Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Was it a sin to hate the dead?
It was something I had pondered many times over the past ten months. Although it wasn’t why I required medication to sleep at night. I wasn’t truly concerned about the level of darkness that resided in my soul. It was the images of the night I had watched a bullet take down the boy I had loved most of my life. Seeing the life leave his body, the way his eyes had gone void. It haunted me. Even now that I knew he’d betrayed me. That what I thought had been real had all been a lie. Crosby Cash had been in love, alright, just not with me.
Those closest to me, the ones who were supposed to love me, all accused me of being dramatic. Because that made sense. I just loved the panic attacks that robbed me of my ability to breathe. And the passing out from lack of oxygen was the best. Looking in the mirror and not recognizing the girl looking back at me was my favorite.
Perhaps that was the reason I sought solace in the last place anyone would think I’d go. We weren’t religious people. I’d been born into a family of organized crime. The day I walked into the catholic church seeking… forgiveness, closure, something…anything to find the girl I had once been, I hadn’t expected him. The man ordained by God to lead his people to salvation. Well, that man in the sky so many believed in made a grave mistake allowing a man who looked like Jude, or rather Father Jude, to wear that white collar.
I could lie and say I found what I was looking for standing in front of the altar, staring up at the crucifix, but even those with tarnished souls have their limits. I found something alright, but it wasn’t forgiveness. My answer wasn’t going to come from the one they called their Savior but the one they referred to as Father.
Jude
Temptation comes for all of us. I had thought I could overcome whatever Satan placed before me. This life had held little meaning for me after the day I lost the girl I loved. My first and only love. Too young, sweet, and beautiful for this world. But men are often fools. And I would soon learn just how weak I was - when a pair of bright blue eyes stood in my sanctuary staring back at me.
She was lost. Hurting. Seeking comfort.
She was the one temptation I never expected and would never regret.
Hotter N' Hell features mature themes and content that may not be suitable for all audiences. Reader discretion is advised. TW include: religion, death of a loved one, mental health, sexual content, and some violence.
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Prologue
Saylor
Was it a sin to hate the dead? Not that I was worried about sins, but I was curious. To think, two months ago, I had not only witnessed someone dying, but it was the boy I loved. The one I had loved for as long as I could remember. It was a horrific nightmare, except I didn’t wake up from it. It was all real. One minute, it had been a normal Friday night, his arm around me, and the next, he had been bleeding from his mouth, struggling to breathe as he lay on the pavement. And all I could do was scream.
The details of every second replayed in my head when I closed my eyes at night. Sleep only came for me now because of the meds my parents had insisted I be put on. Not just for sleep, but also the panic attacks. They were new as well. I hadn’t understood them at first and thought perhaps I was about to die too. The world had slowly faded to black, I passed out, and my body had started breathing again.
Dramatic.
That was what they were all saying about me. I didn’t have to hear it. I could see it in their eyes. The way they saw my reaction as selfish. Seeking attention. Making it all about me. Bane Cash, my dead boyfriend’s older brother, had actually said that to my face. He was a bastard like that. Apparently after witnessing the death of the boy you’d loved and then finding out that he had left a baby momma behind, you should be okay with it. Accept it and carry on.
My life had been a lie, and I’d not even known it. But falling apart over that was selfish. I was a bitch because Crosby Cash was dead and he’d been fucking some other girl behind my back without a condom. Now, she was having his baby when I had always thought I’d have Crosby’s babies. That I’d marry him.
Crosby wasn’t here, and yet I hated him so much. I wished he were alive so I could scream at him, hit him over and over again. Demand he tell me why he had done it, tell me when he’d stopped loving me. Because I swore to God, if my mother, my father, or my best friend—Gathe Bowen—told me one more time that Crosby had loved me, I was going to jump out of a fucking window. He had not loved me. Lying to me did not take away the pain of his betrayal.
I was angry. It boiled inside me, ready to explode at all times. The rage that I couldn’t find an outlet for was taking over the person I had once been. I didn’t recognize myself when I looked in the mirror. That girl had died with Crosby. He’d taken any hope of me eventually healing and finding happiness.
My mother wanted to claim it was PTSD, like the doctor had said, but I knew that wasn’t it. She could hold on to her excuse for my behavior if it made her feel better. I would keep my truth to myself. There was nothing left of who I had been. I was a cold, empty shell who had to go through the motions to make everyone around me happy—or at least ease their worries.
I wouldn’t mourn him. Not anymore. It was impossible to mourn someone you hated.
One
Jude
Eight Months Later
“…and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
The relief that Mrs. Furthlow’s penance was done for the week was sweet, as she was the last one of the day. The hours of reconciliation had ended ten minutes ago, but seeing as it took Martha Furthlow a while to admit all her gossip, which she told me in detail even though I had assured her that it wasn’t necessary, I was still here. The two years since I’d been placed at Holy Rosary in Madison, Mississippi, I had learned to just take it as a given that she would show up for no other reason than to spread her gossip in a place where she felt it wasn’t a sin.
I really didn’t need to know about the affair her postman was having with the lady who owned the drive-in, but now, I did. Hopefully, she could refrain from a sin until Sunday. That way, I wouldn’t have to listen to more town gossip before Mass tomorrow.
Sighing, I stood up and took off my stole, thankful we didn’t have a reconciliation room where there was a face-to-face option. I preferred the screen and the booth. While I was sure most of the parishioners would be fine with my jeans and boots, there were a few who would want me to be in slacks and something other than my worn Tony Lamas for their confessional.