I WAS JUST TRYING TO BE FUNNY | ✓

▬ 25

I'VE BEEN THE JOKE ALL ALONG

            I've never particularly liked the church in Sufsdale. Nothing's wrong with it, it's just, aside from it being Anglican and us being Methodist, white church is dismal: they make every service into a funeral. I doubt God would strike them down if they sang a song that was upbeat every once in a while.

But today, sombre contemplation is exactly what I need.

Since it's a Monday afternoon, in addition to me, only three others remain in prayer, each of us occupying a pew in different quarters of the nave. I've read the Bible cover to cover enough times to be able to flip through pages at a steady pace now. Though after two hours, it has yet to pour onto me the strength to be intimately watched and remain comfortable.

I have to make a choice: tell Miles about Edenfield so he'll understand I'm only trying to protect him, or cut him off, properly this time. Either I tell him and he leaves willingly, or I don't tell him and push him away with other means. I can't repeat yesterday, sit there knowing he wants to be with me and that he knows I want to be with him whilst I give some lukewarm excuse for why we can't because I can't bear the thought of him hating me.

Even if I do nothing, he'll hate me eventually. He'll realise that my single hook hurts more than a hundred — at least a hundred would drown him quickly. So I have to cut it. That's the only way he'll survive. But how do I do it and cause the least pain? God has yet to answer.

Someone halts at the head of my pew and I look up to find Sonia watching at me.

She smiles as she adjusts the strap of her violin case over her shoulder. 'It's good to see you.' Her eyebrows cinch as she scans me over. 'Though you don't look that good.'

This is one of those moments of bluntness that would normally make me laugh, but I don't manage so much as a twitch of the mouth. All I do is stare blankly at her.

Her afro is slicked back into a puff decorated with her usual butterfly clips and she's dressed in a mushroom-patterned button-up tucked into loose jeans. Based on her appearance, her summer has been exactly what it's supposed to be so far. Fun and relaxed.

She slides her violin case onto her lap and sits at the end of the pew. 'Miles still doesn't stop talking about you.'

My shoulders sag as I exhale slowly. 'I know.' I don't mean to sound arrogant. It's not a compliment; his talking about me doesn't give me anything resembling an ego boost, but contrarily makes my insides shrivel.

Sonia doesn't tell me to hurt me. Her communication is face-value; she's simply informing me. In case you were wondering, yes, he still talks about you.

My throat swells up regardless and I struggle to keep my voice steady. 'How've you been?'

'Good. We're going to Florence next week.'

Her hands jitter on top of her violin case with eagerness to draw all the scenes northern Italy will have to offer and she smiles in the vague direction of the altar. At least I haven't entirely thrown her life off its intended trajectory. No sooner have I had the thought before, as if reminded of the event by the sight of the choir seats, her face falls.

Her eyes meet mine, contact that's enough to gut me on the spot and leave my entrails spread under the pews. 'It really hurt me that you didn't come to my recital after you promised you would.'

Nodding, look down at my lap. 'I know. I'm sorry. I would have– I wanted to. I... couldn't.'

'Why?'