midnight mass

raining blessings

Coming to this meeting had to have been one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

I held myself accountable. Lately I'd been having a sort of drinking problem, so to speak. It was easy to think about how I could be back at my apartment in Boston and not on this island, trying to clean out my dead grandfather's house. And it was easy to grab a bottle and start drinking away my despair.

I heard about these AA meetings from Erin. She said it would be Riley and the priest, Paul Hill, who I only saw once at the potluck because I didn't go to church, and who was incredibly attractive. Sinfully so. I almost turned around and walked out tonight when I pushed open the rec center doors and there was no Riley to be found, only that damn priest.

Unfortunately for me, he heard me and looked up before I could run away.

"Hello," he greeted, putting down the Bible he had been reading, smiling at me with that sort of empathetic smile of his, "Are you here for the AA
meeting or did you just wonder in on accident?"

I thought about lying. I could say it was an accident, yes, and leave and pretend this never happened.

Accountability, Y/n

"Um, yeah. I am." I took a few cautious steps toward the chair opposite of him. "I thought Riley came to these as well."

"Oh yes, he normally does. Something must have come up tonight for him," he gestured to the seat across from him, "have a seat please. Allow me to introduce myself."

The meeting went surprisingly well. He tried to get me to say serenity with him and seemed a little out off when I told him I didn't know it, wasn't religious, but got over it. By the end I actually felt pretty good, he was actually kinda good company.

He asked to walk me home, who was I to refuse, and around the time we were passing the church a huge roll of thunder and rain poured down on us.

"Shit!" I frustratedly yelped. My house was still so far away.

Father Paul gripped my forearm tightly and started pulling me toward his home.

"Come wait it out with me," he stated kindly, walking briskly to try to not get wet, "I can't allow you to walk home in this."

"Are you sure?" I asked uncertainly. I didn't wanna do anything improper.

"Of course," he assured. We were on his porch now and he pushed the door open and pulled you inside, grip still on your forearm.

His home was kinda cute. Truthfully I had expected crosses everywhere and a sort of dark, heavy vibe, but it was far from that.

"Oh you're soaked," Paul broke you out of your observations, "hmm let me see, I can get you some dry clothes."

I went to protest, but at the start of it Father Paul struck me with a no arguments look and it died on my tongue.

He ran off to his room and returned with what looked like a pair of grey sweats and a red sweater.

"You can change in my room." He said pointing to the door he just came out of.

The absurdity of the situation was sort of catching up to you and all you could do was nod and follow his instructions.

His room was cute too, I noted, as I pulled off my sneakers. I peeled my wet jeans off my legs and slipped the sweats on.

As I was taking off my sweater, I saw a picture on his wall that intrigued me. I threw my sweater down, took a step toward the picture, and promptly tripped on my wet jeans and fell on my face.