born to die

12

BORN TO DIE ── charlie mayhew.

A week has passed, It's Saturday morning, and I'm lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, the minutes ticking by. My phone buzzes on the nightstand, but I don't reach for it. I know what day it is. I know where I'm supposed to be right now—at the food drive, like I promised. But instead, I'm here, curled up under the covers, feeling the weight of my decision press down on me.

I can't go.

I've been telling myself all week that I would. That I'd get up, brush it off, and show up like nothing happened. But now, with the morning sun seeping through the window, the thought of seeing Father Charlie again, of facing him after everything that happened, makes my chest tighten. It feels too complicated, too heavy.

The embarrassment from that night at the diner still lingers. The way I broke down, the way he chased after me and saw me at my most vulnerable—it all feels too raw. I've never been good at letting people in, and the idea that he—of all people—saw me like that still makes my skin prickle with shame.

I sigh, rolling onto my side, pulling the blanket tighter around me. My phone buzzes again, and this time, I reach for it. A message notification lights up the screen, and my heart sinks when I see his name.

Father Charlie: Are you coming?

I stare at the message, How could I forget we exchanged numbers. My thumb hovers over the keyboard. I should respond. I should say something. But what? What could I possibly say that wouldn't make things more awkward than they already are? Sorry, I'm too embarrassed to face you? Sorry, I'm scared of these feelings I don't understand?

I drop the phone back on the bed, burying my face in the pillow with a groan. I should have gone. I should be there, standing with the other volunteers, handing out food with a smile, pretending everything is fine. But I can't. Not after the way my heart sank when I saw him with that woman at the diner. Not after the way I broke down in front of him, crying like my world was falling apart.

And then the drive home... the way he was so calm, so kind— It's not his fault. He did nothing wrong, and yet, everything between us feels complicated now.

Because it's not just about that night. It's about the way I've been thinking about him ever since I first walked into that church. The way I've caught myself looking for him every Sunday, wondering what it would feel like to talk to him more, to know him outside the church

But that's not something I can let happen. It shouldn't happen. He's a priest. He's devoted his life to something far greater than me, and whatever I'm feeling... it's wrong. It's impossible.

I sigh again, rolling onto my back, staring at the ceiling as the minutes pass by. Guilt gnaws at me, knowing I've let him down. I promised I'd be there, and now I'm hiding, avoiding him, avoiding the truth of what's really been happening in my head.

But what am I supposed to do? I'm not ready to face him. I'm not ready to admit the way I feel everytime I see him, every time he looks at me.

My phone buzzes again, and I glance at it, expecting another message from him. But it's not. It's a reminder from my calendar—something I scheduled a week ago when I thought I'd be spending today at the food drive. It feels like a reminder of my failure.

I shut my eyes, trying to block it all out. I can't stay in this limbo forever, though. Sooner or later, I'll have to go back, I'll have to see him again. But today isn't that day. Today, I need space. I need time to untangle this mess inside me.

The phone buzzes one last time, and I force myself to look at it. Another message from him.

Father Charlie: Is everything alright?

I bite my lip, He's worried. Of course, he's worried. That's just who he is. He cares. He doesn't know, but he still cares.

I take a deep breath, my fingers shaking slightly as I type out a response.

Me: I'm sorry. I can't make it today. Something came up.

It's a lie. A half-truth. But it's the best I can do. I hit send and drop the phone onto the bed, pulling the covers up over my head.