Proving That Priestly Is Totally a Pedophile

Carmel was one hundred percent sure this would work. Or, so she continually told herself as she straightened out her dress. It was a slinky, long sleeved black dress that she felt showed off her body. Because of this, it made her constantly tug at it, trying to make it go down further. She didn't like the way it felt on her body. It made her feel like a sinning whore.

But she was doing this for Jesus, she told herself.

If Mr. Priestly really was a pedophile, then she would have to kill him.

...or, at least, leave.

Swallowing, she took a few steps in her heels. They were hard to walk in, but she had gotten used to them, after walking circles in her room all night long.

"M-Mr. Priestly?" She called, carefully peeking around the corner of her room. "Where are you?"

"In the kitchen, love!" he called very Britishly in his Welsh accent. "Come on in, I was just making deviled eggs."

Deviled eggs?! Oh boy!

In her excitement, she almost tripped and broke both her ankles. Then, she remembered what she was doing. Seducing Priestly! She had to make sure...

"C-coming!" she called, before stepping into the kitchen, trying to look as confident as possible.

"H-hey, how are you...doing?" she asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder and nearly hitting her head. For once, her hair was out. It cascaded down to her waist.

"Busy like a bee," he replied merrily. "But it's all a labor of love. Sit down, Carmel, please. You look lovely today--trying a new look?"

Priestly himself wore old acid-wash jeans and a tattered wife beater, the uniform of someone who planned to laze around the house for the day.

"A-are you looking at me?" she asked, running her hands over her thighs, so she could straighten out her dress. "I, uhm, I wore this for you, because...d-do you like it? Does it, like...you know. Do, stuff, with you and everything?"

"I think you look charming," he said, grinning. "Quite stunning. Are we going someplace special, or did you just feel like dressing up?"

"I-I just wanted to, uhm, dress up! I guess..." she replied, feeling her face turn red. "Aren't you going to, like, touch me, or something?!"

"I thought you have that thing about me touching you when you eat, dear?" he said, passing her the plate of deviled eggs. He popped one into his mouth.

"Go on, they're made with love--and a special ingredient." He waggled his eyebrows.

Before he had mentioned anything, she had already put one in her mouth. But upon hearing the special ingredient part, she nearly spit it out.

"What did you put in here?!" she asked, swallowing roughly. "Tell me, right now, before I-I take off these ugly heels and stab you in the arm!"

He stared in surprise.

"Carmel, dear, I thought you liked what you were wearing...?" He ate another egg, still looking concerned.

"...Carmel, are you feeling ill, perchance?"

"Tell me!" she insisted, shaking him by his shirt. "What did you put in here?"

She was hoping to avoid the topic about what she was wearing entirely.

"I put in that expensive paprika I ordered off of the internet," he said, awkwardly patting her on the head. "Why, are you allergic?"

"...oh," she replied, stepping backwards and nearly tripping and killing herself.

"I hate these stupid shoes!" she screamed suddenly, stomping. "Why did I even bother? It's not like you care! You barely even noticed!"

"What didn't I notice?" he asked, taking a step back. He didn't quite want a shoe-related head injury.

"Why didn't you sexually harass me?! I shaved my legs for this stupid, whore, slut dress, just so you would notice!" she snapped at him. "Are you stupid!"

"...I was under the impression no one likes to be harassed," he replied quietly. "I made you eggs instead, because I thought you'd prefer it."

"Well...I-I don't!" she insisted. "Y-you should slap me on the butt and call me a whore and be a complete jerk! That's the entire reason I wore this ridiculous clown suit! And I even put on make up! For you! I thought you'd like this! But you only want me to eat more eggs and be fat!"

She felt tears prick her eyes. Why was she even so mad about this?

He grinned.

"Carmel, Carmel--you're not fat at all. Why, you have the perfect figure for a young lady. And I would never call you a whore, because you simply aren't one--you're a classy lady of God, aren't you?"

"Th-then why won't you pay any attention to me?" She asked, biting her lip and smearing her lipstick. She wiped her eyes, causing the mascara to get all over.

"I was paying attention to you. That's why I've been slaving in the kitchen all day to make you eggs," he said, looking a little put out. "Are they no good?"

"No! I-I hated them!" she lied. "You were supposed to be really surprised at all the effort I put into my outfit, and and...do something! I don't know! Don't you watch romantic comedies?!"

"Why, no, no I don't," he said honestly. "Would you like to watch one together?"

"...what?" she asked quietly. "I...uhm. Alright, I guess..."

"Is anything in theaters?" he asked brightly. "You're all dressed up already--why don't we go out, make a date of it? We've been cooped up in the house for a while, anyway. Nothing like fresh air, right?"

"Oh...uhm." she frowned. A date sounded...nice. "...alright."