💉 The Art of losing myself

In bringing You praise. 💉

--- *** ---

Following the awkward pip of the cut off phone, tingling alarming tones into your vulnerable ears, subsequently your petite, creamy hand manipulated to adjust back the earpiece as your E/C cabochons landed on the fairly small mass of customers, inching the very first tables as well.

You wanted to make sure you weren't perceived wrong, nor earn ocean of rotund, inquiring gems, transfixed on the utmost prospect of their attention.

A bitter lump's abruptness of seething your flimsy, satin throat begged for an immediate vouch with maneuvering the throat muscles to swig hungrily, slightly embarrassingly.

Twains of inquiring, childlike inquisitive gems speared your physique, glimmering brightly the incarnation of their strangely disturbing curiosity, typical for each peculiar stranger's nature.

Meanwhile, the sole thing to numb and prevent every morbidly unnerving segment of the illustration that you may recall in the impending a handful of years with a woefully sarcastic chuckle was tugging an awkwardly childish, amiable smile at the corners of your chapped mouth, bobbing meekly your head to reaffirm that everything was alright. Everything was actually alright. That was the solely relieving, optimistically soothing words lacing sweetly with mystically dim flavour of saltiness in its reproduction, dying on your tongue tip.

Fortunately, those customers were nothing else than just strangers, paying visit to your workplace for being served with beverages and dishes and earn cash due to the promising service and responsibilities. They could altruistically question your facial expression that adorned unwelcomingly, villainously during your brief phone conversation with the possessed clergyman.

At the moment, the haphazardness of the interrupted doldrum particularly pitched the background with the notorious squeak of the double cherry wood door, swinging broadly opened at the sight of the forthcoming visitor with its very presence assaulting the building's interior. The German-Canadian compatriot's petite-frame perpetually marched up to the bar to maintain an adequately platonic intimate proximity within a quarter a minute as her elegantly classy chunks whispered loudly against the ground, ghosting conveniently extravagant with the footsteps to track your immobility.

"Hi Dana!" The opulence of merriness remarkably punctured your informal greeting towards the ginger whose mop of flawlessly, authentically silken red strands bounced in choir and tandem, curtaining her porcelain, youthful façade. Your heart skipped a monotonously explosive beat, drumming vigorously into your frail chest. "It's nice to see you in the end of my shift."

"Hi Y/N! I'm having a hard time without you, you know!" Once your proximity diminished in smaller scale with thick elasticity, stretching your figures to indicate the platonic intimacy you traded mutually, a sympathetically glowing grin curved your cherub lips into a delightful, expressive grin." Anyway it's nice to see you in the end of your shift as well."

"Sure! I bet you're fine." Despite a handful of childlike, doely inquisitive gemstones imbibed devilishly the prospect of the platonic relationship you shared with Dana, the only intimately friendly motion you waltzed its tandem was spreading widely, optimistically your satin arms to scoop yourselves in kindheartedly loving, tight hugs that hitched your breathing dully, unspeakably.

"Yeah, after seeing you being on your feet even during such tough shift when I was supposed to be at home instead having bonus work time."

"For sure!" The older lady ushered a raspy, perkily rusty snigger to hammer her wet, strawberry-coloured tongue, jingling serene, sacred angelic hymns into your ears as you couldn't restrain yourself to join the lavish choir on your own emphatically. "Is there something new?" In the meanwhile, Dana managed to quirk quizzically, emotionally a thin, elegant eyebrow until an embarrassing, gullible hush swaddled coldly between you with clearing your throat softly. "Come on, Y/N! Spill the tea!" Her stubbornness starkly begged strong-willedly to earn the answer she's looking for with strong eagerness.

"Well, I received an odd phone call from,"

"From who? Your holy Romeo?" The starkly sardonic and diabolical sarcasm of the redhead's rhetorical inquiries tingled alarming tones into your ears, hardly daring to oppress its boldly half-hearted, lukewarmly vibrant chuckles, dripping from your mouths.

"He isn't my holy Romeo, Dana! Just cut that crap, okay?" Mild annoyance prominently touched your hiss, flaring your nostrils wryly dry whilst registering to fold your arms.

"It's evident by the way you talk about him as if he is the knight in the shining armor that got you out of the snake pit."

"Due to the fact, I fully respect him and treasure pearly everything he has done for me," In the interval, you managed to bedaub with the back of your unblemishedly petite, creamy hand the bountifully thick mantle of sweat, fabulously coating your temple, assimilating rationally your half utterance just before granting graciously its sequel. "That doesn't mean I worship him as a knight in his own shining armor." The haphazardness of the German-Canadian compatriot's cheerful raised an arch of her elegantly thin eyebrow, whereas you manipulated your throat to contract tightly, welcomingly the bitter lump, bubbling in your throat just before swigging it hungrily and thereafter managing to clear dramatically cold-blooded your throat with a muffled cough. "He's a damn priest and devoted dearly to the cloth. How you can imagine him falling in love with a total mess, plain former drug dealer? Just explain that logic of yours, Miss Dana Schwarz!"

"Well, when you fainted on Halloween after acknowledging via the radio news that he passed out after the exorcism that poor boy." At the moment, the older woman's spidery alabaster, creamily soothing fingers manifested to reach for a fistful of joyously stray H/C strands, curtaining beautifully lively your façade. The subsequence of the mischievous fingering and playing process with the fistful of stray strands didn't cease to astonish you. The series of breathtakingly remarkable blinks, wrenching your E/C gemstones flapped broadly, freely your long, thickly ebon eyelashes at the delicately reassuring touch of your hair. "The black rose he gave you on your arranged release from that freaking snake pit. Furthermore, the way you talk about him as if he isn't just your ordinary priest at all."

The fact that your old high school friend candidly apt to detect your pure, hair-rising weakness or rather sinful temptation and unsacredly gloomy secrets, arcanely veiled and strictly caged in the Pandora's Box, a medley of dim irritation and naked bewilderment roared into your muscles and flimsy bones.

--- *** ---
--- The Next Morning ---
--- 3rd of November, 1964 ---

The daily monotonous night time slowly but surely bled into daylight with its silver-tongued, blissfully chirping morning birdsongs, pitching the background's mid-autumn vista.

It was high time for the church's special event as you informed your manager for your absence in the range of hours, enduring sluggishly at snail's pace.

When you came to your senses slightly earlier than the usual, you had a promisingly mouth-watering breakfast along with a sloppily relaxing, lukewarm shower and getting ready for the day quicker than the usual.

As soon as you left your flat, the monotonously drone of classy jet-black fashionable chunks whispered unnervingly against the luxuriously lavish carpet of multi-coloured, vastly crispy leaves, magnificently swaddling beneath your shoed feet. The awful mild, distractingly serene autumn breeze howled mischievously and waltzed amorously as your unruly glossy strands bounced in tandem, slapping weakly, childishly your façade.

Passing confidently ocean of strangers, starkly tall trees and tall, rich variety of buildings, there was no particular reason to be in hurry, in spite of your hasty agitation to reach your forthcoming destination after persistently hauling and maneuvering your muscles' anatomy to encounter the sacred building of God with the plenty of extraordinarily breathtaking, happy flowerbeds prominently adorning the grandiose yard. The rotund, weak sun's subtle vibrant slit bleeding into a radiant, scintillating gore spotlighting with its bright illumination the living and immobile surroundings.

The thought of the special church event prominently flashed a beamingly impatient, childishly candid smile upon your youthful, silken complexion. The arduous preparation for the event and the games spread broadly like book pages past your vision, surveying in a scrutiny in the corner of your eye the galore of strangers ghosting with their lukewarm presences the grandiose yard even some of them sharing conversations with a handful of nuns and clergymen. Certain visitors' childishly buoyant, vigorous agitation readily inked upon their facial features. Or on the contrary, there were other visitors whose excitement hasn't even escalated to its celestially complacent apogee.

"Good morning, Y/N!" All of a sudden, the haphazardness of the eerily unpredictably presence of the former licentious jazz nightclub singer snapped you out of your idle reverie, relentlessly clouding your hurricane of thoughts. When you managed to shift your attention to the senior woman of the cloth as your E/C rotund embers squinted up at her surprisingly welcoming, vibrant contour of her elderly appealing facial attributes in a jiffy. The thickly fabulous warmness of its bleeding broad smile, curving upon her naturally nude pink, cherub lips. The sheerly blameless, heartwarming mantle, benevolently mellow illuminating her honey brown embers, blazing with intensifying kindness and honesty, coupled bountifully during the eye contact's maintenance locking up your gazes.

Little did you know when you would confront again the very presence of the woman of the cloth with whom you traded stealthily the most embarrassingly, adroitly sultry kiss ever in your life. Howsoever, the destiny brought both of you again or otherwise she was invited by her boss to be part of the church event, giving herself some break from canning ocean of rebellious inmates even being charge of an old, infamously dilapidating mental hospital.

"Good morning, Sister! I didn't expect you so far." The bareness of your girlish sheepishness didn't cease to astonish the blonde, stilling your smiles, despite wearing thousand patterns of vibrantly coyness, remarkably hazing every hue of despondence and haughtiness, readable across your façade.

"Well, for which time are ya going to address me Sister, Y/N?" A heavy, dramatically cold-hearted sigh measured her perky patience and versatility with its recurringly coursing oxygen at the top of her brittle lungs, whilst manifesting to knot her elvish, creamy hands as her spidery marbled fingers clawed each other's grip.

"You are just a nun for me. Nothing more!" The emphatic boldness venomously battered your tongue tip after clumsily elaborating the utterance, honing the accent of your current relationship status with the blonde. Just keeping to its absolute reality and how the things were realistically constructing by a brick every segment of its enormous, crudely cold world nonetheless.

"Just a nun, Y/N?" Even though your pragmatic realism, cusping smoothly with your logic, nevertheless, the hoarseness of the forcefully half-hearted, cold-blooded snicker took advantage of the older lady, stilling the battering eyeing to your young-looking, full profile." Ya have to be kidding me." Pinkess momentarily generously tickled your well-sculptured, chubby cheeks, paired with sweltering, uncomfortable heat creeping beneath your hypodermic facial skin. "Who is saying I'm just a nun to you, Miss Y/N?" The mortification bleakly painting the vista of your awkward interaction with Jude graced you with a hopeful cue to not being in the divine center of attention in the yard at all.

"I do, Sister Jude!"

"Say it out loud just Judy or Jude, instead of making me nervous with addressing me as if yar repenting for your sins, Y/N!" Pinching widened your E/C gemstones when you switched your focus on the other unwelcoming participant in your private conversation whose very presence mildly startled you unlike Jude. The British aristocrat's relentlessly tall figure accompanied gruesomely uncomfortable you.

"Rare bird, do not embarrass the poor girl to address you informally as if you are just friends!" In the meanwhile, the British aristocrat ushered his colossal, ghostly pale hand to claw gingerly, friendly the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer's dainty, delicate shoulder and his pristinely dexterous fingers presentably, graciously kneading the rigidly shapeless fabric of her conservatively wool, dark habit, admiring her curves and slender figure structuring her physique. "I know what you exactly do to her days ago." A heavy sigh sinfully flushed the older woman's tiny, flexible nostrils whilst her porcelain, elderly young-looking complexion darkened in a healthily cherry red hue, narrowing her pools of profoundly sensitive caramel brown at the man of the cloth.

"Timothy," Hitching her breathing and promptly rusting its huskiness in her waltzing undertone, Judy maneuvered her elvish, fidgety hand's ghostly pale, dainty fingers mellowly, teasingly fingering and pawing her chest, sensing the vehement drums of her heart pulsations, massaging gently, discreetly her digits and fingertips. "We're having a personal conversation. Could ya leave us for a minute, please?"

"There is nothing personal by judging your facial expressions, ladies!" A wickedly ominous smirk discreetly crinkled across his mouth, breaking his facial expression into hypodermically inexorable darkness, thickly, fabulously camouflaging the once pure innocence, paged up on face. "Moreover, I really need to talk with Y/N!"

"But Timothy," You couldn't help, however, glassy contemplate the fixated stare of yours on the members of the church's conflicting affliction of words trade, moistening embarrassingly your cherub lips after twirling and whirling in the exact apex your berry-coloured, wet tongue to contact with its mischievous dew onto your lower and upper lip.

"There are no buts," Continuously kneading the rigidly conservative, plain fabric of her habit, the honeyed venom prominently touched his authoritative caution, medley of huskiness and sultry deepness chanted its own ballad. "Jude! Just go!" A mischievously begging, hair-rising command twirled and whirled a tempest of chilly shivers, dancing downward in the Bostonian's loins, cooling her anatomy's regular temperature.

"Fine!" The strict sharpness puncturing her frustration, genuinely unmasked in a swift motion the velvety venom, lacing her timbre, meanwhile, Jude managed to retire meekly, hospitably the territory you and Timothy mutually shared in the proximity range of a few inches solely.

"Good morning, Monsignor!"

"For which time are you going to call me Monsignor, Miss Y/N?" Wry sarcasm surrealistically tinkered up his huskily deep, infernal voice, puncturing its prominent emphasis to his posed rhetorical question and the soundtrack of jubilantly light-hearted snickers manifested their own protest from your mouths, having no intentions to die on your tongue tips.

"Timothy," This time the older gentleman bobbed his head in solemn agreement, reaffirming your façade's position for altering from formal into informal rapidly. He really liked how you realized quickly your mistake into his address even though you shared along solely less than ten times interaction ever in your lives. "It wasn't necessary to interfere into my private conversation with Sister Jude."

"Why?" Playfully raising an arch of his thick, dark eyebrow, questionable brass nuance sheened brightly into his huge, expressive embers, fiercely alight with your presence and having the ginormous luck to encounter you today especially on the church's event. His fidgety masculinely meaty, smooth fingers mischievously, absent-mindedly teased with the rigid, pleasantly-touchable beads of his rosary that caught your iris for a split second, due to an occasional, fleetly clumsy glance. "You want her to belittle you or something?"

"I don't know." Shrugging embarrassingly shy your delicate shoulders, thereafter Timothy registered his only free mammoth, monstrously gentle hand to claw your shoulder blade's tissue, ghosting with his lusciously feather-soft, protective fingers the sweetly stable cotton fabric of your maroon cardigan. "She wasn't belittling me at all."

"Huh? That doesn't sound promising at all, Y/N!" Shaking his head, stubbornly disapproving your opinion and bashing it out of his mind, his digits and fingertips pleasantly, intelligibly fingered and worshipped hallowedly the cotton fabric beneath his virginal, pure touch. In the interval, testing your own patience to not escalate your shyness, your youthful complexion lingered the naturally esthetic make-up of darkness, permeating its cherry hue healthily imprint onto your facial features."She isn't very fond of seeing another lady interacting with me even for a prayer at all." Helplessly zipping your naturally nude pink, cherub lips into a pensive purse indicated your girlish demureness, readable from head to toes.

"That's incredibly ridiculous, Timothy!"

"I was thinking the same. Moreover, she is considering the interaction between another lady and a priest even for a prayer it could lead to sin, you know!"

"Sister Jude can say whatever she wants." Shaking incessantly your head in choir, solemnly disagreeing with the mimicked Bostonian's caution about the interaction between the aspiring Monsignor and a stranger woman who was seeking modicum of aid or his word at least, a sharp exhale at the top of your frail lungs measured your bare patience at the ridiculousness of the blonde's monologues. You surreptitiously molted profoundly, pearly into the aspiring Monsignor's kindheartedly amicable, soft touch grazing your shoulder, craving for its endless sequel to not cease to temporal as well. "She thinks you're a friend of her."

"That's true even though we had almost never had any friendly interactions!"

"It's true! She hasn't done anything better for you that cost her life or career at least." At the moment, stifling a severely frustrated, rusty grunt under your breath when the British compatriot's fingers dumped your shoulder blade tissue with meekly escorting him to take you inside the chapel, you clamped your front ivory teeth to nibble your bottom chapped lip, apt to tandem its recurring choir. "Sister Jude has only bullied you and caned you just because one night you were absent from your ward."

"Needless to say it, Timothy!" As soon as his hand fashioned into balled fist pushed the monumentally hardwood chapel's double door, meantime, his larger frame stepped inside and holding gentlemanly, graciously the door, gracing you with sufficiently enormous space to grant with your presences the building interior's divine lively prospect. The absence of desolation and emptiness obscured the interior. A couple of people recently populated the chapel. A handful of nuns and priests were getting ready for the event, whereas a handful of promisingly mere visitors recited in a murmur the holy, secure prayer and knotting their fingers, supporting their bowed heads and foreheads' featherly-soft contact.

--- *** ---

--- A Couple of Hours Later or So ---

As the daily episode slowly but surely progressed into the wee hours of the afternoon and bled into the balmily graceful sun, stunningly casting its celestially gilded, featherly-soft curtain to filter perpetually buildings, living beings and the aesthetically majestic nature illustration, the church games' outgoing nature demonstrated the visitors' childlike excitement especially the great deal of audience of children and adults. The church games that were situated in the local Boston chapel's yard were Name Game, Bible Telephone, Bible Hangman and Bible Scene. In spite of your lacking knowledge and religiousness to win every game, nevertheless, the chance you gave yourself to participate in the games and your ferocious courage didn't cease to surprise not only Father James, Sister Jude and the majority of the strangers even devotional members of the church, but also Timothy, himself.

Notwithstanding the circumstances, the sheer, bloodthirsty eagerness, brassly illuminating the British compatriot's jewels whilst the chapel games were playing out open-mindedly, jubilantly, each glimpse and stare you caught of his even when you're utterly, excessively focused on the game, itself, gradual rabid enamored face starkly, shamelessly contoured his handsome facial attributes and unmasking his indifference and prim euphoria when one of the strangers has been gifted with its vanquishing victory.

You were genuinely having fun with the others who traded similar piousness status or they're excessively pious to attend daily the church for prayers and not missing any single sacred mass.

When there was a wee break from the games, there were certain visitors who were receiving their own presents due to their outstanding visit during its event where the bonuses were a welcoming addition just shortly before fleeing the sacred site.

During the brief break, the British aristocrat manifested privately to you to take you to one of the church's compact rooms as your little secret and the docile categorical decision of yours, taken in the last minute to humbly follow him wasn't regrettable. Little did you know what kind of intentions was his with exception oozing of their divine, rich benevolence that wouldn't speak the troubling language of ruthless harm.

You felt heartwarming sensation of warmness, inescapably heating the pit of your stomach due to the sympathetic, platonic flattery. Even though you were far cry from bold to spill the tea with the devotional clergyman about the little secret which you shared solely with Jude about the passionately brief, prim kiss you swapped mutually in her austere office, that doesn't mean Timothy wasn't aware of your arcanely discreet secrets, storing profoundly inside you and solely for you. You wouldn't covet to hazard the sister of the church's career just because of the discreetness of the secret, which you potently, dearly vowed one another to not leak even a wee hint or detail behind its context.

The compact battered window of the chapel's private room where it was solely accessible for pious members of the clergy, the celestially down-to-earth, gilt sun's daylight light showered breathtakingly through its flimsy window's glasses, inevitably bathing the room in secure, ambitious light and beautifully curtaining your façades.

In the interim, you both traded seats on the cherry wood chairs, stretching its elasticity distance less than an inch. The eloquently delightful birdsongs chanted their own tuneful ballads outside the hallowed building, generously gifting the ambience with life.

"Would you like a glass of communion wine, Y/N?"

"Yes, please!" Although your lacking crudeness to reject brashly the offer of a glass of scrumptiously insatiable communion wine, the vowels and syllables' brief clash for domination to build your vouch, fluently and delightfully accepting the offer without any single doubt didn't cease to flabbergast the older man.

The room where your very presences occupied currently was enough furnished with ocean of chairs, estimated approximately eight, surrounding viciously the double table with a flawlessly satin maroon vase of gardenias sitting motionlessly, modestly in the middle of the hardwood, oak furniture. A tall end table and hive of hallowed icons of Jesus, the Blessed Virgin Mary, angels and other revered saints adorned remarkably, glowingly the sufficiently expansive room.

In order to banish the loneliness of the maroon satin vase, a medium-sized bottle of dark red liquor escorted amiably the paraphernalia.

When Timothy maneuvered to lift up his rear from his seat and approaching the tall end table to retrieve two clearly empty, sheer glasses and then re-participate your company with slamming recklessly faint the glasses on top of the table and removing ruthlessly the tap of the bottle in a swift, deft motion, indicated in his fingers' musical nimbleness, the haphazardness of your tongue's manipulation to twirl and lick greedily unblushing your lower and upper cherub, cracked lips soothed your lewd gaze's opacity, transfixed on the process of pouring its liquor in the glasses.

"B-But Timothy, you're a priest and," All of a sudden, when the glasses were dearly prepared with its poured mouth-watering, sinfully luscious wine pooling the glass's surface per a person, his virginally strong, ghostly pale fingers danced around his glass and lugging it up, offering cheer. A wry smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, subsequently snatching your glass of communion wine and the clinking contact of its cheer stilled your intensifying eye contact. "It's supposed to be a sin to drink liquor."

"Don't be worried about me and my vows, Y/N!" Afterwards you both sipped docilely diligent of your glasses of its alcoholic beverage, lacing your tongues with its indisputably scrumptious flavor of alcohol. Beads of its red liquor esthetically magnified your stare to squint up incredulity at his lower naturally baby-pinkish, plump lip. "I'll be fine." Fixating your blankly jaded, glassy gawk at the pale yellowish painted wall, the emptiness lingered on the former seat of its owner with its dumped unfinished glass of communion wine which was oblivious for you until the startling grapple of your forearm caught you off guard and yanking restlessly from your seat, dragging you towards the pale yellow wall, encumbering with his tall figure your shorter, scarcely granting you modicum of breathy space to release yourself from its grip.

"W-What are you doing, Timothy?"

"What were you thinking I'm doing?" In the meantime, a swan thumb fashioned to trace gingerly, gentlemanly your jaw, admiring your ethereally fresh beauty and wine-stained breathing with its relentlessly searing slap fanned your glossy facial skin, breaking your facial expression into a trustless bewilderment, masking your attributes and speaking plenty of emotions. Other colossal, monstrously secure hand secured your middle, lingering its nervously quivering motion. It could be abysmally interpreted in its endlessly complex context under the form of his virginally, sheerly innocent nervousness for not altruistically bestowing any other female with his very own, bewitching touch anywhere else than the representatives of the opposite sex's faces, hands and shoulders. Instinctively, you draped your satin arms to snake straightforwardly around his toned upper back, bracing his larger-frame with yours on reflex. "I've never been with any other woman in my life."

"I bet you've dated or been more than a platonic friend with girls earlier. I mean like high school or something." Incredulity honed aggressively your complexion and your heart clenched tightly, icily into your chest due to his brass revelation slipping sloppily from his naturally nude pink, plumpish lips after its persistent construction. Even though you would scarcely believe the British aristocrat has never dated any lady in his life, it was sadly true.

"No! You're my very first one, Y/N!" Then his thumb gingerly perched on your bottom lip, affectionately brushing with its digit the raw spot mellowly and the cozily megawatt meager distance you traded with each other less than an inch unevenly taunted your heart pulsations to accelerate rapidly, hysterically and consequently throbbing viciously vehement into your ribcages. Speechlessness ecstatically, lively caged your frail heart and sedating fragilely your muscles and bones, ebbing off its natural stamina of your round knees. "You don't realize that I can't control that." The context's discreet depths barely triggered to acknowledge his intentions until he pressed featherly-soft, categorically his berry-coloured, cherub lips to seal yours, sultrily melting into your sincerely first kiss, hitching your breathing and hungrily, irresistibly allowing your adrenaline gear up your sultrily initial kiss. 

Author's Note: I'd like to thank every loyal and active reader of mine like southernauthor, Celeste-Moore, jlangster_ and sociopathsis for being always charge in when a new chapter is up and following eagerly every segment of this book! Thanks to you, this book wouldn't cease to vanish at all! Furthermore, you're y'all extraordinarily marvelous and talented! You truly deserve the best and sending you galore of love! <3

Likewise, don't forget to comment your favorite moments or whatever struck you first, because I'd love to hear your thoughts! <3333