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"A tranquil heart gives life to the flesh, but envy makes the bones rot."
Proverbs 14:30
Invidia - Envy
Jealousy and Envy. They coincide with one another.
However, they are two completely different aspects that pushes the human mind into a labyrinth of emotions. Jealousy is a mere feeling, more emotions attached. Jealousy is watchful, a guard in holding or keeping. Envy is ill will, discontentment, contempt or disliking of another for obtaining a desired one wishes to hold. Envy is a murderous thing.
Just ask Cain.
Harry's POV
I kneel down in the confined room. It was dark. I hang my head low as I fell accustomed to the pitch darkness encircling me. As a couple moments passed, I begin to regret coming here. I shouldn't have to be here. But I do.
My knees started to ache against the ivory tiled floor. I can hear the hush chatters of others on the opposite side of the door. While the person I was waiting for stayed mute behind the screen on my left.
I knew he was there, not only because I can feel his off-putting presence. Also because his side illuminated a light that somehow didn't cease through the holes of the screen and onto my side. No light for me. Just darkness as my only company.
Since he refused to issue the first greeting. I begin.
"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned. It has been 2 days since my last confession." I spit out through my gritted teeth.
My eyes begin to blur as I ball my hands in fists. After a few breaths and tired sighs protruded from his side. He finally speaks, "tell me your sins, son."
"I-I did it again." I state simply.
"What did you do Harry?" My father urges me on.
"You know what I am talking about Father" I retort. "I dreamt of her again. I begged her to leave my thoughts. But she didn't. She-she sat there writhing in flames. The flames I couldn't save her from."
"You could not save her. God did all that he could for her Harry. Now, what have you done."
"She's living in Hell because of me."
"They are living in Hell for their own selfish reasons." He retorts dryly. "Why must you do this?"
"Do what"
"Speak to me behind a wall. Why can't we just have moments where we sit and talk at home. Face to face, like old times."
"Because, I know you can't repeat anything I tell you in here. That would go against your priesthood wouldn't it? Father."
He huffs, "what is your true confession for today? Son."
"I-I" I continue to wrack my brain for the initial thoughts I had before entering the church. Yet it was all gone. Missing. Blank. Almost like this darkness washed over me making an empty slate. I was defeated yet again by my own thoughts.
Without continuing, I push myself out of the room and gasp for air. That room was suffocating, oppressing, and damp.
Standing up I regain my composure and run a hand through my hair. The room grew silent and tense as a numerous of confused eyes stared me down. I awkwardly cough and take a seat at the nearest pew. Unfortunately, I ended up next to a deafening high pitched voice. A squeaky prepubescent voice I knew of but wasn't accustomed to: Finnegan King.
"Rosie.." he frowns. He sulks back in his seat and looks up at me. His hazel eyes peered into my green ones. Not mimicking those who watched my previous actions. But actually, he watched with amusement.
"You aren't Rosie silly!" He giggles lightly nudging my side.
I couldn't be bothered right now. I decide to remove myself out of this situation as soon as possible. But before I could inch my way out of the pew I felt a little hand grab ahold of my pinky.
"Sir! I would like to c-cord-dially invite you to my lemonade stand. It's called Finnegan's Fresh Lemonade! You cannot miss it! I live on 169 Dedalu-"
"Finnegan what on earth are you doing?!"A screech comes from my side as a woman rushes over.
I bring my attention to a tan skinned woman. Her black hair in a high gelled in a straightened pony tail swayed as her angry brown eyes look at me accusingly.
"Lemonade mommy" Finn lets go of my hand and presses himself into the pew. His beet red cheeks nearly blended in well with the chair. I can tell by the worry on his face, he wishes he could disappear into the uncomfortable cushion.
"This man was offering you lemonade?" I am taken aback by her sudden hostility. She bares her white teeth towards me and squints her eyes. Her arms are stiff against her side as she steps closer.
"Finnegan's Fresh Lemonade! Drink sent from Heaven!" The hyperactive boy jumps on the pew. His scruffy chocolate hair covering his eyes. I was almost tempted to reach out a remove it.
But no.
"I told you, you can only advertise with your sister or brother around." The woman visibly relaxes her body.
"I thought he was Rosie! He looked like a girl when he first sat down. I swear." Finnegan mutters his words. His squeaky voice gets even higher with excitement once more. While his anxiousness increases, I can feel my self-esteem tumbling down the drain.
I cut my eyes at the boy. I cannot believe I am receiving blows left and right.
His mother ignoring his statement turns to look at me. "You are Father Styles' son correct?"
"Correct." I spit out. I dread the title, I was annoyed underneath this grandiose ceiling surrounded by the loud ghostly pillars.
"I see, he's coming over this Fri-"
My eyes wander throughout the church. Cutting her out of my line of interest and I get a sudden feeling of awkwardness shoot through my body. I can feel, the side of my face being examined. I fight the urge to look back and failed. My breath hitched when I noticed it was not just one pair, it was two. Father was watching me intently. His glare leaves me shackled to the pew. He is not happy with me. Again.
Annoyance was probably written all over my face at the thought that I may be the subject of their conversation due to their not so subtle peering.
Hoping to my feet, I wipe my damp hands on my pants and edge my way away from the duo.
"I got to go."
I rush pass the puzzled looks I am given and practically jog out the church. Once I am hit with the crisp Sunday morning breeze, I release a needed breath and take a seat on the concrete step. The harsh edges of the step is much more pleasing than the pew cushion. Angling my body to the side, I blindly search my back pocket for the pack of Marlboro and a lighter.
I clumsily fiddle with the pack in my hand as more people pass me by to enter the church. Sending them a tight smile, I proceed to take out a cigarette and light it.
I sharply inhale the stick that is resting between my fingers. I shut my eyes as the burning feeling in my insides soon cloud my brain with a nauseated, giddy feeling. Exhaling, is the most soothing. My body relaxes and melts into the cement. My eyes loosely remain closed as the shuffles and clamor from the congregation acts as a musical tune, dulled in the back of my head.
I took this time to listen, truly listen. The gust of the wind whistling between the leaves of the heavy oak trees. The birds conversing with one another through little tweets and twitters. The cool air nipping at my cheeks. My surroundings continue to calm my rapid beating hea- I take a other blow of the cigarette.
All I was feeling moments before are gone, they vanished, blank.
I felt absent of all feelings in this moment. And I liked this emptiness.
I've become accustomed to the loneliness and almost feel addicted, addicted to this abstraction of myself from reality.
After silently taking a few more pulls of the cancer stick I swear I was hearing things.
The obnoxious voices from indoors was being drowned out by the melodious lulls of a piano oozing through the large door.
Never have I ever, risen so fast in my life. I drop the bud onto the floor and crush it underneath my black timberland boot and walk back towards the door.
I shuffle pass the door. As I begin to walk down the isle, my attention is solely on the sound of the piano while my gaze remained on my fingers cuffing the sleeves of my black button up. When I reach the steps of the oh-so-familiar altar I look up.
And in my seat there was a girl. Adorn in a bright light blue church dress with fingers splayed against my piano keys. Her deep red lips puckered in delight to the sweet tune my piano was filling the church with. Her dark brown hair in a tight bun on the top of her head while a few strands tickled against her neck.
Eventually, I grew entranced. I bite on the corner of my lip as I recall the tune "Here I am to Worship" such a simple tune with a heavy meaning. Soon, I feel a presence at my sides, looking up there are many gathered to watch the young girl play with bright smiles.
Then a sudden rush of realization plummets against my body. No one ever, ever smiles when I play. No one watched me with adoration in their eyes. Fury begins to course through my veins. I envied her for the way she played effortlessly while I still fumble on certain notes. She was playing my piano.
My piano.
~•~
This is only the beginning.
Dedicated to macklemcvey and harrystyxes