It was heavy where I sat. I heard the wood beneath me groan with the weight of my sins. The seats were old, but the Pastor knew as well as I did, it was my presence that aged them; He eyed me as if he was daring me to confess it vociferously, but I kept quiet.

As service crept nearer, I brought my stained palms in front of my stomach. No one noticed I held them just centimeters apart. I thought if I kept the connection severed I'd be spared from his ubiquity; thus, he sent an angel to participate in my game of hooky. 

Gabriella, that was the spirit that greeted me every Sunday. She was born here and grew up in the church, just a year my senior. Gabriella was slender with porcelain skin and glossy chestnut hair she often wore in a braid. Her eyes were doe-like and encased in a hue of sienna brown. She was my angel, just as Leonardo promised in the Virgin of the Rocks. She fit the part as well, generous and tenderhearted. The oval window above her dressed her in the dawn's brilliance, her skin glowed and her lips moved softly but no words fell from them. 

This was the worst part of my week. Everyone had fallen silent and closed their eyes, leaving me cold with guilt. I tried to turn my attention elsewhere but by now my whole body lingered with an infection I lacked a cure for, suffocating my perception with a wicked desire. 

I wish she would turn around and witness me in such a state, greedy and coated in sickly filth. I've done what I could to scrub away how I've felt, but my arms ache and my hands are dry and cracked. I've buried myself in verses and replayed the gospel till my ears bled; however, nothing has been able to abolish my fervor. I need Gabriella to do it. She's the only one who's capable of such an endeavor. If she could only confirm I was indeed this mangled beast, then I could turn away. I needed to hear her describe me in such horrific detail that I had no choice but to hate her. 

And yet as everyone's heads rose and hands dropped, I watched her guide her bony fingers up to her ear and tuck away loose strands of brunette hair behind it. Then she turned her head slightly and our eyes met. Here I was, vulnerable and prepared for the worse. She stared for a moment; I assumed she was painfully picking me apart, constructing her verdict. 

She smiled at me sincerely.