| 2 | Broken Faith

◈ Celia ◈

As the pastors and sentinels wrap up their prayers, I mutter my silent ‘Amen’ as though I’d just whispered my own prayers to myself. Flickering my gaze from the polished wood, I meet my father’s eyes at the head of the table where he sits.

Don’t get me wrong, I believe in God. I just don’t know if the God I believe in is the same God written about in the Bible. You see, it’s kind of hard to have faith in something that time and time again seems to fail me.

Or so, it seems that way anyway.

“He lives in us.”

Bullshit.

If God lived in me, I wouldn’t be this way.

“He made you perfectly.”

Sure, he did.

If God made me perfectly, then why do I often find myself facing the ugliness of myself? If God made me perfectly, then why do my peers make it a point to remind me that I’m anything but perfect?

My father clears his throat. “Now, as I was saying, tonight is a crucial evening. We must show people that even in these dark times, there is still hope. That’s why I’ve decided to make an important announcement at the ball.”

Now, my curiosity is piqued.

I wait for it anxiously, but would he be who he is if he didn’t live to give me opportunities to learn patience?

“Celia,” my father calls.

George.

“Yes, dad?” I respond politely.

I watch as he stands from his chair, straightening on his feet as he adjusts his silky blue tie. He makes it a point to always look sharp, like the perfect father/pastor. His charcoal gray suit is only a testament to the finer things that he pretends to not care for, and the oxford black shoes on his feet are just one of the many identical pairs that he owns.

Sometimes I wish I took after him more.

The truth is that he’s a natural. He’s so good with people and kids. Everybody loves him, and he hardly has to try.

I guess the apple does fall far from the tree.

“I don’t need to remind you that tonight isn’t about you, do I?” He asks with a hint of condescension in his voice.

Seriously?

I have to resist the urge of rolling my eyes at him as I breathe out, “No, dad. You don’t.”

Funny story: last year, on this day, I may have snuck out to go hang out with a couple of my friends and ended up wasted in the bed of my now ex-boyfriend’s pick-up truck, passed out. Needless to say, the Sentinel sitting to my left—the asshole—was more than happy to drag my ass back home and watch me get chewed out in front of the Sentinel to my right—the hot one.

Yup, Xavier, the one who I am sure hates me was just dying for the opportunity to embarrass me more than I had already embarrassed myself. Now, I’m sure that every year, for the rest of my life, my father is going to make it a point to bring it up so that I never do it again.

Although, the more he does it, the more I’m tempted to do it again. Just to spite him.

Maybe I’ll do it again tonight.

I draw the inside of my cheek between my teeth, chewing vigorously as I avert my gaze to the three men still sitting across from me as they listen to my father’s instructions.

I study them, taking them in as though I haven’t done so a hundred times before.

Unlike Xavier and my new boyfriend who doesn’t know he’s my boyfriend, Elion, Sebastian is my personal favorite Sentinel.

Frankly, the only reason I like him is because he’s the nicest one of the five…and he may have pretended not to see me sneaking out that night after I bribed him with the promise of my famous homemade chocolate chip cookies—which he swears reminds him of the cookies his mother used to make him back when he lived in Germany before she died, demons destroyed it, and he was called to be a Sentinel.

I suppose he’s cute too. Between his emerald green eyes, dark brown hair, and plump pink lips, you could argue that he looks like what every movie portrays an angel to look like.

Unlike his counterpart, the man sitting next to Sebastian, Esteban’s shoulder-length black hair is tied back into a bun that oddly suits him. His goatee makes him look less like a pervert and more like a billionaire movie star from 1952 with broad shoulders and eyelashes that I would kill for.

Then, there’s Ken. Oh, wonderful Ken who’s practically a mute. Seriously. I’ve heard him talk maybe a handful of times and if it weren’t for the fact that I overheard Sebastian and Esteban talking about how he’s Japanese a few months ago, I wouldn’t know a thing about him except that he really likes to wear dark colored hoodies, joggers, and sneakers everywhere he goes—even to the ball.

Talk about inappropriate.

That’s it: the five Sentinels. And just like this meeting, I wish I could stay as far away from them as possible—save for Elion.

While they mean no harm to anyone who isn’t a demon, they aren’t exactly pleasant company to keep. Mostly because they’re not here to befriend anyone, and they’ve made that clear more times than not.

“The ball commences at 6PM, just before sunset. Everyone’s been given their assignment. Please stay alert.” My father’s stern voice pulls me out of my thoughts, my eyes snapping back to him. “Any questions?”

The silence that follows is deafening, and I’m all the more grateful when he suddenly says, “Alright. Thank you for your time.”

FINALLY.

“Celia.”

My muscles stiffen as I rise to my feet, my gaze flickering to meet my father’s as he says, “Stay.”

Of course…

A soft sigh parts my lips as I cross my arms and watch as the room clears out. One after another, the Sentinels and the other pastors of the church quietly take their leave until I’m left alone with my father and a shut door.

“Sweetie,” he breathes out as he walks around the table and towards me. The heels of his shoes click against the carpet floor, and as full of anticipation as I am, it doesn’t surprise me when he comes to a stop a foot short from me and brings his hands to my shoulders, telling me, “Please be on your best behavior. Tonight is about bringing people together and celebrating the wonderful blessings from God.”

Yeah, I know.

I offer him a small smile, and I respond with exactly what he wants to hear, “I will, daddy. I promise.”

With a pleased look on his face, he plants a loving kiss on my forehead. “You look beautiful,” he says, his voice just above a whisper as he pulls away from me. “Maybe you’ll find a nice young man worthy of your hand this evening.”

Sure…

That’s the thing about dads: when they’re not reminding you of your failures, they’re contradicting themselves by saying things that make it seem as though they believe you’re worthy of only the best.

“Thanks,” I mutter as he shoots me another warm smile, and without another word, he excuses himself, leaving me to figure out how I’m supposed to entertain myself until the party starts in a couple of hours.

Maybe Elion is free.