Sacrilege

She entered my life on a Sunday morning, a day that should’ve been like every other.
Except it wasn’t.
She sat at the back pew, like so many others. She should’ve been just like every parishioner.
Except that she isn’t.
A sickness began to spread in me from the moment I laid eyes on her.
At first, I lied to myself that it was the lust I’d learned to deny when I took my new calling.
Except . . . it’s worse.
Satan must’ve sent her to derail every good intention I’ve ever had.
She’s a creature of the night, selling her body for profit.
I’ve become a creature too, one that stalks her through the darkness.
She haunts me in my church.
She haunts me in my dreams.
I haunt her in the streets, desperate for any piece of her.
I’m breaking more than my vows . . . there’s laws against this type of obsession.
Damnation found me in the form of a siren, and I don’t think I want to be saved.