The Pope

by L.P. Lovell

A virgin. Full of sins un-forgiven — just languishing on the soul. Religious or not, I find that usually does something to a person. Guilt and absolution are powerful. The human conscience is fragile, and often religion will lend it a false sense of strength when it falters.

“Do you believe you are worthy of redemption?” “No.” Ah, a sinner who does not seek forgiveness, only acceptance. A rare gem. “Then where does that leave you, Delilah?” There’s a pause. “Lost,” she whispers. “Then find your way home.”

I want to know how far the pretty girl with the sad eyes has fallen.

“So pretty,” he whispers. “So steeped in sin.”

She looks as though she has the weight of the world on her shoulders and it’s slowly crushing her. Good. I want her broken and crumbling. I want her crawling on her knees for me, begging for salvation only I can give.

But I knew she’d come. Her demons demand it of her. I see them dancing in her eyes, but they calm when I’m near because they recognise their own.

She thinks I can save her, but little does she know that she asks the devil for salvation.

I want all those sins to fall from her pretty lips like raindrops in a storm

I don’t run from my demons. I embrace them.

My whole life feels like a ticking time bomb just waiting to implode, and when it does, I’m going to be left with nothing, not even myself.

I will corrupt her, one beautiful sin at a time.

The Bible would tell you that the Devil waits to tempt us into sin, but the truth is that by nature, we are all sinners. We can’t help ourselves. We’re addicted to our own mortal demise.

I’ve never even bothered with women past a few nights of pleasure, never understood the concept of love. But as I look at her, so beautiful, so broken, I realise love pales in comparison to this…obsession. There’s very little I wouldn’t do to have her.

“Little do you know, sweet Delilah,” I lean in close, nipping her earlobe, “For even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.”

“People sin all the time. They ask for forgiveness they don’t really want, and for what? So they may go to a better place when they die. They don’t embrace their sins. They don’t suffer for them.”

“There’s nothing horrible about it. You are who you are, Delilah. Cloaked in shadows. So beautifully steeped in sin.”

She’s breaking, and it’s so precious because as she splinters apart, she’ll reform into something stronger.

Tender becomes brutal, and I welcome it because I want the storm that is Judas. I want lashing rain and howling wind. I want to have my foundations shaken and ripped up. I need him to pull me from the wreckage and allow me to be reborn: stronger, better.

“That nervous titter in your stomach, the racing of your heart; its survival instinct. It’s your mind telling you to run.”

There’s an air around her, the shameful confidence of a sinner who does not seek forgiveness. She’s beautiful. She’s perfect.

Judas is a bad man, and it’s that which keeps me safe. The devil protects his own.

“Baptise me,” I beg against his lips. He pulls back, meeting my gaze. “Right here. Right now.” “Ah, but that would wash away your sins, and you wear them so beautifully.”

“And now look at you. You’re drowning in sin, like an angel of death.” His lips brush over mine. “I simply handed you retribution. I had faith in you.”