Gio

I park my motorcycle uphill and look at the church under the starry-black night. It's quiet and desolate, only hint of life from the crickets in the grass and the summer breeze.

Dirt crushes under my boots as I approach, opening the splintered door. The stained-glass windows glint in the moonlight, bouncing colors on the biblical paintings around.

The wooden floor creaks and echoes as I hesitate down the nave, passing tables of candles that waft the air. I sit in the front aisle and set my helmet down.

Is it disrespectful to pray with a leather jacket on? I take it off just in case and bow my head.

Hello? Fuck, this is so awkward— shit, I didn't mean to— sorry, I did it again.

I grimace at the statue of Jesus by the altar.

I hope it's okay that I'm here so late, I couldn't sleep. Plus I hate people, no offense.

It's been over a year since Vivien's left, but Ariana's not getting any better. I'm trying my best, but I'm failing. I'm just not enough.

Please, send someone who can look after my girl while I... do that thing that I'm not supposed to do.

I have no choice. It's the only way. The only way to give her the future she deserves.

Please... help me. Send me someone.

Okay. Amen.

I put my jacket back on and grab my helmet to leave, counting the million babysitters Ariana has traumatized in the last twelve months.

Granted they were city people with thin skins and overbooked lives. This small suburb might bring peace to both of us—

My mind stops when a female quietly hums.

What the fuck?

I dart my eyes around the empty aisles and shut windows, seeing no one.

"Are you a ghost?" I whisper. Because I don't want to die.

Tip toeing to leave, I rotate when I realize the sounds are from the confessional to my left.

My pulse quickens as I brace to sprint out, almost face-planting on the ground when the sounds become moans.

Oh my God, it's a horny ghost.

I look over my shoulder at Jesus, squeaking 'help, man' in my head.

"Please..." She whimpers and my body turns rigid. This could be a woman in trouble.

So I drop my helmet, pumped with adrenaline to throw the attacker out. My hand clenches into a fist as I jerk the door wide, lip curling into a snarl—

Then I freeze.

As I stare at a woman.

Who's staring back, as slack-jawed as me.

She's young. She's got dark hair. And she has her hand between her thighs.

Her blue skirt is bunched around her hips and her face is flushed, large eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights.

Then she screams.

So loud it can break glass. I can't even wince before she jumps and shoves me away, sprinting out of the church.

It takes me a few seconds to shake out of it. I run out, but she's disappeared. I see nothing but dark hills and scattered houses all around.

What the...

Did I just catch a homeless, crazy woman getting off in a confessional?

Flabbergasted, I go back to grab my helmet, passing the confessional when my neck almost snaps from what I find there on the ground.

A book. The dirty kind.

And a white, fucking dildo.

I stand there, staring at the rubber dick with veins and testicles, not sure whether I should laugh or be terrified.

Curiously, I step in and pick up the book, amused by the shirtless guy on the cover. There must be a signature somewhere to show me who this belongs to...

"What the fuck..." I can't believe my eyes when I find her name on the bottom of the last page.

Celia Hale.

The preacher's daughter.

The one Arthur — my friend and a cop in this town — warned me to stay far away from.

Celia

I tuck the printed resumes in my purse, growing irritated at my father's voice in the living room.

Leaving his office, I pass the dining table where he's eating lunch with his mom. Noticing my presence, he glances up then starts choking on his food when he sees the dress I'm wearing.

I feign nonchalance as I slide into my combat boots while my grandma hands him a glass of water and gives me a knowing look.

Bending down to tighten the knots, I anticipate the incoming insult in three... two... one—

"No one will hire you, Celia," my father says for the hundredth time. "I told you, they won't go against my will. Aren't you embarrassed yet?"

"Of you? Yes," I calmly reply.

"I'll pay for your tuition, but you have to change your major to something that's not a disgrace," he says, lifting his fork to eat.

"You know what's a disgrace?" I straighten up, staring coldly though he doesn't look back. "Preaching about free will and unconditional love, but practicing the opposite in private."

He scoffs, a smile on his lips. "Kids. They grow up so fast and think they know everything."

"Enough, Stefan." My grandma drops her toast on her plate, standing up to hobble around the table towards me. "She chose to study Philosophy and now she's paying the price. She doesn't need your discouragement."

"Discouragement." He repeats. "The only thing that's discouraging in this house is the fact that she wants to become a lawyer and defend criminals for money!"

"That's right," I say with a smile. "Doesn't the Bible say you can't serve two masters at the same time? I simply chose mine."

"Disobeying doesn't make you smart, Celia." He points his finger. "It just makes you unstable and emotional like your—"

"Stefan!" My grandma gasps while dull agony thumps my chest.

"Go ahead..." I tilt my head. "Finish that sentence."

He lets out a shaky breath and jerks his chair back, then marches into his office, shutting the door behind him. I scoff, looking away from it.

"Don't let it get to you..." My grandma croaks, holding onto my hands to pull me down, kissing my forehead. "You look so beautiful in her dress, Celia."

"I do?" I glance down at myself.

"Are we still on for poker night in our room?" She smiles, lifting my spirits.

"Depends..." I hold her withered hand in both of mine. "Are you ready to lose all your money again?" I smirk. "Because if so, I might as well stop looking for a job—"

"Get out of here!" She yanks her hand to smack me across the head, but I run away, blowing her a kiss over my shoulder.

~

The light mood she powered me with is enough fuel to face the day ahead.

I follow the same routine — walking into coffee shops, restaurants, grocery stores and beauty salons, asking if they're hiring. Then I pretend to believe them as they say they're not.

I pretend not to feel a thing when they lecture on what's best for me, fantasizing of ways to kill them the whole time.

The cashier at the supermarket? I'd choke him with the telephone wire. Or smack his head with the scanning device to make him bend then fling my knee to his face.

The housewife who owns a nail salon? I don't know, maybe pour acetone in her eyes.

The restaurant owner who's older than my dad, but gives me the creepy eye? Burn the restaurant down with him inside.

Fuck Shadow Hills and everyone in it.

Fuck their bidet toilets and holier-than-thou attitudes.

And fuck the new guy from East LA who barged in on me last night.

Two years. I've been going to that church after midnight for the last two years without any visitors. It had become my safe haven, the space where I felt sane.

What's his name? Gio? He's all the neighborhood has been talking about.

I kick a stone on the ground and my stomach growls, reminding me I haven't eaten. I stop at a small gas station and buy cookies with milk.

My feet hurt from walking for five hours and my skin is sticky from being under the sun.

I saunter down the wide streets with no soul around. Everyone's cocooned inside. I pass each one, wondering what their lives are like.

The thought of going home suffocates my throat as I stare at my boots, wishing they were walking on a different ground.

One day...

The sun veils the rooftops and streets with gold, reminding me that there's hope. That there's always a way. That some things in life are unstoppable and I am one of them.

Kids laugh ahead, near an abandoned house. I get close, noticing two boys whispering while shoving dirt inside a hole on the ground.

"What are you guys doing?" I prompt, picking up a stick.

The two pop their heads up with wide eyes and bolt in the opposite direction, laughing.

Shaking my head, I get close to inspect the hole and gasp when something whimpers inside.

Falling on my knees, I bury my hands in the soil, getting it under my fingernails and ruining my mom's white dress.

"Oh my God..." I choke when a brown puppy pokes its nose out.

I reach my hand for him to sniff. "Come out, buddy," my voice breaks, "you're okay, I promise. Come on."

He licks my finger with his little tongue and limps out, tail wagging and head down.

"Poor baby..." I coo when he lifts his paw to show me his wound. "I got you, come here."

I scoop my arm under his belly and put him on my lap, sitting cross-legged on the ground.

"You hungry?" I ask, reaching inside my purse for the small carton of milk. I rip the top open and place it in front of him. "Here, you can drink it like a bowl, see?"

While he eats, I inspect his paw and wince at the blood staining his fur. Thankful that I decided to wear a headband today, I unravel it from the back, hushing the puppy as I wrap his wound so it doesn't get infected.

"You must be new in town," I say, petting his head. "Don't you know all the stray dogs have my protection? You just need to hang around my house. We're having beef stew today."

I'm alarmed when he suddenly springs up and scurries towards a tree, hiding behind it.

"Okay, so you don't like beef stew," I mumble as he pokes his head. "There are more—"

Someone behind me clears his throat. "Excuse me..."

Now I'm the one leaping to my feet, clutching my chest as I whip around.

Oh, shit. It's him.

~ A/N ~
Thoughts so far on our Celia and Gio?! Also, I won't split the chapters into two POVs moving forward. Fingers crossed that this was okay?