🔥 Paint the sky,

make it yours. 🔥

--- *** ---
--- The Next Morning ---
--- 27th of October, 1964 ---

Within the approaching morning swifter than summer breeze nowhere else than in the Monsignor's en-suite bedroom where you both shared separate beds, in fact, you weren't intimately close to each other, you were deeply drifted off asleep on the comfy compact bed. The mid-autumn climate was parallel to the common chilly climate that ventilated the lifelessly dull asylum's walls.

At the moment, you could sense loneliness encompassed you or at least, you didn't have a sixth sense of somebody else's presence accompanying you in the bedroom except your somber silhouette, mirroring against the eye-catchingly abstract light bumblebee yellow painted wall which secured you on your right side. Snorting in a light-heavy inhale the mid-autumn, pleasant odor of lavender, amalgamating with the reek of dried-blood smeared cloth-clad wafting across your nose whilst your eyelids vacillatingly timidly trembling until your {E/C} gemstones snapped open at the partly light room and embraced by the wee morning's saturating, aureate sun rays smiling to your partly illuminated freshly cleansed complexion from the dried gore and your freshly remedied hideously plum tints, scarcely rebukingly trouncing you with sore pain, pinching your flimsy epidermis due to the slightly late treatment which was better than being dumped hardly disinfected and disarming the infection's malicious arsenal.

"Oh God!" After fashioning your white-knuckled calloused hands in balled fists to daub your groggy {E/C} gemstones and muffling a yawn, mounting your mouth afterwards, an inevitably haphazard grunt rolled your tongue as a tempest wave and pitching the hushing atmosphere with the eloquent morning birdsong, encircling the old, notorious madhouse.

Shortly after you came fully to your senses and the haze gradually, perpetually didn't fog your vision any longer, subsequently you could behold everything clearer and more meaningfully. The aspiring Monsignor wasn't even in the en-suite bedroom. Your heart skipped a beat abruptly.

Little did you know where he could be except if he's in his own office or on the contrary fled his territory and getting back to his work. Or rather, getting dressed and ready for the day, factly, after scanning on Timothy's nightstand the clock with the digitals, glimmering the approximate time which was "6:25am" in the morning, without thinking twice you're readily sure it was high time for him to get ready even not delay with his arrival in certain places where his presence was obligatory such as the church and certain outskirts the small city of Massachusetts even out of Boston.

Moreover, what it startled you and snapped you out of the clock's recent time was the security guards even certain staff members that are responsible for checking on the patients and their wards were perhaps starting to look for you even Sister Jude was after you after probably discovering your ward empty to pieces and acknowledging your disappearance even plotting her blood-thirsty punishment for you whether if she encounters you or on the contrary one of the staff members informs her about you. Your heart sunk in oblivion. You're more than ready for another punishment from the coldblooded, stern sister of the church and encountering momentarily the canes' arsenal, welting and wounding your bare rear, foreshadowing the sequence of your disappearance and spending the night in Timothy's bedroom as he took care of you unlike her or the doctor who's responsible for the patients' conditions in his laboratory.

You were pearly grateful to the clergyman for being the only one who took his responsibility to refugee you to spend a night in a warmer, cozier bed with comfily soft duvet and cleaning the dried gore along with disinfecting the bruises. Eventually the clergyman had sufficient medicine knowledge to manage a healing of bruises and giving first aid to the injured which he's been through his life and learning that from school in biology class. You didn't even know how to grant modicum of your gratitude for everything he did. From the mellow consolation a few nights ago just when you're jailed in Briarcliff up to your arranged release within a handful of days solely and taking a good care of you whom nobody from the staff members has done for you. The sole thing you granted him as myriad of your gratitude to the man of the cloth whom you possibly won't encounter ever again after fleeing the lifeless realm of madness was listening to his story about how his family doesn't even love him and he criminally, woefully regrets the rejection he ventured to his family with joining the church, solemnly taking his unbreakable, flimsy vows and pursuing persistently his golden ambition, besides his pessimism and intentions of finding his own death, buried beneath his frosty gravestone and nobody mourning over his death even daring to step beside his gravestone and set small scale of bouquet flowers, enveloped smartly to embellish the carob soil's blanket.

The moment whenever you discovered Timothy was just a mere man with his own needs, feelings and desires was when you contemplated inexorably his red-rimmed coffee brown jewels, flaming fatly tears and your attempts to daub them from his porcelain, youthful complexion even to encouragingly console him. You could somehow you're both connected spiritually though in different ways. His passion for the divine ambition and pursuing it eagerly was the reason why his family no longer was interested in him even didn't demonstrate morsel quantity of their unconditional love for their heir, besides supporting him to ascend in the highest tiers of the church. Further, your grandparents who took care of you during your high school years and your short-timed drug dealer business, they're tremendously ashamed of you and didn't even support your decision to earn filthy wealth with distributing illegal narcotics to its clients, in order to strive for you and Claudia and Todd's survival. You're both outcasts of your families even though there wasn't any heir of your roots any longer to resume altogether your family's journey through the years and the generation's evolution. Last but not least, what unconditionally connected both of you and you're both ecclesiastically related to you both fled your own birth towns and emigrated somewhere else to have a fresh start, consequently opening a new chapter in your lives.

After unwrapping lazily the duvet from your petite-frame and hopping up in the comfy, threadbare patient slippers, a note was left on your nightstand along with a silver-polished hand mirror catching your eye.

Your instincts ventured you to admonish to read the note, although you zanily glanced down at the silver hand mirror, still questioning its item what has to do with the sheet of paper.

Shortly after yanking the sheet of paper and perusing the familiar manuscript which glinted past your vision, the inked paragraphs was scanned warily whilst whimpering a deep breath, seconds before starting to study the details.

Dear {Y/N},

I know how odd it appeared to be the last night for both of us, nevertheless, I'm more than honored to save your life from taking care of your bruises and cleaning the dried blood which Sister Jude would never do due to her lack of tolerance towards new patients who doubt her. You don't even doubt me at all. I noticed that she behaves quite strange lately, however, that's out of the question.

I don't even know how to express my gratitude to you for listening to me the last night and spending each second to be all ears about my pain and how uneasy is to be a loner and most of all, rejected by your family who don't love and support you anymore due to your choice. I think we're somehow connected spiritually and I think I can hear what kind of plans God has for both of us.

You're amidst the fewest people who cares and listens to me or at least cares about me without judging me at first sight.

The last night, you were undeniably vulnerable when I was taking a good care of you and what it struck me with amusement was how it was among the fewest peaceful moments we shared together without the staff members surrounding us. The silent night was just ours and it's supposed to be our little secret, right? Neither Sister Jude, nor nobody else must know what we've been through the night before.

No matter if she finds out somehow you weren't in your own cell and she punishes you, chin up, {Y/N}! If she orders your imprisonment to be situated in the solitary, I'll find you and release from that miserable place. Furthermore, your release is arranged for the next morning and you don't need to worry about Sister Jude or anybody who considers you harmful, because I'm otherwise on another opinion unlike them.

What it struck me about you was your honesty and how fearless you appeared to speak your mind even when you made a revelation to me you weren't pious at all and you didn't believe in God. I don't care what you used to be in your past and that you were a former drug dealer in a short-timed business, but you're quite interesting person. I don't know how everything begun with such intension, howsoever, I've always found the honest ladies to be way more interesting even when they possess enigmatic aura, oozing of them just like you. I'm trying to guess your favorite colour is blue. Or I'm rather mistaking something?

I'd love to get to know you more, regardless the circumstances.

You can check in the hand mirror your reflection and what happened to your bruises and the cleaned dried gore. Hopefully you feel like a new person, {Y/N}!

Wishing you the best!

From Timothy

Within the elapsing minutes in perusing each letter, each word and each paragraph, poured in the blank and the ink's oil smoothly smeared underneath the holy man's name, you couldn't help but flourishing content, merry smirk adorning your facial features and alight contour accenting your lower eyelids. You couldn't feel more heartened by the ambitious Monsignor's note and call him your own savior for managing the plum tints' treatment and disinfecting them exceeding even hopefully keeping to his own words, paged up in the blank. In the interval, you dumped the sheet of paper on the nightstand and snatched the silver-lacquered hand mirror and initially commencing with your face's profile, examining in a scrutiny the pure freshness of your young-looking complexion and how the hairline even your scalp were no longer thickly blood-stained, contemplating in awe and cherishing the British compatriot's hard work to smarten your looks with his medical knowledge and beneficial usage in his practice. Thereafter you manipulated your avert from the mirrored reflection on the hand mirror and landing your {E/C} gems to encounter the freshly disinfected tints on your partly bare arms and legs.

Within a minute or so when you had intentions of fleeing surreptitiously the Monsignor's en-suite bedroom and his office, once your petite, amusingly warm hand was met with the door handle and venturing it turned, a small open space of gap to peer childishly inquisitive, in case, if his office was delightfully empty to flee to your own ward before the security guards and the nuns begun looking for you agitatedly.

All of a sudden, light pinkness tickled your cheeks with bountiful layer of blush, heat uncomfortably creeping beneath your facial skin at the sight of the British compatriot's turned back to put on his priest collar, whilst his bare muscular, alabaster toned back was turned to your gaze, scarcely averting your {E/C} jewels from the embarrassing vista of his naked torso. Fortunately, the man of the cloth wasn't turned to face you even glimpse backward. You hungrily drank and drained with your jewels his alabaster, muscly arms ushering the priest collar clothing his torso, obscuring the marbled skin to be out of its realistic sight and concealed. A disappointed grunt, solely distinctive for you rolled out of your mouth, narrowing your artistically expressive eyebrows how the older man's natural flesh was no longer glimmering its natural skin tone and it was currently donned in the miserable cloth of chastity.

Then you immediately shut the door and unwrapped your dainty brittle fingers from the door handle and squinted up at the cross, hanging on the wall and eerily cusping the both compact single beds, faking your pants and doing subtly the Sign of the Cross, whilst approaching slowly but surely with awkward footsteps the cross, reciting in a murmur a meaningless prayer due to your humongous luck for not being caught in trouble for contemplating the half-naked holy man getting ready for the day and putting on his top. On other hand, you craved to pepper his toned, muscular naked back with featherly delicate, creamy kisses and your palms grazing the delicate skin smoothly. Meanwhile, you found yourself helplessly swimming through the tempest waves of your ocean of impure thoughts, depicting already the tantalizing fantasies of running your elvish, weathered pallid hands his overall back, admiring his pure masculinity and muscularity.

The blush lingered on your twin chubby, well-sculptured cheeks, hardly vanishing in the thin air after emitting a sharp exhale and transfixing your irises on the cross yet.

--- *** ---

--- An Hour Later or So ---

An hour or so after you pretended to take your regular medicaments and having a poor-quality breakfast, you ventured your shift in the bakery with the other patients as your dough-greased-clad hands' fingers were kneading dexterously the round shaped unbaked breads, stilling your studious stare to your current task.

The soundtrack of patients' babbles and their fingers whether nimbly or clumsily kneading the dough to shape exquisitely the raw breads tingled monotonous tunes into your ears until what it was oblivious for you was the head nun of the mental institution entering in the bakery and approaching you in surreptitious, vain tiptoeing until you felt pair of alabaster, lean with flabbergasting strength arms snaking horrifyingly around your waist and dragging you out of the bakehouse without warning and without an ado, startling you and you writhed to escape the blonde's grip which you acknowledged shortly after you sensed the extra weight burdening and trapping you in her own grasp which was far from vulnerably weak for a nun.

Antagonizing scowl thickened her Boston lilt, her mint breath fanning and generously brushing your earlobe though her balefully bared ivory teeth and dashing you in her grasp up to her office at the sight of ocean of inquisitive eyes of staff members and inmates, darted to you and Jude. In the meanwhile, the sole alternatives you had were writhing in her tight grip and blathering series of pleas which were pitching a desert's whispers in its hushing, arcane ballad.

"It's unbelievable I found your cell empty earlier this morning, Miss {Y/N} {L/N}!" At the moment, after swinging open her office's door after with great deal of efforts dragging your figure to her office and pushing you violently, forcefully as you flumped clumsily on the cemented floor, the sound of the flump heavily juddering her office's background after slamming vehemently the door shortly after stepping diligently and maintaining a handful of inches proximity together, curling her naturally mauve, plumpish lips in addressing you sardonically to belittle you. "Where you've been, you little slut? Screwing with Spivey?" You hesitantly turned to face the austere blonde, whose maniacal croaks whimpered at the top of her lungs, narrowing her dark thin eyebrows and furrowing her glaring hazelish-brown jewels at you, blazing her outstanding spleen and adrenaline pulsating into her body. "Huh? Isn't that a brothel for ya, is it?"

"Sister, I haven't screwed anybody for my own pleasure! I would never use anybody for my own pleasure." Your palms lazily supported your weight, sitting on your knees on the icy ground, opting to abide as cool as cucumber and your integrity to aid you to flee the antagonizing territory promptly.

"What a bald-faced liar ya are, Miss {Y/N}!" Suddenly she strode up to the grandiose, glamorously lacquered armoire with rich collection of canes, sorted by their size. "On my desk!" Meantime, her spidery marbled finger ushered you emphatically to bend against her hard wood desk, hissing silently through her gritted teeth, scarcely averting her glare from you. "Now!" Thereafter her petite hand reached for the armoire's handle and clicking in a single swinging open the double door to be embraced by the luxurious collection of canes, whereas you took your time to straighten your posture from the ground and manipulating to pat in dusting your own round knees and attires and bend against her hard wood bureau, following meekly her instruction, peering over your dainty shoulder the process of the blonde diffidently choosing the suitable cane to punish you for your disappearance from your own ward overnight.

"Jesus, Sister! Do whatever it costs you to punish me and I'll swear up and down yet I haven't done whatever you try to accuse me."

"Okay, {Y/N}! Let's make a deal."

"Go for it!" After the former sleazy jazz nightclub singer slammed stormily the double door of the armoire and ambled up to you in cocksure gait, indicating her nervousness and revered position, whilst lifting up your patient gown's hem and the sight of your bare buttocks glimmering past her honey brown embers as she fiercely pushed your face forward facing the hard wood material, hardly contacting your feeble facial skin. You were all ears to hearken the deal which you may take solemnly your vow to not violate it.

"Excellent, {Y/N}! First and foremost, I'm asking the questions and you give me a response. If I decide they're true, you're going to get away and I'll let ya free." In the interval, your folds were commencing to be soaked due to the sensuality which the blonde highlighted in her northern lilt, tingling angelic hymns into your ears even when she's unbearably austere and professional as she leaned past your face, bleating the whisper and fanning sultry with her mint breath your earlobe, sending paradoxal paroxysm sedating your bones and muscles even weakening your knees which tried their best to support your weight to not demolish butterfingeredly, pristinely on the ground again. "Or otherwise, if you tell me a lie, two bloody canes behind yar ass per a lie. We good?"

"Sure!" You reaffirmed your position with a meek bob of your head in agreement, whilst the former sleazy nightclub singer charged the cane with a handful of inches from your butt-naked buttocks, hissing past your earlobe.

"Good! First and foremost, did you fuck anybody?"

"No!" Suddenly the first two whips contacting your bare rear with authoritative, unnatural force rendered you flinching from the spot, grappling tightly and strong-willingly the edge of the desk, subsequently footling an everlasting, inwardly throaty whimper, snapping shut your eyelids for a split second.

"Nasty liar! Then whom did ya have impure thoughts of?" Even when Judy was getting closer to the truth of your recent fresh impure thoughts of the ambitious Monsignor, you stifled a gasp after catching between your front ivory teeth your lower cherub chapped lip. "Huh?"

"Nobody!"

"A second lie! I guess, Shelley gives ya a horrendous example how to communicate with the men especially the Monsignor."

"I swear, Sister, no matter if I was out of my cell or to steal from the bakery, I'd never take an example from Shelley!" The unambiguousness, puncturing your graveness was followed by another notoriously screechy smack, drumming bloodily your buttocks twice and leaving sanguinely-tinted welts and bruises mapping your ass cheeks shamelessly as you cocked back your head, although Jude managed to pull your mane of hair, pushing your face forward harshly to collapse forward on the cherry wood desk.

"Do not make it hard for me, {Y/N}!" Afterwards she tossed her cane in defeated stance and maneuvering to linger one of her hands to grasp your patient gown's rigid hem, whereas her only free hand's fingers shoved downward to your ass cheeks, caressing its overall prospect of welts and bleeding slits. "Ya have a final chance if ya don't want to end in the solitary." All of a sudden, you caught a glimpse of her bended petite-frame against yours, scarcely maintaining an appropriate distance as she captured in cupping your cheeks in the palms of her elvish, alabaster hands, ogling at you with amalgamation of abhorrence, desire and lust. You could yet question her sexual orientation and how she's still after the juvenile holy man, you haven't predicted her intentions to you nonetheless. You still knew that the homosexuality was immorally foul in the contemporary coldly crude world and it was deemed as nothing than a detrimental sin, staining your very soul. Your breathing hitched once you found your complexions scarcely swapping proximity in an inch. "Look at me!" Her caramel brown embers begged for yours, offering you an ominous smirk, curling across her rosy-coloured, plumpish lips. "I know what a little annoying wight of the devil you're, but I've to admit you're undeniably pretty, {Y/N}!" Little did you know what her manipulative intentions and would be she capable of violating you physically, besides mentally.

"You've to be kidding me, Sister!" Shivers pulsated down your spine of embarrassment and foreign sentiment towards the female's intimacy, connecting your essences and fleshes when you sensed the delicate trace of the pads of her slim, long fingers tracing your well-carved cheekbones, admiring your youthful grace. "You treat me like nothing than your own slave."

"Bullshit on top of bullshit, Miss {Y/N}! Let's forget about the pain and the punishment I gave ya to behave better for yar lust towards men." Suddenly you managed to roll your eyes which wasn't unseen by the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer, slipping her thumb to brush gingerly, featherly your lower lip, staring right at your soul with her feline smoky quartz gemstones, imbibing your weaknesses and worries, oddly finding yourself molting under her gaze like a small, injured and flexible lamb. "Don't roll those beautiful eyes of yars!"

"For how long have you wished to be that intimate with a female, Sister?"

"For first and last time, I'm not Sister Jude or whatever ya think ya can call me. My real name is Judy." Instead of earning the answer you're begging with your gravely posed question, meanwhile, the older lady rolled eyes, while you instinctively draped around her shoulders though you'd never expect your body language to correspond to the foreign phenomenally ambiguous sentiment. A sheepishly bashful, girlish smile swayed across your cherub cracked lips. "Judy!"

"Judy?" At the moment, the older woman hummed lowly in vouch, bobbing her head faintly, reaffirming your timid enquiry when you spelled her real name for first time, the frequent blink of your eyelids in choir corresponded to her batting her own long, thickly ebony eyelashes as flapping shadow infernal wings at you. "I like it."

"Your name is prettier! And back to yar question which is going to be our little secret that I've always been attracted to males, but I'm slightly curious what it feels like to be with a woman."

"Curious?" In the meanwhile, silver-tongued hum unzipped her naturally roseate lips, while you reconsidered her rational explaination and opting to assimilate after pursing your chapped lips for a several seconds. "Aren't you actually married to God body, soul and mind, Judy?"

"I'm afraid my God doubts me and no longer worships my very existence, {Y/N}!" Suddenly she smacked her roseate lips with yours and capturing them in a hardening, steamy kiss and snapping clutch tight shut your eyelids like blinds at the surprisingly molting kiss which you shared altogether for very first time, while your slim, pristinely long fingers curled in a choir with your shoed toes in your patient slippers.

Author's Note: From now on the weird plot twists' beginning of the saga emanate! Tell me how awfully weird I started the trio dilemma with the reader, Jude and Tim!