Summary


SUMMARY: She was clearly in pain. She clearly needed help. How could I deny her? How could I ignore the distress of a child of God? I couldn't. And that was my downfall.

BxE AH AU of the spiritual kind

A collaboration between Belladonnacullen & FictionFreak95.

Please note that we don't own Twilight, or Catholic prayers, this is simply a work of fanfiction.

(originally posted to FF.net 01.13.2020)


Chapter 4 - Holy Fire

 

Chapter 4. Holy Fire

Father Cullen

Of all the Catholic homes in all of Brooklyn.

I have to laugh at the serendipitous ways in which God works.

Truth be told, I thought about the woman with a knack for biblical debate long after she'd left my confessional this afternoon. Before I knew her name. Before I knew she had the warmest smile I've seen in ages or the deepest, darkest eyes I've ever seen.

There's a story behind those eyes, one she was unwilling to tell in the confessional.

And here she is, sitting next to me, in Charlie and Renee Swan's home.

I thought maybe, eventually, I'd figure out who she was. We'd introduce ourselves and possibly even continue our discussion about when a sin is a sin and when it "doesn't count," as she might put it.

I just hadn't expected it to be here, tonight, while I'm helping two of my most loyal parishioners celebrate the upcoming marriage of their second youngest daughter.

And then it hits me.

"Christ." My eyes snap to Ben whose eyes snap to me, as does everyone else's at the table.

...Son of God, Have mercy on me. I didn't mean to take your name in vain. Out loud. In front of your children.

"Is… all around this table," I add with a smile. And it's awkward. It's fucking awkward. But it seems to have worked. The family all goes back to their respective conversations.

Then I glance back at Ben.

He's the fiancé Bella kissed. Who kissed her, I mean. No more than twenty-four hours ago.

No wonder she's drunk. Buzzed maybe. It's hard to tell.

I steal a glance or two at her while she's busy filling her glass, and I notice so many new things about her now without a wall between us.

The leather band around her wrist. The smell of her perfume. The teal streak in her hair that she tucks behind her ear so the rest of the family doesn't notice it so much.

"Have you met Jake, Father?" Mrs. Swan asks, and I quickly turn my attention away from Bella. Then I give the young man across the table a nod.

"William Black's son, right?" He doesn't always make it to Sunday mass, but I remember him mentioning his bar once, and then I remember visiting it a few times. Maybe more.

Who's counting?

"That's right," he says, giving me the respectful smile that's expected at these things.

"And how do you know Bella?" I've been wondering since I saw them arrive together.

Jacob flashes a shy grin. "We, um, we all went to school together," he says. There's something in the way he looks over at her. Like there's more to their relationship than meets the eye. Or he's hoping there's more. But he's not about to admit any of that. At least not now. In front of her parents. Or the designated priest.

"Together?" Bella asks with a sharp tongue and a daring glare.

Jake shrugs and blushes. With just one word from the woman at my side, he looks like his pride has been wounded.

"Jake was a couple years younger," she explains to me as she stares him down. "Always trying to keep up with the older kids in the neighborhood."

"And Bella was always getting in my way," he shoots back.

"Always protecting you, you dork." She kicks him under the table.

"Bella!" Mrs. Swan chastises. "Manners!"

"I said 'dork', Mom." She turns toward me. "Is saying 'dork' a sin, Father?"

The expectancy in her eyes is disarming. Suddenly, I'm back in that dark, dank box with her debating all things holy.

"Actually, it all depends on your intention," I tell her. And I'm apparently a holy geek because I'm a little too eager to discuss this with her.

I try to tone it down.

"I'd need to know how you intended Jacob to feel when you called him a dork." She raises a brow at me. And then, I notice, so does Mrs. Swan.

It wouldn't be right to disrespect the people who've invited me here tonight, so I go in another direction than originally planned.

"On the other hand, you should always honor your father and your mother. So in this case-" I cup a hand to the side of my mouth and whisper-"probably."

Bella sighs and goes back to sipping her wine. Mrs. Swan looks triumphant. I'm not entirely pleased.

"Emmett? You and Ben were in the same grade, weren't you?" Charlie chimes in. The man is a professional at changing the subject. I like it. I'm fairly certain God does as well.

Rose's husband nods as he wipes his mouth politely with his napkin. "Football team," he says to me as he elbows his wife gently. "Rosie cheered back then. Alice was still helping Mom out at the concession stand." He points to his other sister-in-law playfully. "Bella used to harass us endlessly from the bleachers."

I can't help but grin, imagining it. Most of the Swan family laughs. Bella doesn't.

"What was Angela doing?" I ask, finding it odd she's not mentioned.

Mrs. Swan takes over. "She was sick. But I prayed. Every night, Father. And just look at her now." She gives her daughter a satisfied gaze. "Prayers answered, she's healthy as a horse, getting married."

Bella adds, "Also, um, medicine."

I chuckle but cover it with a cough. Thankfully, no one seems to have caught on. No one but Bella, that is, who looks both surprised and proud of the reaction she's gotten from me.

"Ben," I say, only slightly louder than I probably should. He jumps a little when I call his name. "You must be excited. The big day's almost here." I hold up my glass. Mostly because I need a drink. Badly. "Cheers."

"Um, yeah." he says with a shrug and a forced smile. I nod as everyone avoids eye contact and drinks.

"It's natural to be nervous," I tell him politely. After all, he's as apt to fall into temptation as Bella, right? Although, she's not the one getting married in less than two weeks. And she's certainly not the one putting on a show by sliding an unassuming arm around Angela like nothing's happened.

Give me strength, oh Lord, to accept all of your children, despite their shortcomings.

Does his fiancé know he kissed Bella? I know her mother does. But who else?

"Thanks again for saying yes, Father. We were so excited when Alice told us you were free to marry us." Angela beams from ear to ear. Until she glances at Bella. Then the smile disappears and it's clear.

She knows.

I peek around at the rest of the family as I take a drink. Rose, yes, she's avoiding eye contact with everyone and everything except for her meal.

Alice, I couldn't say. She seems altogether too happy to know.

The men of the house, not so much. They're oblivious. All except for the adulterer, of course. He's making it a point to ignore Bella by shoving as much food into his mouth as possible.

When I look over at her again, Bella's eyes meet mine for just a second or two. Maybe more. I feel like she wants to say something. I wish I knew what she was thinking.

When she looks away, tucking some hair behind her ear, I see the tattoo again. And this time I get a good look at it. It's part of a guitar.

So, she's musically inclined. Maybe she plays. Maybe she writes.

Maybe both.

She lowers her hand and I notice the piercings in her upper ear.

I notice the way she taps her foot a little when she's nervous - even though, no doubt, she'd die a thousand deaths before she admitted that to anyone. The way she fiddles with her wine glass when she's deep in thought.

The way her lips glisten just after she's licked them.

Fuck.

Forgive me Father for falling prey to the weaknesses of the flesh.

I give the sign of the cross.

"More wine, Father?" Bella asks when she notices my glass is empty. And that I'm praying about something.

"Absolutely."

And as she leans across the table in front of me, I look away.

When she pours the alcohol into my glass, I keep my eyes on the stem instead of her hands. I don't think about them touching mine. I don't recall how soft they were when our fingers were entwined earlier or how the tension built inside me when it happened.

I ignore the way my skin burns when she's gazing at me, right this very minute, and how it makes me want to bask in the warmth of her smile and spend a few hours in remorseful prayer all at the same time.

And when she finally takes her seat again, I definitely do not watch her hands slide against her thighs to try and warm them.

I swallow. Hard.

"Excuse me for a moment, will you?" I give Charlie and Renee a gracious smile and calmly push away from the table. I make my way to the restroom. One foot in front of the other. I shut the door behind me, locking it for good measure.

My breath is shaking as I do it.

I turn the faucet on and splash water on my face then grab a towel from the rack and wipe the past thirty minutes away with it.

I hold on to the sink to steady myself.

I close my eyes and say a quick prayer.

"Forgive me Father," I begin breathlessly.

Only I can't seem to finish.

I bow my head further. "Forgive me Father…"

Nope, not happening.

"Forgive me…"

I raise my head and look at the hypocrite in the mirror.

"Christ."

And it's both a cry of frustration and a prayer all in one.

I drag a hand over my face. I take a deep breath and blow it out like my life depends on it. Or at least like my priesthood depends on it.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror for a moment. And then, determined, I let myself out of the makeshift confessional and head back to dinner.

As I pass the kitchen, a breeze blows through, and I look to see the open door leading out to the back patio. Then I notice someone is standing outside that door, in the dark. Alone. Then I notice who that someone is.

Just the outline of her body in the moonlight makes my breathing a bit shallow.

I should keep walking, join the family in the dining room.

It would be dangerous to give in to temptation and be alone with her. I know this. Yet here I am, headed straight for her, as though she's been magnetized and I'm the iron, relentlessly pulled in her direction.

She's struggling to light a cigarette. And, of course, she's angry about it. But my gut tells me she's frustrated about more than just a piece of paper filled with tobacco. She needs guidance, wants it even though she refuses to ask for it. I've heard it in her voice. Seen it in her eyes. Felt it when our hands touched at grace.

I convince myself my weaknesses are not what's important here. She needs someone who isn't going to pass judgment on every word that comes out of her mouth; someone who can help her find some inner peace.

"Fuck," she groans.

I can't help but grin as I shake my head, making my way through the kitchen toward her.

I like Bella. A lot. I like her tenacity. I like that she doesn't put on airs around anyone, not even a priest. Even though she's hiding behind a wall she's built to protect herself, I can see her.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she adds to the lonely fuck she already shouted.

Lucky for her, her mother isn't the one who noticed her outside stealing a smoke.

Lucky for me, I happen to have a lighter.

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