Chapter Text
Shit! I hiss under my breath, jumping anxiously as a car horn blares angrily at my absent-minded attempt to cross the road. I lift my head up under my hood to shoot the driver a watery, timid glance and lift my hand in silent apology as I do an awkward half walk/run across the road. I sigh when I reach the other side of the road, craning my neck to take in the grey looming building in front of me.
It’s funny. I’m here more so out of habit than anything. But the church was the one place where I could allow myself to feel somehow both vulnerable and safe. I’m the type of person that needs to wait until I’m alone to cry. That’s a normal part of adulthood, right? To schedule your cries for when you have the time and privacy to do so. And at this point, I only feel safe enough to cry when I’m by myself.
I drag the back of my hand against each eye, wiping away the tears that threaten to spill. I’m not weak, I promise. These tears are a result of actually being strong for too long. I gaze at the church again. It’s the same one that HE goes to. That we go to together. Attending the usual masses, and then, often on that same day, he’ll hit me later when we’re back at home. And I retreat into my shell, my mental shell. It’s all I have left, I AM a shell of a human now. Retreating further and further into myself with every degradation...I gaze back at the church. I just can’t even go in there right now.
I continue on down the street. Luckily, it’s a dark, rainy, January evening, so nobody is likely to notice my misery. I have been afraid of admitting to anyone other than myself of how my boyfriend has been treating me. I’m not stupid; he wasn’t like this when I met him. He was perfectly charming. Then it was a little over a year into our relationship, when nasty comments would happen. Then manipulation, gaslighting, and now things have been turning a little more physical lately. Not even my closest friend knows. I never even have the energy to talk about it. It’s already always on my mind. But today, my mind feels excruciatingly overwhelmed. As if my dark thoughts have become so many to the point that it’s squeezing and squeezing, making it feel like there is limited space in my brain for my thoughts to fight for. I need to talk to somebody. I really do. I would if I had anybody that I could tell without feeling like I’m bothering them with my problems, when everybody already has enough problems of their own.
I continue further down the streets, lost in my thoughts to the point that I don’t realise I’ve walked far enough to reach the Satanic Ministry, with its heavy black gates and huge front doors, and the general gothic architectural style of the building that permeates a solemn and somewhat otherworldly atmosphere. I stop walking, unable to help myself from staring at its beauty. I’ve always been attracted to the dark and macabre, and though I know it shouldn’t feel so inviting to a practising Catholic like me, it does. It’s comforting. I guess if you feel like you’ve been in the dark long enough, you start to make a home there.
“Good evening” a stunning woman dressed in an outfit similar to a Catholic nun’s, scuttled past me, giving me a sideways smile as she heads past the gates and up the path to the ministry. She goes not through the front door, but through another set of doors off to the side, through which I catch a glimpse of a faint glow emanating until it closes again. My curiosity has me taking my phone out of my pocket, hunching over it slightly to keep the rain off the screen. I search for the Satanic Ministry on Google. They have a website, which upon a scroll through, I learn that they welcome anyone who is interested regardless of their religion, and that the attached cathedral is open to the public all day until 8 p.m.
I put my phone away again. The Ministry just seems so...inviting. Which doesn’t make sense, really. I suppose I’m just feeling miserable, and the darkness of this building feels like a...good match for my mood? I bite my lip, looking up at the ominous shading of the heavy clouds. The air feels alive, sharp, almost metallic. I forgot that a storm was due this evening. Would it be so bad if I went into a Satanic cathedral? To shelter from the rain for a moment? Luke would despise me for going inside. Then again, he despises me full stop. At least he’d never suspect that this is where I am. I mutter a quick request for forgiveness to God as I begin to make my way up the winding uphill stone path lit softly by classy Victorian-style lampposts, guiding me on. I reach the doors off to the side. Sure enough, there is a sign with “Cathedral” on it in a gothic font. Another sign read “all are welcome between 8:00 – 20:00”. I slowly push the door open, still half expecting somebody to tell me that I have no business entering this place. I enter a dimly lit porch, which has glass doors through which I can see the inside of the cathedral. There is nobody inside. Encouraged by the emptiness, I push the creaking door open, stepping inside.
I look around in awe at my new surroundings. The cathedral is not so subtly lit by copious black candles placed around the building. My nostrils are immediately hit with an alluring, smoky, musky, and weirdly seductive smell. My slow steps click on the black, diamond-shapes tiles. The altar is majestic at the top of the room, commanding the attention of whatever Satanic priest may perform the masses here. What would be the confession boxes in a Catholic church are built into the walls, with thick black velvet curtains that promise to keep those confessions in dark hidden secrecy. I wonder what the purpose of confession boxes are in a church like this, where I presume sins are actually encouraged, at least to an extent?
After looking at my surroundings further, and not actually finding much in the way of disturbing satanic imagery, the tension I was unknowingly holding in my body relaxes enough for me to sit down on one of the many wooden pews with a creak. I jerk my head towards one of the candles now and again, as they create shadows that I at times mistake for perhaps the shadow of someone else that is here. It’s similar to how it feels for me when I’m in a Catholic church, in that I feel watched. Not in a negative way, just...peacefully observed by something powerful. I bow my head and have an internal chat with myself, and even though I am in a church like this, I begin to pray, losing myself more and more in my own thoughts. Until I’m tugged back out of them, my eyes snap open with a startle, and I squint in the dim lighting to see a male figure at the altar. He drops something with a loud clutter that reverberates in the big echoing building, after which I hear a muttered, “ah merda...”
I stay quiet at the back of the church. The man doesn’t seem to realise my presence. He continues to fumble with something at the altar. My attention is ripped away from him when a deep rumble of thunder rolls outside. I glance at him again, and I can just make out him looking towards the big stained glass window at the back of the church, it being the direction the thunder came from. Then his eyes move downwards to, well, me. I look down at my hands, pretending that I’m still deep in prayer. I don’t want anyone to talk to me right now, I’m tired and rain-soaked and my eyes feel red and puffy. However, a few minutes later, I hear footsteps coming down the aisle, nearing me.
“Ah, hello...” comes the man’s voice softly. I clear my throat briskly, and look up at the figure standing politely next to my pew, his fingers tented in a way that makes him look both awkward and polite.
I smile self-consciously, knowing I must look a mess to this stranger. “Hello” I reply quietly, hoping he’ll continue moving on his way.
He continues to stand there awkwardly as a moment of silence passes between us. He keeps his fingers tented, but taps them together this time.
I sigh. “I’m sorry. I...Am I not allowed in here? It’s just I saw the sign at the door that said-”
He cuts me off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Non preoccuparti! Do not worry, you are of course welcome here” he says in a way that makes me feel almost absurd for even asking. “I have not noticed you here before. I see you got caught in the storm outside, sì?”
I nod, looking down at my damp clothing. “Uh, yes. This is my first time being here. It’s really beautiful”.
“Ah, well I’m glad you like it”, he says modestly.
“Allora...” he continues, twisting his hands together. “Mi dispiace, but I can’t help but ask if you are okay? You look a bit...upset. I don’t mean to interrupt your peace, but I wanted to eh, check in and make sure that you’re...okay?”
“Oh! Uh, I’m fine. But thanks for asking”.
“Are you positive, cara?”
I look down at my hands, my eyes starting to sting.
His eyes widen, as if he thinks he’s cracked some kind of code. “Eh, you are afraid of this storm outside, no? Am I correct??”
I shake my head. “No, I love storms”, I smile sadly.
“May I...?” He gestures to the space next to me on the pew. I nod.
He sits down next to me with a small groan like an old man, leaving a respectful amount of space between us.
“I’m not going to make you tell me about whatever is troubling you. But if you did, don’t you think you’d feel a little bit better? I am Papa”, he mentions somewhat proudly. “You can tell me anything that you wish to. It is only part of my job to listen to those who need it”, he adds in a gentle tone.
Another few moments of silence between us.
I sigh, giving in. I know I need to talk to someone.
“You’re the Papa? I’m sorry for...I don’t know, I’m a mess right now. I am having some difficulties at home with my partner. He’s... Well, he hasn’t been very gentle with me lately. I’ve been thinking of leaving him, but I have nowhere to really go. I’ve also been struggling a lot with some kind of digestive illness that doctors can’t seem to diagnose properly, so I’m not currently able to hold onto a job. I don’t have much money saved up. I can’t stay with my friend, she has her own family and not much extra space, so I don’t feel like I can bother her. My father died when I was 9. And I haven’t spoken to my mother in years. No siblings either. I feel so trapped. I just feel so insanely low with it all. I don’t know what to do. I can’t figure a way out of this mess”, I take a breath to calm myself. I can’t deny how good it feels to finally tell someone this. I shake my head at my own outburst. “Sorry” I add awkwardly.
He’s quiet for awhile, and I’m thinking maybe that was too much. But then he twists his body so that he can face me in the pew and see me better. Finally feeling like I have more courage to look at him, I do a double-take as I see his eyes up closer in this dim lighting. Looking back at me are a pair of gorgeous eyes, one a sparkling green and the other so striking and...white. One so warm and one so cold. I almost gasp, but hold it in, not wanting to seem rude. If he catches my surprise, he’s too concerned with my issues right now to care.
He’s quiet for a moment. I can tell that he’s afraid of upsetting me further by asking me more about it.
“I am so sorry to hear that. That is...you’ve got a lot on your plate. Your partner... He's hurting you?”
I nod, and his eyes trail down to a small bruise peeking up above the neck of my coat. He sighs, shaking his head. “You know, if it makes you feel any better, you’re not the first person to come here and tell me such a thing. It’s so unfortunate how common of a situation this is. But you aren’t alone”, he raises his hand slowly and rubs my arm comfortingly for a quick moment. “And I’ll tell you the same thing I tell those people. You are welcome to stay awhile here in the ministry if you are seeking safety and peace. We have spare rooms for instances like these. I hope you’ll consider it, because I’d feel happier knowing I- knowing we here at the Ministry could help you at least for a little while. It would give you a little time to think”.
A tear escapes my eye and rolls down my cheek at his kindness, even though I have no real reason to trust him. There is still a part of me that thinks this is suspiciously perfect timing, and too generous and too good to be true. And there’s still a part of me that wonders if I can trust the Satanic Ministry of all things. But right now I feel genuinely cared for, and that is such a rare and soothing feeling for me that I just want to chase that feeling, follow its source no matter what.
“I couldn’t...”
“You eh, you could?”
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t be a burden?”
“Of course not, cara”.
I bite my lip in consideration for a moment. “Okay, I would be so grateful if I could stay here for a little while. Thank you so, so much”.
“Prego. You are welcome. It will do you some good. If you like this cathedral, you will like the rest of the ministry. But first, let’s get you changed out of those wet clothes".
He stands up briskly, and waits for me to do the same.
“Ah! And I am Papa Emeritus IV. But you call me Copia. Or just C. That one is for the cool kids to use mostly eh? I am down with those...” he mutters in such an awkward tone that amuses me despite everything.
I give him a small smile, the first smile I’ve really felt in a while. Smiling is an easy thing to do, but you don’t always genuinely feel your own smile. I tell him my name. I don’t know if I even should, but it’s hard not to like and trust this guy. He has a silliness about him that makes me feel like there’s no way he has some ulterior motive or is going to trap me or something when I follow him down a long hallway off the side of the cathedral. I watch him as I walk along behind him. I mean, he’s the Papa, and he’s just wearing a snuggly looking wine-coloured matching sweat-suit. And black leather gloves. And smart black dress shoes that clip on the floor as he walks. He’s so weirdly endearing. Plus, I’m too miserable with my life right now to even care that much about if I’m about to get lured into some weird Satanic cult that’ll never let me leave. But I am also following my gut, and my gut is saying that it’s okay.
Even though I know he can hear my footsteps following behind him, he still glances back at me to make sure I’m okay, before he opens the door at the end of the hall for me to step through first, and I enter the main hall of the Ministry in awe at the bustling movement of clergy people going about their business in a building that feels so archaic and beautiful and safe and in a time of it's own that somehow I’m already not looking forward to when I’ll have to leave it.