   this   time,   things   were   different.               things   between   them   felt   like   a   magnetic   pull   that   the   two   of   them   were   using   all   of   their   energy   to   fight   against         ―         which   they   did.               until   right   now.            

john   had   imagined   he   would   feel   more....            guilty.               more   ashamed   of   himself.               but   as   soon   as   millie   entered   the   back   room   of   the   church   where   the   monsignor   had   been   prepping   for   mass   the   next   morning,   silently   praying   to   himself,   he   had   a   feeling   what   was   about   to   happen.               no   words   were   spoken,   and   yet   the   small   room   was   LOUD.            and   now   here   they   are         ―         committing   an   act   that   would   surely   be   frowned   upon   and   condemned,   not   only   by   the   community,   but   by   God   himself.

SELF   -   RIGHTEOUS.               monsignor   john   pruitt   never   wanted   to   seem   like   he   was         ―         all   the   while   knowing   his   actions   haven’t   exactly   been   godly   or   virtuous.               he   sermonizes   the   word   of   God   every   single   day.               he   looks   george   gunning   in   the   face   every   sunday,   all   while   stealing   glances   at   his   wife   in   the   pew   as   he   stands   at   the   altar   and   preaches   about   sinners,   and   oh   how   he   longs   for   that   eye   contact.               is   he   self   -   righteous,   or   is   he   just   a   coward   ?               hiding   behind   his   faith   and   his   god,   and   using   his   role   in   the   community   to   his   advantage   just   to   have   nights   with   millie   gunning,   because   who   would   suspect   the   local   priest   to   commit   adultery   ?               

there   are   a   lot   of   things   the   monsignor   struggles   with         ―         his   faith   being   so   strong,   yet   feeling   no   guilt   for   the   sins   he’s   committed.               he   knows   his   feelings   for   the   married   woman   are   sinful   by   religious   definition,   and   he   knows   that   bearing   a   child   with   said   woman   would   be   considered   reprehensible   by   many   in   their   community         ―         but   he   could   never   think   that   about   either   of   them,   because   it   never   felt   like   a   sin   to   john.               his   longing   and   his   love   for   mildred   gunning   would   never   feel   like   a   sin,   and   his   daughter   would   never   be   something   he   ever   regretted,   even   if   another   man   is   raising   her   as   his   own.            and   as   pathetic   as   it   might   be,   john   is   content   with   stealing   glances   at   her   across   the   pews,   and   watching   his   daughter   grow   up   from   afar.            he   can   stay   like   this,   can   continue   with   this   charade   of   a   life,   as   long   as   he   can   still   see   them.               can   still   be   near   them.               that   is   enough   for   him.   

it   has   been   a   couple   of   months   since   their   last   night   together         ―         the   night   before   george   returned   from   the   war.               sarah   is   six,   and   she’s   just         ―         perfect.               they   still   steal   glances   at   church,   but   things   feel   like   they   are   changing   between   them.               george   is   home   from   the   war   indefinitely,   and   meeting   up   with   one   another   has   become   increasingly   more   risky.       

it’s the middle of the night, 3 am exactly, and it feels like the stories always say about the witching hour.  of course he’s out in the middle of the ocean by himself with tears still filling his rung out eyes.  it feels like moon has made his eyes bleed, but really that’s just the tell tale sign of a broken heart.  how else is he supposed to feel?  he’s SIXTEEN and he’s spent his whole life staring at a beautiful girl.  she created fires in his eyes, but he knows she doesn’t know it.  maybe -- just maybe if she had she wouldn’t have disappeared last night.

(  and yet he knows that’s not the case.  it doesn’t change his bleeding hands as they hold onto the oars of the boat.  )

there’s no sense of time when you’re rowed out into the middle of nowhere, but thankfully a fisherman’s son always seems to have a good sense of direction.  he rows the boat to turn to face the land, wondering if he even wants to stumble his way to land.

yet he does, palm pushing the half drunk bottle of some booze from his father’s liquor cabinet under the furthest seat.  it’s there for the next of them who needs it.  he thinks it’ll be peter, his FELLOW deviant altar boy, but he knows now for sure. . . it won’t be erin.

the thought sends him reeling once more, finding himself unable to make his way back to a room that leaves him with thoughts of her.  erin greene.  gone but not forgotten.