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working for the knife: chapter 13

chapter 13: then: August 1999 (link) Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Sister of Sin OC Rating: this fic is explicit. 18+, minors do not interact Chapter word count: 4.7k Tags: flashback, first kiss, first time, estrangement, emotional abuse, child abandonment, emotional baggage. content warning for Cecilia's shitty parents. Read the entire work on AO3 here! (link)

Thinking about starting a taglist for this fic - if you're interested in being added, feel free to reply or send me a message.

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Cecilia is fairly certain that she’s going to lose her virginity tonight. Copia is back at the Ministry, and if she’s interpreting things correctly, the tone of his letters became increasingly flirtatious the sooner he got to being back stateside.

She’s shaved her legs and underarms twice, just to make sure they’re extra smooth. She even shaved her bush, because that’s what men like according to the trashy lifestyle magazines stocked at the bait-and-tackle shop. She glances at the clock on the bedroom wall. Copia said he would be here at 7:00, and it’s 6:45. Fifteen minutes stretch out before her in an anxious expanse. She smoothes her damp palms over the dress she’s wearing tonight - black with little white daisies - and tosses on a black, open-weave cardigan before pulling on her black Chelsea boots, scuffed and well-worn.

Cecilia paces a few times before glancing up at the clock again. It’s 6:48, so she decides to make her way out to the living room. Things have been more tense than usual with her parents lately. She’s been trying to avoid them as much as possible, which is hard when three people are living in 800 square feet. She hasn’t even told them yet that she’ll be leaving to college in a few weeks, because she keeps deciding that’s a problem for future her.

"Oh, Cecilia," her mother gasps when she steps into the living room. "You look so beautiful for your date."

Cecilia scoffs and rolls her eyes. "We’re not going on a date, Mom. We’re just catching up."

Her dad chimes in: "Copia was always such a good influence on you. You just seemed more…"

Here we go again, thinks Cecilia. "More what, Dad?" she asks.

"You know," he says, talking a little with his hands. "You cared about the church more. Being involved. He’s a good kid, a devout and faithful Son. Sister Imperator clearly likes him, and we all know she doesn’t like just anybody." Her mom is nodding along.

Cecilia tries hard not to groan and fights the urge to tell her parents that they sound like starfuckers. It’s true that Copia was her tenuous tie to the Ministry, but she can’t explain to her parents that had everything to do with him and very little to do with the Unholy Father. Can’t explain that she’s feeling more and more like she never felt the pull of belief to begin with.

Mercifully, Cecilia hears the low rumble of Copia’s LeSabre and the gentle honk of his horn. He’s a few minutes early, but his arrival couldn’t have come a moment too soon. "I’ll see you later!" she says in a sing-song voice, grabbing her purse and making a beeline for the door, slamming it behind her.

Copia is a hazy visage behind the sunlit windshield. Cecilia’s blood feels like ice in the best way possible, and even her teeth start to chatter a little with anticipation. She hears the click of the doors unlocking and saddles into the passenger seat.

She’d thought about this moment a million times, and what she would say, and what she would do, but the truth of the matter is that she’s speechless. "Hi," she says, figuring that’s a good place to start.

"Ciao, bella," Copia replies, clearly just as nervous as she is. He’s drumming an uneven rhythm on the steering wheel. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt with the top few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up and a pair of khaki chinos. Cecilia doesn’t miss the curls of chest hair peeking out from under the collar, or the way his gold grucifix necklace glints in the sun.

He’s filled out over the past few years, looking more like a man than the teenager he was when he left. His shoulders have broadened and his forearms are tan, corded with muscle, and fuzzy with hair. There’s a cute little pudge of tummy over the waist of his pants - maybe he did spend the past two years getting fat and happy on pasta and cannoli. He’s clean-shaven, having lost the sparse teenage mustache, and he must’ve gotten contacts, because the glasses are gone, too. He smells clean, like bergamot and balsam.

"I don’t know what to say," Cecilia says with a nervous laugh. Her heart is singing. "It’s good to see you."

"And you," replies Copia. "You look good, cara. No more braces?"

"No more braces." Cecilia smiles at Copia with all her teeth.

"Molto bene." He shifts the car into gear. "Are you ready?"

"I was born ready," she replies, taking her sunglasses from her bag and putting them on.

Copia navigates the swerving roads of the backcountry by the Ministry with practiced ease. "The other Brothers and I would drive down the coast and they always made me take the wheel," he explains. "This is nothing."

"The other…Brothers? Copia, did you take your vows?" Cecilia gasps. "I know how much this means to you. Congratulations!"

"I’m sorry I didn’t tell you in letters, but I thought it would be, eh, a fun little surprise to share." He looks away from the road for a second to steal a glance at her; her light hair is a fiery halo in the golden evening sun.

"Consider me surprised," she says, reclining back in her seat.

The old Buick meanders along before Copia pulls to a stop at the lake’s edge. It’s a private enclave, tucked away in trees and shrubs. The water is placid and sparkling as the sun begins its descent in the sky. "You always talked about being here so fondly in your letters," Copia explains, "I really want to eh. Share it with you." He walks around the side of the car to open the passenger door for Cecilia. Gentlemanly.

He pops the trunk and pulls out a red plaid blanket, soft and faded with age. After that comes a picnic basket, much to Cecilia’s delight. "You didn’t have to do this for me, Copia," she says softly, thrilled.

"I want to do this for you. Come, sit." He sits and pats the blanket beside him.

"Seeing you is enough," Cecilia replies. She’s taken with the desire to push him down on the blanket and smother him with kisses

"Consider it eh, a bonus, then," Copia replies, opening the basket and pulling out cheeses and fruits, crostini and jams and mustards, and a corked carafe of a pre-made bright orange drink. "Aperol spritz," he explains. "A good summer cocktail."

"He goes to Italy and comes back knowing about good summer cocktails," Cecilia teases. "Are these from the gardens? They’re beautiful." She’s picking up a little carton of strawberries, inspecting. They’re small and deep red, like little rubies. "Copia - this is too much. Thank you."

"I think they’re better than what you can get at the store," Copia replies. He takes a small cheese knife and wooden cutting board out of the basket last and starts explaining what each cheese is and what it pairs best with, slicing slivers for Cecilia to sample.

The sun dips lower in the sky and a chill is coming off the water. Dark, heavy clouds are gathering on the horizon, but they look too far away to worry about. The remaining little nubs of cheese are tucked back into the basket. One drink has Cecilia feeling warm and giddy, and she notices Copia inching closer to her on the blanket. 

"I thought about this a lot. What it would be like, being here with you" Copia says softly. His hand inches toward hers, and she laces their fingers together. "I missed you, Cecilia."

"I missed you too," she says, just as softly. "I’m glad you’re back. I forgot all of my Latin without you."

Copia chuckles. "Don’t say I never told you so."

"There’s something I want to tell you, too. A little surprise," Cecilia says, mirroring his words from earlier. Copia raises his eyebrows and makes one of his interested little Copia sounds. "I got into college. I’m - ugh - I’m leaving for the fall semester in a few weeks." He looks at her with a strange mix of emotions on his face, chief of which is disappointment. He thought that they had nothing but time in front of them, and now she’s the one leaving the Ministry. "Ugh, gross, I’m so sorry," she goes on. "I haven’t told anyone else, and I wanted someone to know. But I’ll be back over breaks, and we can keep writing. I might even have a phone in my dorm."

"Wait." Copia blinks at her. "You haven’t told anyone? Not even your parents?"

"They’re gonna freak out. I’m trying to make it as swift a transition as possible. They want me to rush right into a novitiate, enter the Sisterhood. Ughhhh." She grimaces, scrubs her hands down her face. "But I don’t even know if I want that, Copia. I feel like it’s something my parents want without even considering my feelings." She feels like she’s saying too much, because Copia is still not saying anything and looking at her with that indiscernible expression he’s so good at wearing. "I don’t know if I believe."

"What makes you say that?" Copia is looking at her, unblinking and owlish.

"I don’t feel anything during mass. I’ve never felt awe, or wonder, or the devil’s blackest force moving through me, not even when I was confirmed. How do you know, Copia?" Cecilia is feeling extremely overwhelmed and feels the sting of tears in her eyes. The guilt she’s carried with her since her Unholy Confirmation is threatening to spill over.

"It’s like home," Copia says. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, considering his words. "I know His black light is guiding me. I feel it here." He splays his fingers over his heart. "It’s so hard to explain, Cecilia, but I just know."

"And I think I know in the same way," she whispers back. She’s ruining everything, making him break himself open and bear his soul to her in a way that they’ve never broached before. She knows she’s rejecting something important to him, and it feels like a betrayal.

Copia says nothing, just hums, considering. "Do you know what else I know?"

Cecilia chews the inside of her lower lip and shakes her head. Her heart is thrumming furiously in her chest, and her breath catches when she looks in Copia’s kind green eyes.

"I know that I like you very much. Is it okay to kiss you?" Copia asks after a long pause, squeezing her hand. He’s so soft and so warm.

Cecilia bites her lip and nods. Yes, it’s more than okay; it’s all she’s ever wanted and it’s the only thing she’s truly certain about right now. Copia turns his head and leans in toward Cecilia, closing his eyes. Cecilia closes her eyes, too, and lets herself surrender to shivery anticipation. Copia presses his mouth to hers, chaste and so tender. Cecilia gives him a little reciprocal press of her lips before he pulls away.

"Are you nervous?" she asks, glancing down at his mouth, at that freckle on his bottom lip.

"I’m so nervous," he admits, voice wavering. "But I want to kiss you again, if that eh, is okay."

"More than okay," she replies softly. The rush of blood in her ears is overwhelmingly loud. Her heart feels like it’s going to burst from her chest.

Copia kisses her with a little more force, scooting closer to her and grasping the back of her head with his free hand. His fingers tangle in her hair. Cecilia takes a shivery little inhale against Copia’s mouth and feels his lips part the slightest amount. Tentatively, experimentally, she darts her tongue out and runs it along the seam of his mouth. He opens his mouth further, and Cecilia licks against his tongue. Copia brings them crashing down on the blanket in a flash of limbs. They’re engulfed with the feeling of hands and mouths and teeth and tongues, clumsy and longing. Copia paws at her breast through her dress and slots a thigh between her legs. Cecilia gasps, overwhelmed with the sensation of it all.

"Can we - slow down?" she asks between little pants. "Sorry."

"Don’t be sorry," Copia says, rolling onto his back and reaching for Cecilia’s hand again. "There is no hurry." His words and his touch are so soft, and Cecilia is overwhelmed for a different reason altogether. He brushes over the top of her hand with his thumb, and the gesture is achingly sweet. She finds herself wondering how she got so lucky.

They lay on the blanket for some time, watching the sky darken as the clouds roll in over the lake. Copia is still idly brushing her hand with his thumb as they talk - more about Italy, about Cecilia’s college plans (a history degree, or maybe one in political science), and Copia’s plans for his future within the Ministry. Cecilia feels so safe, and she can see something more than friendship materializing before them. A notion that she keeps tucked in the furthest recesses of her heart, that maybe she wants to stay, peeks out and makes itself known.

Cecilia shifts onto her side, propping up her head with her hand. "Can we keep kissing?" she asks. "Gotta make up for lost time."

"Mmm, you can’t tell me that you spent two years pining for me," Copia says.

"Every second," Cecilia replies. "Missed you a lot."

"Missed you, too," Copia says. "Let’s make the most of the time we have now, yes?" Cecilia closes the gap between them this time and immediately feels a full-body shiver run through her. "You’re so soft," he says against her lips. "Soft and pretty." Their angle is awkward, so Copia hoists Cecilia on top of his supine body. "Is this… is this okay?"

"Yes," Cecilia replies, pressing her body against him. Copia makes a small, strangled noise in the back of his throat. She brackets him with her arms and leans down to kiss him. Her hair hangs down like a curtain around them. Hesitantly, Copia places his right hand on Cecilia’s right side, and when she leans into his touch, he brings his other hand up on her left side. He grabs the flesh of her hips, greedy, bruising, and rocks her forward against him. Copia moans brokenly at the feeling.

"Oh, fuck," Cecilia gasps, mouth falling open. She rolls her hips against him again before crashing forward and kissing Copia full on the mouth.

"It’s good, right?" Copia mutters against her lips, canting his hips up.

"So good, holy shit," she says softly, almost disbelieving, rutting against him once more.

The air between them is charged, and it’s not long before they’re panting into each other’s mouths again. "Are you okay? With this, I mean," Copia asks. He’s so hard that it hurts, but he’s hell-set on following her lead.

"Yes, Copia. A million times yes," she replies, breathless.

"Can I - oh - can I please touch you?" he asks, shuddering a moan as she rocks herself forward, teasing.

"Anywhere," she replies. She would do anything for him, she thinks. She wants him to open her up and know her wholly, body and mind and spirit.

"Your chest," he says. "If ah, that is okay with you." Cecilia nods her consent, enthusiastic. Copia pushes himself up on those strong forearms so he’s sitting upright, somehow keeping Cecilia balanced in his lap the whole time. She shrugs the cardigan off, tossing it behind her, then reaches around and slides the thin straps of her dress off her shoulders. The top of her dress falls forward, exposing her small, pale breasts to Copia’s eager eyes. 

Tentatively, he reaches his left hand up and touches her, squeezing gently, curious. His head falls back with a breathy moan.

"That’s so nice," Cecilia says, all high and breathy. "I didn’t know this would - ah - feel so good." Copia pinches her pink nipple between his fingers, coaxing it to hardness. 

"You feel so good," is Copia’s response. He leans forward and licks a stripe down her neck, biting gently at the junction of her shoulder.

They stay like that for a while, touching and exploring with hands and mouths. Cecilia is almost tickled by the ecstasy on Copia’s face, how the simple expanse of her skin and the soft curves of her body can bring him such pleasure. He looks up at her, the affection he has for her evident in his mossy green eyes. "Do you want more?"

"I want everything," she replies, and she doesn’t know how she can convey how all-encompassing the desire for everything is. Sex with Copia, but also meals with Copia and coffee with Copia and music with Copia. A life together with Copia.

With a low growl, Copia rolls them over. Cecilia on her back looks divine, hair splayed around her like a crown. He bites her lip gently and tugs with his teeth. "Show me where," he says, considerate in spite of how charged the air is between them. She nods frantically.

Cecilia wiggles her dress up her hips the slightest bit. Grabs one of his hands and trails it down down down to rest on the front of her underwear between the peaks of her hips. Copia punches out a little moan; he can feel her body heat through the cotton. In the distance, thunder rumbles. Copia runs his fingers back and forth over the fabric experimentally, and Cecilia rolls her hips into his touch. "Can I touch you here?" he asks, moving his hand a little lower, a little further down between her milky thighs.

Sathanas, he can feel how hot and wet she is through her underwear. The other brothers would always talk about how wet they could make the pretty Italian sisters, and Copia chalked it up to young men just being lewd and boastful about their sexual exploits. His fingers are just resting on her, not pressing down, and he’s almost disbelieving when he feels how damp the fabric is already.

Cecilia nods fervently and gasps when he rubs his fingers so slightly against her underwear. Copia applies a little more pressure, tapping at her clit, and Cecilia moans. She can’t believe the pleasure she’s feeling, even through a layer of fabric. "Is under your panties okay?" She normally thinks the word panties is disgusting, but hearing Copia utter it while touching her so reverently and taking her apart is something else entirely.

"Yes, Copia, please touch me there," she whines, hands scrambling for purchase on the blanket. She didn’t know it was possible for something so soft to feel so good.

Copia crawls his fingers to the elastic edge of her underwear, ready to peel the gusset to the side, when thunder booms and the clouds above them open up in a downpour. Cecilia shrieks and rolls out from underneath Copia, pulling the top of her dress back up and grabbing her cardigan. Copia springs up after her, wadding up the blanket and grabbing the picnic basket to shove in the trunk.

Cecilia is futilely covering her head with her forearms, hopping from foot to foot as the cold rain pelts her. She hears the little click of Copia popping the locks and flings herself into the passenger seat.

"Cold!" she exclaims, wringing water from her hair.

"Fucking cockblock weather," Copia mutters, turning the car on and cranking up the heat.

Cecilia laughs. "Looks like I’m not losing my virginity tonight after all."

"We’ll eh, do it before you go, what do you say?" asks Copia. The shock of cold rain beating down on him was enough to kill his boner, and he’s not one to ignore what feels like a cosmic sign.

"Sounds like a plan, champ," Cecilia replies, grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers together.

Copia hesitates a little before saying, "I thought it was my night, too." He looks almost shy at the admission.

Cecilia gasps. "You’re a virgin? Were you saving yourself for me? I’m honestly touched." She smiles widely. "That’s so sweet, Copia."

Copia laughs nervously. "I got a lot of shit for it, but I kept a torch burning for you. I - eh - I wanted it to be special."

She leans in and kisses him. "Such a gentleman."

He kisses back. "Cara mia deserves only the best." She beams.

They spend a while like that, kissing softly and whispering promises across the center console while hot air blasts from the car’s heater, fogging up the windows. "American Girl" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers plays quietly on the radio. The rain shows no sign of stopping, so Copia eventually offers to drive Cecilia home. The road into the former scout camp-turned-Satanic commune is washed out, so Copia parks at the entrance to the easement.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asks, peppering her neck with kisses.

She squeals, ticklish. "Same time tomorrow," she confirms. "Sleep tight, Copia."

"Buona notte, Cecilia."

She hears the gravely squelch of the road under the tires and watches Copia’s headlights disappear into the distance. She feels like she’s floating and having to wait another full day to see him again feels torturous.

As her little yellow house comes into view, something suddenly feels wrong. The closer she gets, the clearer she can see piles of her clothes strewn all over the front lawn, soggy in the rain.

"What the absolute fuck," she whispers to herself. Slowly, she walks to the front door. She takes a deep breath to steady herself before turning the front doorknob open.

"Hello?" she asks, stepping into the living room. She stomps her wet feet on the doormat and toes off her Chelsea boots.

"Kitchen, Cecilia," comes her mother’s stern voice.

Well, shit. Whatever is going on, it can’t be good. She steps into the kitchen and sees a series of letters from her university splayed out on the table. Shit. Fuck.

"When were you planning to tell us about this?" asks her father. She doesn’t say anything at first, content to just stare daggers at the floor in front of her. Her blood turns cold when her father starts to read from her admission letter. "Dear Cecilia Honeycutt, we are pleased to offer you admission to our class of 2003. Your application essay about the struggles you overcame being raised in a secretive religious sect was inspiring and thought-provoking, and your academic achievements are exceptional. You are the kind of young mind we are excited to have join our spirited community of students, faculty, and alumni…" He trails off. "Is nothing we’ve done for you good enough? Is the Ministry not good enough for you, Cecilia? Sorry - the ‘secretive religious sect’ you were raised in." Her father goes on. "There’s nothing out there that you can’t find here."

"Have you ever considered that you raised me in a fucking cult?" Cecilia asks in a voice that doesn’t seem like her own. Her parents’ respective jaws drop. "Like, seriously, Mom and Dad. It’s absolutely insane that you moved across the country to follow Nihil spouting his bullshit. If it was Charles Manson you found first, you would have been killing people in the Hollywood Hills."

Her mother gasps like Cecilia slapped her. "That’s not true and you know it."

Cecilia goes on. "My whole life, it’s been so much easier to just pretend I believe because I was always living under the threat of disappointing you! I didn’t want to be confirmed, and I don’t want to be a Satanic nun, because it’s bullshit to live your life in service of something you don’t even think is real!"

"And you think leaving everything behind and not telling us is a better alternative?" asks her father, steely-eyed.

"Honestly, yeah, I do! I don’t want to live under your thumb and I don’t want to keep up bullshit appearances anymore. Shouldn’t you be proud of me? It’s all bullshit!" Cecilia is screaming now, trying to get some kind of emotional reaction from her parents.

"You know what? Pack a bag. You wanna go, you’re gonna go." He stands up, dragging her by the arm to her bedroom. 

"What are you doing?" she begs, voice hoarse.

"Bus station’s not far and a ticket is pretty cheap. You wanna be gone? You wanna leave this all behind? Let’s go then."

"Not like this!" she screams, crying now. "The dorms don’t open for three weeks - where am I gonna go, Dad? Where am I gonna go?"

"You think you’re so clever, you’ll figure it out. Hurry it up."

She sits on her bed in shock. She wishes she asked Copia to stay until she got inside, or that running up the wet road in the dark to follow him was feasible for her to do. She thinks that even if she did bolt for the door, her dad would be right behind her, ready to drag her back inside. She hiccups a single sob.

Cecilia sets her mouth in a hard line and starts shoving things indiscriminately into her duffle bag. She reaches for the red shoebox full of Copia’s letters on the top shelf of her closet. Just as her fingers brush the box, her father walks into her room, filling the space. He yanks her away from the closet by the arm and starts pulling her in the direction of the front door.

"You’re hurting me," she sobs, dragging her duffle bag behind her.

Her father doesn’t say anything, and neither does her mother when they pass her in the kitchen. "Mom! Please!" Cecilia cries, imploring her mom to do something. Her mom doesn’t say anything. Cecilia thinks the silence will haunt her for the rest of her life.

The drive to the bus station is excruciating. Cecilia sits in the backseat sniffling and hiccuping, hugging the duffle bag to her chest. They pull up, and her dad thrusts enough crumpled bills for a one-way bus ticket into her hand before speeding off into the dark night.

Cecilia finds herself in her college town a few hours later as dawn is starting to break. Bleary-eyed, she catches another bus to campus and parks herself in front of the admissions building, waiting for them to open for the day. She’s still in the same dress and cardigan as the night before, and her makeup is smeared down her face from the rain and then the tears.

Once the building opens for the business day, Cecilia storms in and in a rush, explains what just transpired to the poor, half-awake receptionist at the front desk. She spends the day getting set up in temporary housing and filling out financial aid paperwork. There’s no phone in her little shoebox of a room, and she wishes she could call Copia and just let him know that she’s okay. She decides to do the second-best thing, and walks to the bookstore. She uses the change in her wallet to buy a pre-stamped postcard. Feeling like she’s being watched, she scrawls a quick message on the back and drops it in the mail.

At the end of the week, the sibling distributing mail drops Copia’s stack of envelopes on his desk in his little cubicle.

"Grazie," he says, and starts to thumb through the letters. The shock of Cecilia’s disappearance is still new and raw. He drove to her house the next evening at 7:00 and when he honked the horn, her mother came out in her place and said that Cecilia was gone. No other explanation. He knows she wouldn’t just leave like this, and the not knowing what happened is a wound he can’t stop picking at. He’s even driven by her house a few more times, and her parents draw their blinds as soon as they hear the putter of his engine.

At the bottom of his daily mail is a postcard showing an aerial view of a sprawling university campus. "Wish you were here!" is written in the bottom right corner in a cheery retro font. He turns the postcard over and nearly gasps when he sees Cecilia’s tiny, neat handwriting.

My Copia,

You’ve probably figured out by now that I’m gone. This wasn’t how I wanted things to go. I’m so sorry - I thought we had more time. Please know it’s not you. I miss you already. 

All my love,

Cecilia

End notes: Reblogs, comments, kudos, and likes are so appreciated. Thank you sososo much for all your support so far.