House Of God

I stood in front of the altar in the church on Main. It had been a while since I was last here. I should lace my fingers and pray for forgiveness. Yet, I stood on my feet and stared vacantly at the crucifix. I thought of Neil. He was the one who brought me to the house of God, who taught, and told me to have faith. He was once my faith. The savior, the man in a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, sketching by the ocean, was whom I envisioned to take me away from a destined misery. For a short while, I thought I was saved and rescued until he realized he had made a mistake. I was that mistake. 

I wanted to say God knew I tried, but then God would also know I lied to him and to myself. I bowed my head, the last gesture of a ceding devotion. In this place, I found solitude and not peace. Peace was what I wanted and couldn't have.

A man walked past me, and my eyes followed him. The clacking from my heels hitting the wooden floor echoed as I made my way to the confessional. It was the only sound to be heard, as if it symbolized something divine. Sitting down, I was silent. The man on the other side cleared his throat.

"I think I'm lost," I said. The dim light beams came through the empty spaces created by the woven-patterned panel.

"God will lead you to the right path," said the man with a soothing voice.

"Does God still love me after what I've done?" I was shiftless, leaning my head against the door.

"God forgives you and loves you as long as you have him in your heart," he tried to convince and persuade me.

"What about you?" I lazily turned my head to the screen that separated him from me. "Did you love me, Neil?"

Several seconds of pause was enough as an answer. Letting out a deep exhale, I looked away, and my hand reached for the door latch.

The screen slid down, and there he was. His sunken cheeks, straight nose, and the eager attempt to show a genuine sentiment in those deep emotionless eyes.

"Why did you ask?" He said, slightly tilting his head.

"Where's Victoria?" I ignored his question and asked indifferently.

He smiled.

"Where's my son?"

The same smile stayed.

"You're trapped," I said, "you'll never leave the county."

"Your threat is empty," he leaned in and whispered. "You can't do what De Rossi asked of you."

"What makes you think that?" I sneered.

He looked into my eyes as if he wanted to peer into the depth of my soul. He used to be rather good at it.

"Because you, Annie, aren't a killer," he was smug. "You won't kill me. And if I died, then you'll never know his whereabouts."

Taking a deep breath, I said: "What if I say I don't care enough to know? He's better off without me anyway."

"See, you're cruel and heartless," he curled his lips. That disdainful and condescending smirk hung still on his lips. "You don't care about him. You're only thinking about yourself."

"You can't manipulate me anymore," I said, pausing between words. He wanted to provoke me, and I couldn't let him get his way. Then he'd win. He wouldn't win this time. I wasn't angry, for he was right. I was heartless, and my transgressions would never be forgiven. "That's enough, Neil; for the love of God, I've had enough."

"You don't know a thing about God," he scorned.

-----

Thomas sat straight at his desk. I clasped my hands and kept my back straight. He raised his eyebrow, seemingly amused by my unexpected presence. It was quiet in his office. All the windows were closed, and the fireplace was on. Winter took the form of warmth and made its way to Los Angeles. I wished the fire wasn't on.

"Well," he smacked his lips, "what can I do for you today?"

Calm and poised, this and any other job made no difference to him. He spoke casually and paid no mind to the turmoil he brought upon me. In this office, I wasn't his wife; I was a subject. And inside the Bel Air house, I was his property. My role as his wife only existed when he saw fit. Sometimes at a party, sometimes at a deal, but bizarrely, always in front of Wesley.

"Why didn't you tell me you're selling Victoria's house to Antonio De Rossi?" I asked straight-faced.

"I didn't want to bother you when you have pressing work to do," he shrugged and reached for his glass.

His attitude and tone of speech put me on edge. I felt isolated, excluded, and discarded. It had been this way since Wesley joined the family.

"Do you want me gone?" I asked forthrightly. "Am I no longer of use to you?"

"Nonsense," he shook his head slowly and denied. "You're an essential member of the family."

There was no sincerity in his voice. He was monotoned yet incredibly triggering and irritating. I walked around the desk and stood next to him. He looked up. I looked down. The moment was short-lived, for he got on his feet instantaneously.

"You think nothing of me, absolutely nothing," I finally said what I always wanted to tell him. "You're only using me."

He looked down. I looked up.

"Is that so? Is that what you think?" He said in aloof hostility. "Aren't you using me too? Isn't that why you agreed to marry me? In that sense, we're equal. Anne, you aren't the victim, so don't play like one."