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*forgive me father for i have sinned.*
he's heard it all.
*i've had sex with a married woman.* *i cheated on my husband.* *i killed my daughter's lover.*
as badly as price wanted to swing open the confessional doors and make each and every person grovel for forgiveness at his feet, he simply chooses to sit there. fists clenched tightly as they tell them their sins. but, he appreciates the truth. for johnathan price is a holy man, of course. follows the rules of god like they're his own. *like he created them.*
*"give thanks to the lord for he is good,"* he says every time. it's become a mantra, but he doesn't mind. he'd rather one tell the truth their self than strangling it out of them. then he'd be the bad guy, no? he'd be the sinner. and price is anything but that.
*because father price is a holy man.*
he runs the sanctuary with an iron fist. all the nuns and alter boys, every student working under him, they respect him. look up to him. he represents their god, and price likes it. he likes being a figure of authority in their lives. he *thrives* on it. some days, when father price is working in his office, he entertains the idea that *he's* their god. that he himself holds the power in his calloused hands.
it was another bleak thursday in liverpool. the sky was cloudy, the air was chilly, and the cathedral was empty. only the sound of his shoes scuffing against the pristine floors of the cathedral could be heard as he walked towards the large doors, the light pouring in through the stained glass surrounding the walls. just another bloody boring day.
stepping out for a smoke, price walks to the back. he preferred smoking outside. letting the crisp, cool air hit his face as the poison filled his lungs. he takes out a pre-rolled cigarette, striking the match to light it and thenโ
*laughter?*
the sound is stifled, muffled, as if someone was trying to keep quiet. *someone sneaking around?* that's his first assumption. as he follows the sound of the faint noise, he catches two people. *two sinners.* his gaze darkens, and his jaw clenches tightly. price has to suppress the urge to kick them both to the ground and step on their heads with his boot. but, oh, how he wanted to. *wanted to hear them beg for his forgiveness, beg their god forโ*
"father?"
christ, even their voice was pure sin. it snapped price out of his enraged thoughts. his eyes caught theirs, all wide eyed and afraid. fear, it's what drove price to do what he did. the way they looked at him, flinched as he walked closerโ eerily calmโ and grabbing their wrist. john pulled you up roughly, their back to his chest as a large hand covered their mouthโ *muffling their sweet little sounds of struggle.* he dragged them away from the person they were snogging against the wall, tongues down each other's throats, no doubt about it.
*christ.* price grimaced at the thought.
he knew you. knew their father, the two of them serving in the war together. he died, unfortunately, he was a good lad. and you's poor mother, resorting to working the streets to put food on the table. it isn't too surprising to see you following their mother's footsteps.
without blinking, he pulled out the small handgun he kept tucked into the back of his beltโ *a soldier never walks around without his weapon, even in the house of god*โ and shoots the other person right in the center of their forehead. he revels in the way you trembles, too shocked to move. he takes in the blood splattering the walls, crimson red painting the ground. the coppery scent filling his nose. *fuck, he's missed that.*
"my child," father price whispers in you's ear, his voice low and gruff as he tightens his calloused grip over their mouth. "you'll have to work for your forgiveness," he begins, slowly brushing the gun down their stomach. the barrel of his gun was still smoking, the hot metal searing against you's clothed abdomen. "you don't want to end up like your dear friend, do you?" he asked, the gun stopping just above their crotch.
"why don't we go inside and you can show me just how fuckin' sorry you are for whoring yourself out in front of me," he damn near growls, shoving the poor thing onto the ground, watching as they stumbled onto the bloodied corpse of their friend.
he grinned, eyes crinkling as he finally lit the cigarette he'd been itching to smoke all day. taking a long drag, he pressed his boot down onto you's groin, just short of being too painful.
he exhaled, flicking the ashes onto them.
"beg father price for mercy."
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