A/N: As of this chapter, I have bumped the rating of this story from T to M due to the content becoming increasingly triggering and explicit. This should probably be expected, given the nature of AHS, but I'm stating it outright: From this point onward, there will be mentions of rape and sexual assault. Please do not continue reading if that content is bothersome for you.
Thank you for reading!
Wakefulness arrived in a twisted haze for Mary Eunice as Lana disentangled herself from the bedsheets and raced to the bathroom to vomit. She rolled in a slow pursuit, brain grappling for release from the tendrils of sleep, and her groggy eyes and tangled hair caused her to question the hour while she warmed a washcloth in the sink. She's going to want the Tylenol. Mary Eunice dug around in the medicine cabinet before she found the bottle and placed it on the counter.
As she predicted, Lana moaned, "Jesus Christ, who let me drink so much last night?" and clutched at her head, fingers tangling in her sweaty, matted hair. "My head…" Mary Eunice swathed the sweat off of her face with the washcloth. "Why are you here? I did this to myself."
"I'd be a pretty bad friend if I lay in bed and listened to your suffering, wouldn't I?" Mary Eunice knelt beside her in the dark of the bathroom. Outside, a faint rain pattered onto the roof and shook the tree against the side of the house with the autumn breeze. "You feel a little warm. Do you think you can keep down some Tylenol?"
"That sounds divine." Lana closed the toilet lid and sat on it, hiding her eyes in her hands. "I drank too much. I drank enough for two of me." She belched. "You must imbibe next time. We can split the difference."
Mary Eunice poured three pills into her hand and filled the small sink glass with water before she handed them to Lana. "You'd be sorely disappointed. I can't hold alcohol well." Under Lana's incredulous eyes, her cheeks tinted pink. "I was a rebellious teenager once."
"I thought your idea of rebellion would be skipping a Hail Mary in your rosary." Lana took the pills and grunted her thanks. She sucked in a deep breath, and Mary Eunice waited patiently for her brain to catch up with the morning hour. "Oh, hell. The Monsignor is coming today. He's going to think I'm totally inept if he sees me like this."
"The Monsignor?" Mary Eunice's eyes fluttered wide with surprise. "You didn't tell me?"
"I was going to, but when I went outside, you were falling out of trees and had the lesbians flocking to the yard like sheep. If I'd left you out there much longer, we would've had every gay in Boston on the porch." Lana grappled for her hairbrush and began to snatch at her tangled locks. "Then I got shitfaced and it slipped my mind."
After Lana winced her way through several clumsy paws at her tangled hair, Mary Eunice interrupted. "Here, let me. You'll hurt your hair like that." She sectioned off Lana's hair and plucked through it gently. She held each lock so that it didn't tug at Lana's scalp.
Lana remarked, eyes drooping, "You're good at that."
With a smile, Mary Eunice explained, "I took care of my cousins when I was growing up." Her voice had dropped to a low hush, reluctant to disturb Lana's migraine. "My aunt was always very busy. I made sure that everyone looked presentable for school and church."
"Was this before or after the aforementioned rebellious teenage phase?" Lana teased her, a tired glint to her eye, an upward curve upon her lips.
"Before. And during, I suppose." Mary Eunice tugged through another tangle. "I never shirked my responsibilities."
Lana chuckled. "That's why you weren't good at drinking. The purpose of getting drunk is forgetting all the terrible shit that real life entails." She followed a guiding hand so that Mary Eunice could reach the top of her head. "Where are you from, Sister?"
"I was born in Annapolis," Mary Eunice answered, slow, reflecting and considering as she spoke. "But I grew up in Boston with my Aunt Celest and her children. I don't remember my mother well, or my father at all."
"What happened to them?" Lana asked out of reflex, her journalist's instinct overpowering her for a moment; her teeth clamped onto her tongue, and she apologized. "You don't have to answer that. I don't mean to pry." The brush ran smoothly through her hair; she sensed that Mary Eunice had finished brushing and now simply toyed with it in thought.
"It's fine, Lana. I don't have anything to hide from you." Mary Eunice cleared her throat. "My father was drafted into the war and never came home. I was five when he died. My mother took her own life several months later." Lana followed her with her gaze until Mary Eunice pointed her chin again, having begun to spin a braid into Lana's hair. "Aunt Celest was estranged from my mother, so I was in the system for a few months before word got to her, and she came to claim me."
"That's horrible." Mary Eunice spoke with the most nonchalant tone, like they discussed the weather outside or the shade of a pretty dress. "No child should have to go through that."
"Lots of children did. I was lucky that someone cared enough to take me. There were others not afforded that luxury."
Lana's brows quirked. "Is that how the world operates to you? That you aren't allowed to be sad because other people have better reasons to be sad?" Mary Eunice shrugged, but her teeth had begun to worry her bottom lip like they did when she felt the spotlight on her back. Lana knew that she had struck a nerve. "Did Sister Jude tell you that being sad is an indulgence or something ridiculous like that?"
Shaking her head, Mary Eunice corrected gently, "I learned that dwelling bitterly on the past was not an effective way to handle my problems." She tied one pigtail, and Lana knew she would look like a little girl when Mary Eunice finished. Nevertheless, she let the nun continue spinning the next braid. "Where did you come from?"
"Georgia."
"You don't sound like you're from Georgia."
"I learned that I would never get a professional job if I sounded like a country hick in every interview." Both of them chuckled at that, light like the rain and the wind against the house. "My parents were very happy. Still are, I suppose. They decided they were happier without me."
"I'm sorry."
Lana inclined her eyebrows. "That's everyone's story. Our families don't want us, so we build our own." After a moment's hesitation, she continued, "Not unlike joining the church. We seek the security that other people couldn't provide. It just happened that my new family had Barb and yours had goddamn Sister Jude." With a snort, she added, "I guess every family has a weird cousin that no one wants to claim."
Mary Eunice laughed aloud at that, the girlish giggle that she had released last night while they danced. Her face glowed when she smiled, exuding the joy of her soul; the expression soothed Lana's burning insides as she remembered the hollow look the nun had borne when the Monsignor had dropped her off, practically nude and burning with fever. Was this the difference that ten days could make? She hadn't seen Mary Eunice like this inside Briarcliff ever, carefree and exuberant. But she supposed that years within those walls could stifle even the brightest souls.
Her smile makes you feel whole again. The bold supposition caused her heart to skip a beat. Watch yourself. You can't trust her. She is still one of them. Lana didn't know the identity of them, except for the staff of Briarcliff, and she remembered with a twist in her gut all of the lies that Mary Eunice had told while under the demon's grasp. That wasn't her, Lana defended. "Lana? Are you alright?" As she blinked back into reality, out of her own head, she focused upon Mary Eunice once again. She's been nothing but kind. "Do you want to lie down while I make breakfast?" The other voice warned, You can't give her the chance to change that.
"No, I'm fine." Mary Eunice dropped the second pigtail after tying it, and Lana stood on rubbery legs. "I won't let you coddle me through a hangover." She took her toothbrush and slathered toothpaste on it liberally, and Mary Eunice left the bathroom; in the mirror peeking out the door frame, she undressed, and Lana walked away from the mirror before the pale planes of her back and the curve of her hips could become enticing. You're playing Russian roulette with her, living like this. She attempted to squash the newfound cynicism and allowed the sharp, cool toothpaste to burn her tongue in retribution.
After Lana dressed herself, she found Mary Eunice frying up some French toast and eggs, and in spite of herself, the scent of fresh food caused her to salivate. "What time is the Monsignor supposed to be here?"
"He didn't say." Lana's voice held the clipped tone that she had taken yesterday when speaking to the Monsignor, and Mary Eunice gave her a curious, probing look, wanting answers, too shy to ask. "I'm sorry. He and I might have had a disagreement on the telephone yesterday that ended our conversation prematurely." All the color drained out of Mary Eunice's face, and Lana rushed to defend herself. "It had nothing to do with you."
"Of course it had something to do with me. Why else would you be talking to the Monsignor?"
"Maybe I'm converting to Catholicism and joining your convent." Mary Eunice shot her a withering look, and Lana sighed; her sarcasm would buy her no favors. "The Monsignor doesn't want to tell you anything that you did while you were possessed." She tiptoed around the last word like a sleeping dog. Goosebumps appeared on Mary Eunice's arms at its utterance. "And I agree with him that you're happier this way. But I also know that confession is important to you. And it's not his information to withhold. He has no business playing God with your memories."
Mary Eunice flipped the French toast, quiet, both eyes fixed upon the sizzling pan as she considered, sucking on her bottom lip until it popped out. "I'm grateful that you value my faith. I thought that the Monsignor would understand…" Her brow furrowed. "But he is my authority. I can't challenge his word. God has granted him his position."
No, dammit, challenge him! He's up to something! Lana stifled the pressing thoughts at the center of her chest. "Sister," she said, hesitant, "I think that you know something the Monsignor doesn't want you to know. Something he doesn't want you to remember. Maybe something that could jeopardize his position in the church."
"How would I know anything that could harm the Monsignor?" She squashed the toast down onto the buttered pan with a bit too much strength, induced by the stress of Lana's words. "I—I don't remember anything! I see the pieces in my dreams and then it all breaks up again when I wake up!"
Tears pooled in her eyes, and she wiped at their corners. I shouldn't have brought it up. Lana regretted her words and placed a light hand on the inside of Mary Eunice's elbow. "Relax." Mary Eunice shuddered under her touch before she stilled. "You'll only stress yourself out if you panic over it." As Mary Eunice sucked in a deep breath through her nose, she flipped the toast onto the plates. "You were reading minds and teleporting. Even if you don't know anything, if the Monsignor has something to hide, he's going to be leery of you."
Lana took a plate of singed toast, but Mary Eunice waved her off, shaking her head. "Don't—Don't eat that. It's burned. I'll make another batch. That's going to be gross. Lana—" Making full eye contact, Lana took a large bite from it, unblinking as she chewed and swallowed. "That's—Why are you looking at me like that? That's somewhat unsettling."
She chuckled and poured herself a glass of orange juice. "Trying to get your mind off of things." Seating herself with her meal, she waited for Mary Eunice to join her. "My sister used to look at me like that when she took the last cookie out of the cookie jar and ate it in front of me."
"That's terrible." A small smile cut Mary Eunice's sullen expression, and Lana allowed herself a bit of reprieve.
"She was the princess of the family. She got what she wanted." Lana pushed around the soggy burned toast on her plate; she considered slathering it in syrup, but Mary Eunice didn't allow herself the indulgence of the sweet, so she decided to abstain as well.
"Did you only have a sister?"
"Oh, no. I was the oldest, and Frieda was born two years after me. Then we had Timothy and Roger, twins, and they caused more trouble than all the other children in the village put together. Mama decided she didn't want any more children after that." Lana chewed the gummy bread and gulped it, washing it down with the tang of the orange juice. "What about your cousins?"
Mary Eunice shrugged. She didn't have the stomach to eat the charred toast, so she chopped it up and pushed it around on the plate with her fork. "Aunt Celest wasn't exactly an aspirational woman. She had four children, but she never married. They all had different fathers." She sipped water from her glass to pause her speech. "Molly was two when Aunt Celest brought me home. Then she had Carol, and then Patricia, and then James. Aunt Celest had to work long hours to support all of us, so I took care of everyone. They were my best friends."
"I thought Jesus was your best friend." At Lana's quiet words, Mary Eunice chuckled, shaking her head. "Do you know where they are now? Any of them?"
With a shake of her head, Mary Eunice said, "No, I—I haven't heard from any of them in years. Briarcliff isn't exactly a place to bring your family for visiting hours." Lana nodded in agreement. "Molly used to write me regularly. She wanted to go to college, but I never got an invitation to her high school graduation."
"You could write her," Lana suggested. She went to wash her plate. "Or call her. I have a telephone directory. If they're still in the county, it should list their address and phone number."
Mary Eunice hesitated, lifting her head, astonished by the turn the conversation had taken. "Do—Do you think that that's a good idea?" she stammered. "I'm not sure—it's been so long now. I don't want to show up out of the blue."
Lana held her gaze evenly. "I think it's a fine idea." Smiling, she continued, "I'm sure they've missed you. They would be glad to hear from you." She took Mary Eunice's plate away. "I take it that you have less of a stomach for burned bread than I do. There are cornflakes in the cabinet, but they're probably stale sawdust by now." As she scrubbed off the plates, she mused, "We should go to the supermarket this weekend. Scraping by on gas station food is going to get fairly tiresome." The dangling pigtails banged on her cheeks, but the taut ties didn't cause her scalp to ache. "Saturday?" she suggested.
"I'll go whenever you want to go," Mary Eunice answered modestly. She took the dishes as Lana washed them and began to dry them with a towel. She put them up the cabinet where they had taken from them. "Are you going to write more today?"
"Yes, I think so." Lana washed her hands while Mary Eunice hung up the pan above the sink. "I'm going to go to the office sometime next week. My boss has some things he needs me to pick up." Mary Eunice's blue eyes followed her. "It's the nice way of telling me I have to work or I won't get paid. What a preposterous concept."
While they both chuckled at the sarcastic joke, a nervous titter to Mary Eunice's hands and lips, a motor rolled down the street outside. Lana went to the window to peer outside. "Shit. It's him. Do I look like I got shitfaced last night?"
Brow furrowing, Mary Eunice wondered, What does it matter? He isn't here to tell you how to babysit me. "You look fine," she promised, hands wiggling back and forth, fingers catching and separating into a funny, sweaty clasp. Lana went to answer the door; her footsteps syncopated against the thundering beat of Mary Eunice's heart, now increasing in tempo as the stark form of the Monsignor moved up the driveway with a cardboard box in his arms. Lana's words echoed in her mind in an inexplicable spin. "I think that you know something the Monsignor doesn't want you to know. Something he doesn't want you to remember." But no matter how many times she scanned her memory, she could not find the Monsignor's face, could not hear his voice, compared to Sister Jude and Dr. Arden, who appeared more times than she liked to consider.
"Good morning, Monsignor." At the dark tone to Lana's voice, Mary Eunice straightened a little, surprised at Lana's forthright unfriendliness. Lana had never treated her like that, so icy and uncaring. Lord, give me strength and calm Lana's spirit. She wished that she had her rosary; she had left it on the nightstand last night when she and Lana finally retired.
The misty weather hung gray and wet over the yard. "Miss Winters, Sister Mary Eunice." At the sound of his voice, a sharp ringing blazed between Mary Eunice's ears; she returned the cordial greeting, but she couldn't hear herself speak. The rainwater trickled down his temples in silvery rivulets. It looked like sweat. As he drew nearer, a scent exhaled off of him, all musty and salty, somehow familiar. That doesn't make any sense. "Forgive me if I can't…" The echo of his voice smeared all of his words, like someone had taken a finger over wet paint and blurred the lines.
Lana's gentle hand caught her by the elbow, and her lips moved. "Sister? Are you okay?" The deafness separating Mary Eunice from her voice caused her heart to flutter into a panic in her throat; she bobbed her head and swallowed hard.
The Monsignor rambled on; she didn't pull her gaze from him. Where her eyes touched his exposed skin, it tinted red. He had deep scars on the back of each hand. "Enclosed a reference for counseling, Mother Superior won't reassign until she's certain of spiritual welfare," and Lana's hackles raised, but she had nothing to sputter in response, and Mary Eunice didn't grasp the meaning of it all. That gross smell rolled off of the Monsignor's clothing. How long has it been since he showered?
His brown eyes carried a darkness, a sensuality. What is wrong with me? Where did that word come from? Her insides gnarled at the sight of him, hands and thighs sweating; her legs inadvertently pinched together and refused to sever from one another. A sharp pain pulsed upward from her groin. She winced and placed her hands on her abdomen. Eyes fluttering closed, the world spun around her. Lana had become a blur, her chocolate eyes worrying upon Mary Eunice; the Monsignor had taken notice of her as well.
"Sister Mary Eunice?" His voice dropped ice cubes down the back of her shirt. One scarred hand took hers. The memory hazed from the gray mist of her mind into full clarity: the Monsignor tied on his back, bound to the bed in which he lay, and her on top of him, the demon driving her every movement. They were naked from the waist down. She clutched his erect penis, the skin soft but flushed purple with sensation, and lowered herself upon his shaft. The pain from the entrance would have caused Mary Eunice to double over and vomit, but the demon rode him without hindrance, paying no heed to the physical agony and emotional anguish of her violated body and vows. His face reddened before he splashed a sticky heat inside her body. "Sister?"
She ripped from his grasp and staggered backward. The world spun once—she spotted Lana's face—with great black blots in all the important places, and then everything vanished into blackness.
Lana dove forward to catch the white-faced nun before she struck the ground in a dead faint. The heavy weight dragged her down to her knees, but she managed to keep Mary Eunice from busting her head open. She let her rest on the carpet with a patient sigh, fighting against the rapid pulse of her own heart. "I'm sorry, Monsignor. She's been well. I don't understand. Sister?" She patted Mary Eunice's cheek, hoping to elicit some response from her. Mary Eunice shivered all over, but she didn't awaken.
"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing, Miss Winters—" He tittered, tugging his sleeves down over his scarred hands. "I apologize, but I must be going. Urgent church matters—" You don't give a shit about her. The accusation burbled within Lana's chest, and she withheld it to watch him flee with smoldering eyes; he did not bid farewell. Something's got him unnerved. Lana stood long enough to lock the door behind him and took a pillow and a throw from the couch to cover Mary Eunice's body where goosebumps shuddered all over her visible flesh.
Her hands grazed Mary Eunice's; the nun had white hands, dry and calloused in places from the hours she had spent rolling dough in Briarcliff's kitchen. Her bony fingers had skinny, protruding veins. She had short fingernails bitten down to the quick, a habit that Lana had noticed Mary Eunice cursing herself for. "Sister?"
Mary Eunice stirred with a faint flutter to her eyelids, a downward twist overcoming her lips. She uttered a low groan and pinched up her face, where pink discolored her skin, and tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes in dribbles. Lana placed a hand upon her cheek, but Mary Eunice recoiled, body folding at the middle. Her hands tremored, and Lana reached to still them, but she snatched away and covered her groin. A weeping cry rose from her parted pink lips as she curled up into a ball. "Sister," Lana cautioned, "he's gone. You're safe."
As Lana reached to wipe away her tears, Mary Eunice recoiled. "Don't touch me!" Her vehement voice shuddered with the sudden shout. She rocked herself upon the floor. Lana's hands retreated, searching for another path to comfort the shaking woman. Plucking her lip between her teeth, she wondered if the inconsolable tears would pass like a storm. I can't sit here and do nothing. Instead, she dragged the small blanket up over Mary Eunice's shoulder, tucked it tighter around her. A sniveling whimper arose in response.
"I'm not going to hurt you." Lana scanned her, retreating into an invisible shell like a terrified turtle. "It's okay." Her every instinct wanted to provide a hug and a gentle hand, things Lana had yearned for but not received in her darkest hours.
At the low tone of her voice, Mary Eunice quieted a little. Her back heaved with trembling breaths; she couldn't steady them for all of the quivering in the rest of her body. "Lana?" She drew the word out into a choking note, almost unintelligible from the tremor in her chest. One red-rimmed blue eye peered up from the safety of the fetal position. "It hurts."
"What hurts?" Lana opened one hand, let it rest on the ground beside her. Mary Eunice followed it with her eyes but neither accepted it nor denied it. "What did you remember?"
She tensed all over, every synapse wiring her to defend herself. Her face corkscrewed in fear and pain. "I can't—I don't—I can't—"
Her muffled, broken wail tingled on the air and caused goosebumps to erupt over Lana's arms and legs. "It's okay," she soothed. "You don't have to tell me." She gingerly rested her hand upon Mary Eunice's shoulder. "Come here. Sit up. You can't lie in the floor all day." The muscles beneath her hand worked into an uncomfortable series of twitches like a horse trying to dislodge a fly from its back. Mary Eunice rose obediently into a sitting position and leaned against the wall; she folded her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees. Her eyes fell closed again, and her pink lips wriggled like worms ripped from the earth and exposed to the sunlight, the tears and snot rolling over them. Lana grappled for something intelligent to say. "What can I do?" she pressed. "How can I help?"
Mary Eunice mewled a whimper in the back of her throat and hugged herself tighter; her chest heaved too fast, and she choked on the thick saliva in her mouth as she spoke. "Stay, please?" She managed to lift her watery eyes to Lana. When she opened them, the tears fell without any hindrance, less like drops and more like a stream, dripping miserably off of her chin upon her knees.
"As long as you need me," Lana promised. She leaned against the wall as well, tipping her head up and gazing at the closed front door. The untouched box of Mary Eunice's things grabbed her attention, and she wondered what they had deigned to send her. Hideous, stained clothing like they had provided for the inmates? Personal items? Had they cleared out her chamber or sorted through all of her things in order to provide only the bare necessities?
The blue eyes lingered on Lana's cheek; they probed her skin until she met them, curious as to their fixation upon her. "It's okay." Then, slowly, Mary Eunice dropped her head upon Lana's shoulder. Lana slid her arm around her, and at the welcoming gesture, her building resolve crumbled again into fresher tears, losing control. As she buckled upon Lana, she muffled her cries with one hand, the other returning to her groin. "It's okay," Lana repeated, a mantra, unable to work past that phrase. She needed to impress it upon Mary Eunice's mind. "I've got you. I won't let anything hurt you." She pulled Mary Eunice closer and embraced her.
Her fingers curled into Lana's shirt and clutched like a child to her blanket. "I know." The smallness of her voice, between sniffles and hiccups, made Lana rub a circle on the small of her back. "I'm sorry." The words caused her to break into snivels again, and Lana didn't rush to correct her until she had quieted into the soft tears once more.
"You've done nothing wrong." Mary Eunice shook her head, everything on her face twisting with revulsion. Lana smoothed a hand over her hair. "What's the matter?"
"I don't—" A hiccup cut her off. "I don't deserve you." She curled up, all small and flushed in the face and shivering, one hand fixed upon Lana's shirt and the other cupping her groin in some attempt to protect long-lost purity. "I'm so dirty—I hurt everyone—"
"That's not true." Lana's tone lacked the conviction she intended for it to hold; for all of the comfort that she wanted to grant Mary Eunice, she could not forget the sadistic person who had stalked the halls of Briarcliff in this same skin. Those hands which had held her last night to the tune of Simon and Garfunkel had also electrocuted Jude's memories away. That face, which shed sunlight when it found joy, had smirked upon the torment around her. Lana closed her eyes and chased those thoughts away. Being an asshole right now will not help her. "It wasn't you. I know that."
Lana plucked at Mary Eunice's fingers, loosened them from the front of her shirt and squeezed them in her own hand. Another weak sob shuddered forth, but Mary Eunice had cried herself dry, face all wet and sticky. With her eyelids pinched tightly closed, face hidden in the crook of Lana's arm, she whispered, "I raped the Monsignor."
The words spoken aloud sent her reeling to the kitchen trashcan, where she began to dry heave. Lana didn't pursue, both hands reaching upward to her temples, eyes wide with disbelief. When I agreed to take her, they didn't say she was a murderer-rapist with retrograde amnesia. Lana swallowed the bile that burned at the back of her throat and stood on sleepy legs to get Mary Eunice a glass of water. She warmed a paper towel in the sink and brought them back to her; with the paper towel, she mopped up Mary Eunice's sticky face.
"I have to revoke my vows," she whispered, cheek resting on the wooden rim of the trashcan. "I can't go on—I'm a disgrace—" She hiccuped and shivered all over. "I can't get it out of my head—what it felt like—I don't want to remember!" Lana held her hair out of her sweaty face as she began to heave again, but her empty stomach had nothing to relieve. She crumpled on her knees. "It hurts." Her hands covered her crotch, and she didn't look at Lana.
"I know." Lana squatted beside her, pushing the glass of water into her hand. "Drink. You'll feel better." She threw away the wet paper towel as Mary Eunice obediently sipped from the glass. "I know you're scared." Mary Eunice swallowed hard, audibly. "And I know you're worried about your vows. But—Sister, is there any possibility that you're pregnant?"
"W-What?"
Oh, dear Jesus, please tell me that you know where babies come from. "Is it possible that he got you pregnant?"
"I—I don't know."
I'll take that as a yes. Lana had to force herself to keep her voice steady, to keep from grabbing Mary Eunice by the shoulders and shaking her. "When did you have your last period?" Her heartbeat thrashed about irregularly. "Do you remember?" Mary Eunice shook her head. "When did this happen?" As her face crumpled into a distraught, pink bundle, Lana allowed a soft sigh to rush through her nose, keeping herself steady; she offered Mary Eunice another hug, and the nun accepted it, tight and close. "It's okay. I'll make you a doctor's appointment for next week, and we can decide where to go from there. Okay?"
Mary Eunice bobbed her head, and Lana wiped her tears away with her thumbs. We could name the baby Scandal, for all of the fucked up shit that has gone down recently. She swallowed her vitriol. "You're going to be fine."
In a bare whisper, Mary Eunice croaked, "I know." Lana blinked, startled by the assured answer, and sought eye contact, perplexed. "I'm with you, Lana."
The words settled in the pit of her stomach and warmed there. "Damn straight. And if anybody decides to mess with you, I'll fuck them up."
Mary Eunice couldn't manage a smile, but the emptiness in her eyes dulled slightly. "I don't deserve your friendship."
"You deserve everything that I can give you." Lana held her gaze, warm and deliberate, and to her surprise, Mary Eunice didn't pull away and avert her eyes; she allowed Lana to bore into her with all of her conviction. "Do you want to take a shower?" With pursed lips, Mary Eunice nodded. Gingerly, she disentangled herself from Lana; her limbs quivered, all rubbery and inconsistent, when she stood, and Lana steadied her at the waist until she was sturdy on her own feet. "I'll make us some lunch, okay?"
Mary Eunice staggered off to the bathroom, vision misty with the wet of her eyes and the throbbing behind them. She left the door cracked open and gazed at herself in the mirror, face all red and patchy and snotty, limbs trembling, hair framing her face in strings. Not pretty like Lana. She didn't think it in a jealous way—she had no reason to envy beauty—but rather an observation. Lana had a warm presence; her smell and touch made Mary Eunice feel secure. Her chocolate eyes smothered her like a blanket and protected her. She is a blessing I do not deserve.
Abandoning her clothing was a chore that brought with it the scenes that Lana's voice had managed to chase away. The Monsignor appeared with his bandaged hands and his pitiful, begging face all gnarled from resisting the pleasure that she imposed upon him. She made the Sign of the Cross. "I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth…" The words scrolled across her mind like she read them from a book, typed characters upon a page, and the Monsignor's moans in her memory quieted to background noise.
She had never examined her nude body with any scrutiny; it made her feel perverted. But when she looked at herself in the mirror, her ribs lined the sides of her chest, her collarbones protruding, she wondered when she had begun to look so sickly. When had her skin discolored from peach to eggshell? When had she lost the freckles that once crossed the bridge of her nose? When had her hair lost its luster? Her small breasts carried a slight sag, nipples hard and protruding from the cold.
One hand smoothed down her abdomen. Pregnant? The word tasted dirty on her tongue. Pregnant and unwed, just like Aunt Celest, except that Mary Eunice assumed Aunt Celest had never managed to bed a priest—and certainly had never raped anyone. She lifted the hand from her squishy belly. She had never wanted children, even before she took her vows; she had spent too much of her childhood wiping noses and cleaning up messes to aspire to do the same as an adult. Pregnant like Lana.
She couldn't do what Lana was planning, though. An abortion was unthinkable. Any child inside her body was safe, regardless of the circumstances surrounding its creation. You're ahead of yourself, she cautioned, pinching the tip of her tongue between her lips. You can worry about a baby once you know you're having one. The rational voice in her head sounded just like Lana, witty but gentle, caring but firm.
Her eyes wandered southward on her reflection, the tuft of wiry, dark cream hair that protruded from between her thighs. The same hand that had touched her stomach went to her groin, but the moment her fingers grazed the kinky hair, she saw the Monsignor, felt him pushing into her body, so foreign and unwelcome. She retreated and continued her prayer more fervently. Still, a rogue thought curled in her head. Does Lana have hair, too?
You're disgusting! Mary Eunice whirled away from the mirror and turned on the shower; she jumped beneath the frigid stream of water and paid it no heed. As long as she shivered, she couldn't think about Lana, about her body, about the refuge her voice and arms and smell provided for Mary Eunice. Under the cold water, she could forget that anyone cared, and with self-hate fueled by years of practice, she purified herself, reminded herself of her own filth and folly and weakness. Sister Jude would not have tolerated it.
When she emerged from the shower, she felt no cleaner; she had prayed the rosary, but it gave her no solace. She forced herself to think of anything other than Lana, but knowing that she would encounter her again in only a few minutes did not help matters. It burbled inside her like a craving. I must deny myself. I cannot succumb. Somehow, though, she already knew that she would, that it was inevitable. Mary Eunice was not reckoning against her own desires—she could have done that with ease. She was in the business of depriving herself of all things good. She was reckoning against Lana Winters, who would think that any resolve against a friendship was idiotic and who would somehow manage to change her mind. And she could not repay Lana's kindness with coldness, with rejection. No, separating herself from Lana would not work.
What did it matter? She had already violated her vows of chastity; she could not hold her title any longer. That frightened her the most, leaving her life, her vows, her poverty and obedience that she had maintained so faithfully for a decade now. I must seek counsel. But with whom? Anything spoken in confession was private; it could not jeopardize her or the Monsignor. A priest would give her his honest answer, wise guidance, as he was commanded.
Mary Eunice wasn't certain she wanted an honest answer. She wanted reassurance, even a comforting lie. So, as she left the bathroom and found Lana on the couch, listening to Simon and Garfunkel with two plates of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and two glasses of milk, she allowed herself to relax into a neutral expression, shoulders sagging low. "You look cold," Lana observed. "Come here, sit down." Mary Eunice obeyed, sinking upon the couch beside Lana, who pushed the plate into her lap. "I was going to grill them, but I decided that we had already had burnt bread for breakfast."
"You would grill a PB and J?" Mary Eunice ogled at her, surprised by Lana's choice in food. Lana nodded. "Er… Why?"
"Why not?" Lana smiled, small but genuine, and the expression soothed Mary Eunice's troubled soul; it meant forgiveness. She had not earned nor requested it, but she received it nonetheless. Lord, thank You for blessing me with Lana. She is a better friend than I have ever desired, more than I deserve, for Your mercy. "I'm from the South. We also eat pimiento cheese sandwiches and fry things that aren't chicken like they're chicken."
With a meager smile, Mary Eunice dropped her eyes to the sandwich. Lana had cut off the crust for her. Did I tell her? "I'm glad you can't cook." Lana chuckled at that and took a bite out of her meal. Mary Eunice followed meekly, beginning in nibbles. "Thank you, Lana. I—I couldn't begin to tell you how much your friendship means to me."
Lana held her gaze, deliberate and genuine, and Mary Eunice watched her lips twitch, still, and twitch again, searching for words that she could not provide. She has her own scars, probably far more than mine. She gingerly took Lana's hand and squeezed it. Lana squeezed her hand in return, and they understood one another in the thought. "Do you want to watch the news or listen to Simon and Garfunkel?"
The abrupt change of subject did not startle Mary Eunice. "Walter Cronkite likes to tell us everything wrong with the world. He adds a lot to my prayer list."
As she spoke, the record spun onward, singing in the most peaceful voices, "Now the sun has come to Earth, shrouded in a mushroom cloud of death. Death comes in a blinding flash of hellish heat and leaves a smear of ash." Lana inclined an eyebrow. "And the music is better?"
Blushing, Mary Eunice averted her eyes. "At least they sing about Jesus before they talk about all that." Lana laughed aloud and sipped her milk, rubbing her thumb on the back of Mary Eunice's hand. "Is that true, though? Are we really going to get—bombed?"
"I'm a journalist, not a fortune teller." Lana put her plate down on the end table, but as Mary Eunice's eyes trailed after her, requesting a deeper answer, she cleared her throat. "Right. You spent ten years without exposure to all this nastiness." Mary Eunice watched her, breath bated. "I am a journalist, so I'll tell you this. We get paid by publicity. Scary shit sells. Of course, it has to be true scary shit, but as part of the consuming public, you are going to hear a lot more about what the Soviet Union is planning on claiming next than, say, some guy on Main Street giving out free hugs with a sign that says, 'Make love, not war.' You understand?" Mary Eunice bobbed her head in agreement, and Lana persevered, "So maybe we will get nuked. It's not for me to say. But I'm not afraid of it ending like that."
Skepticism laced her tone as Mary Eunice pressed, disbelieving, "You're not?"
Lana shook her head. "I worry about things I can control. If a missile vaporizes my body, then it's over. There's nothing that I can do about it." She downed the rest of her milk and put the glass with the plate on the end table. "What do you have to worry about? Your soul is saved."
"But yours isn't." The words slipped unintentionally from Mary Eunice's lips, and as Lana narrowed her eyes, she regretted thinking them. And I'm not so sure about my own, to be honest. The tips of her ears burned in shame. I'm not even certain I have a soul anymore. So many parts of her were missing, the parts that had once tingled with fulfillment when she prayed, the places that God filled with His love and guidance now vacant and weeping when she was alone. The wounds hadn't closed yet, but Lana's presence stuffed them with gauze and disinfected them like a strong antibiotic.
"Is this the part where you try to convert me?"
"No." Mary Eunice finished the last crisp of her sandwich. "I didn't mean it that way."
Lana's eyebrows quirked. "Then how did you mean it?"
Quietly, she admitted, "I don't think I will like heaven as much if you're not there." She looked at Lana, a little shy.
"That is the sweetest, most Catholic thing that anyone has ever said to me." Lana grinned. "But I'm pretty sure that there will be so much good shit up there that you won't miss me for a minute."
Mary Eunice entertained her words, trying to consider an appropriate response while her belly burbled with trouble. "Lana, can I ask your—your honest opinion?" Lana quieted from her self-deprecating joke, expression darkening as she focused into a nod. "Should I… Do you think I should revoke my vows?"
Hesitant, Lana replied, "You know that I am not a Catholic, Sister." Mary Eunice nodded, slowly; she did not withdraw her question. Lana cleared her throat. "The Monsignor clearly hasn't left his position, correct?" Inclining one eyebrow, Lana pressed, "So he hasn't seen it as a matter of urgency. You would do well to model in his example." She squeezed Mary Eunice's hand. "That's my opinion, Sister. I know you value your faith and virtue. But this doesn't mean you have to give those things up. The Monsignor is the only one who knows, and he can't expose you without exposing himself."
I knew she would know what to say. Her shoulders relaxed. Lana could reassure her even in the most tumultuous of times. In a soft voice, she uttered her thanks, rolling over the words and reckoning them with her faith and vows. Lana nodded to her, collecting the empty plates and glasses. "I'm going to write now. Shout if you need something."
Mary Eunice straightened abruptly. "I—I'll do the dishes. You have a book to write." She took the plates from Lana, hushing her protest. "Let me. I need to busy my hands. I'm going to go mad if I don't do something." Lana hesitated a moment before she allowed Mary Eunice to take the plates from her. "Thank you."
"You can unpack your things in the bedroom. If you're opening that can of worms today, anyway."
And indeed, once Mary Eunice had washed the dishes and entertained herself by dusting all of the living room furniture and sweeping the kitchen and front porch and putting a load of laundry to wash, she found herself confronted with that particular can of worms; it intimidated her so much that she lingered in the kitchen, wondering if she could start dinner or mop the bathroom, for a full five minutes before she steeled herself and went to the box that the Monsignor had brought.
It was innocent enough, but she sat in the living room so that she could see into Lana's small office. With Lana nearby, she would keep her wits about her. The tapping of fingers upon a typewriter soothed her wandering spirit as she opened the box.
Someone had packed it with care. On top, someone had scrawled, "Fr. Joseph, Cathedral of the Holy Cross," with a phone number. "Offers faith-based therapy. Mother Claudia requests five months weekly appointments before you can return to service." Beneath that, she had her Bible and rosary; she scooped both of those things out with delight, deeply inhaling the fragrance of her cherished book, fingers teasing over the wooden beads. Under her Bible, she found her prayer journal. This, she seized with hesitance, uncertain if she dared open the cover to see what the demon had done to her thoughts, written to God almost every night since she was appointed to Briarcliff. She placed it aside.
Gaudy, golden earrings with heavy rubies glowed next, and at the sight of them, her belly turned. These came from Dr. Arden. She saw him giving them to her, solemn face drooping with weariness; his lips moved, but she could not hear the voice explaining them to her. She recalled only the darkness that exuded from them. Gulping, she lifted her head, eyes wandering to where Lana worked. I shouldn't interrupt her work. Mary Eunice used the hem of her shirt to pinch the earrings out of the box and place them on the end table; she didn't want to touch them with her bare hands.
Her small wallet of saint medals jingled, and she put it beside her Bible. At the very bottom of the box, a black habit was folded, tucked and coated in dust. Brightening with delight, Mary Eunice scooped it out and shook it out, flicking off the lint and hair from its rough surface. Then, not hesitating a moment longer, she scrambled into it, covering her hair, flinging her arms into the sleeves. It sagged from her frame; she had sewn her old habit by hand, and this one was not the same, but it still settled across her shoulders like a comforting arm.
There's no such thing as a pregnant nun. And with that single thought, the comforting arm became a crushing vice around her neck; she gulped and wrung her hand through the rosary. Lord, I know all things are in Your will as You command, and I will accept my burden as You give it. But if I have any say in the matter, I would really prefer not to have a baby. She smoothed one hand over the front of her habit. How would she know? She hadn't been ill like Lana, hadn't had any cravings, but she also had the emotional consistency of chopped nuts.
Mary Eunice packed all of the things back into the box and slid them under the side of the bed that had been deemed hers since her arrival; she returned Wendy's Bible and crucifix to the box that Lana had given her on the first night, but at the sight of the rosary, she hesitated. She liked praying with it. Lana had given it to her. I'll ask her, sometime, if I could keep it.
Once she cooked dinner, boiled chicken and noodles, she and Lana sat at the small kitchen table. "Are you going to wear that all the time now?" Lana asked, a genuine question as she regarded Mary Eunice. She drank a fizzy brown cola.
"Oh—" Mary Eunice looked down at her black front. "No, I don't think so. I don't have a reason to. I just missed having one." She inhaled deeply in the fabric. The gathered dust in it caused her to sneeze, and Lana laughed.
"Looks like it needs washed before you wear it again." She spun her noodles around her fork, but her eyes darted around, constantly checking that Mary Eunice hadn't moved, and her fingers drummed upon the table in a rapid succession. Is she afraid of something?
Lana's palpable nervousness transmitted to Mary Eunice; she glanced over her shoulder several times to ensure that nothing had appeared at the window, as Lana kept looking past her. Should I ask her? No, she couldn't; that was too invasive. "Are you okay?" she hedged instead.
"Of course!" Lana's answer came too quickly, tone holding a forced cheer, and a shadow passed over her face as she regarded Mary Eunice.
Oh no. It's me. She gulped the sudden lump that budded in her throat and stuffed another fork full of pasta into her mouth to keep herself from calling out Lana's fear directly. Stupid stupid stupid. Of course Lana didn't want to see her in a habit. The demon had used her security blanket as a shield against scrutiny, to mask evil in a face of purity, and had victimized so many in the same outfit. "Okay," she agreed aloud. But when they finished eating and Lana went to shower, Mary Eunice stripped herself of the habit and put it under the bed with the rest of her things. She wouldn't torment Lana, no matter how much she liked wearing her habit; she could wear anything in the closet that had some modesty.
When Lana got out of the shower, Mary Eunice prayed her rosary at the bedside while Lana read a novel, and once she finished her prayer, she crawled into the bed beside her friend. "Did you get much written today?" she ventured, meek as sleep threatened on the horizon.
"I finished chapter two." Lana closed the book and placed it on the bedside table. "Is your burn feeling better?"
"It's peeling." After a moment's consideration, Mary Eunice pressed, "Will you let me read it when it's done?"
Lana grinned, eyes half-closed. "No, I'm writing an entire book to entertain myself. No one can ever read it, and I'll make no money on it whatsoever." The lamp flicked off, and she relaxed on her back; Mary Eunice scooted a little nearer, but she left a comfortable gap between their bodies. "Good night, Sister."
It occurred to her that Lana had never called her by her name. And she probably never will. To Lana, she would always be "Sister". She didn't know how she felt about that. "Good night, Lana." Within minutes, Lana's breath hiccuped into the broken patterns that she carried while she slept. But Mary Eunice could not still her mind, now worrying over the coming morning; the day had carried her away, and she had not decided what to do about the abortion that Lana was scheduled to receive.
She needed to support Lana. Lana had done too much for her to warrant anything else. One hand reached out, rested upon the soft of Lana's abdomen. "I'll go with you," she promised the sleeping woman. "You don't deserve to be alone." Lana stirred, turning her head, and mumbled something under her breath. Mary Eunice shushed her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."
"You okay?" slurred Lana.
"Mhm." Lana snuggled closer and placed one warm hand on top of Mary Eunice's, fingers twining together on her stomach. When her breath settled again, Mary Eunice closed her eyes, but she could not sleep; she wanted to make sure that she held Lana's hand as long as it was desired of her.
