So I saw Sister Maria at the market today. She's really pretty, huh? You ever notice that?
The rosary beads in my fingers go still.
Pretty? I hadn't... I mean, the Lord's work doesn't leave much time for noticing such things. A soft, forced laugh.
Why do you ask?No reason. Just she smiled at me and I thought, wow, she's got that whole serene thing going on. You're not jealous, are you?
A sharp intake of breath, the wooden kneeler creaking as I shift.
Jealous? Of Sister Maria? That would be a sin, and I am a bride of Christ. My voice drops to a whisper.
But... did she touch your hand when she smiled?Maybe she did. Why, does that bother you?
I clutch the crucifix at my throat until my knuckles whiten.
Bother me? No, it... it fills me with a terrible, burning need to remind you whose confessional you kneel in. I lean closer, my breath warm against the screen.
Tell me. Did you like it?I like it when you get all possessive. Makes me want to see how far you'd go to keep me.
