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“Now, let us bow our heads and pray.”
Harrow nodded her head forward but kept her eyes staring dead ahead. She found it was getting harder and harder to fake it these days. Praying, that is. She didn’t know why she couldn’t just keep her eyes closed and zone out for a couple of seconds to the drawl of their pastor’s voice. Maybe it was the fact she liked watching everyone else, bent necked and brows furrowed, some mumbling along with their preacher at the pulpit, some looking like they’re straight up asleep... or dead, half the congregation was certifiably geriatric. Harrow's head rotated slightly as her eyes slid across to the pews on the other side of the room.
Or maybe it was because it was the only time she could look at Gideon knowing no one was following her gaze.
The other girl sat with her face pointed down like the rest of the congregation, but eyes open, focused on fidgeting with something in her lap. Her blouse was light and loose, the sleeves billowing over toned arms before gathering at the elbows. It looked like her hair has lost another couple inches since last Sunday’s sermon, falling to frame her jaw. Her sharp, very structured jaw, filled with brilliant teeth that made Harrow’s stomach kick her lungs every time she flashed them in a lop-sided smile.
That familiar heat built in her chest as she forced her eyes to look at anything else in the sanctuary. They landed on the depiction of their Lord and Saviour in the stained glass window, his arms extended, face broken into a warm smile, a dove flying behind his head, and his eyes burrowing straight through Harrow’s soul as if he knew exactly what the fuck she was just doing.
Shit.
This was becoming a more frequent occurrence at church. Maybe it was some sort of divine intervention, the unnatural thoughts bubbling up during the holiest time of the week, in the holiest place, so Harrow would have the pangs of shame that followed them as a swift reminder to guide her back to the righteous path. Even if it did feel like she was tainting everything around her, even the air.
She snuck another quick glance to her side as the pastor finished the prayer with a sombre ‘Amen,’ which was echoed back to him in varying levels of mumbled by the congregation. Gideon’s mouth mimicked the word without sound, a smirk was forming on her lips as Harrow saw the thing she was fiddling with was the sermon leaflet, now folded up into a paper airplane. Maybe Harrow was just cursed.