#also I added a small snippet of the next part ur welcome😌

[phantom-curve]

Until he calls back two weeks later. 

“Blessed Virgin prayer line, how may I help you?”

“Okay, so riddle me this: why is someone with religious trauma working a prayer line? Is it like…a masochistic thing? Or is it like…being involved in the religion helps you process the trauma?”

“Excuse me?”

It’s late. She’s actually almost at the end of her volunteer shift, and this was meant to be her last call. It’s absolutely pouring rain, so Tía wants her on the roads sooner rather than later and everyone else started hen-pecking as soon as Victoria did. She’s also exhausted because she finally started studying for her finals this week and immediately realized she was nowhere near ready for them, so she’s been pulling a few too many all-nighters which has her a bit on edge. The last time she kept a sleep schedule like this was in high school, when melodies and lyrics were the things keeping her up late, not statistics and business models. 

“I’m mostly asking for Alex. He practically breaks out in hives every time we walk past a church. He thought it was dumb I even asked you to pray for us, but then he had to eat his words ‘cause baby, we got the deal!”

The topic change feels like whiplash, and Julie’s brain takes an extra second to reboot and respond. 

“Congratulations?”

She doesn’t know why it comes out as a question. There is no doubt that this guy is stoked about his record deal. She can practically feel his excitement vibrating across the line.

“Thanks, dude!” he croons, no comment on her weird delivery. “Gotta be honest, we worked hard for this, so no way am I giving you all the credit, but if you really did say a prayer or whatever I just wanted to say: thank you.”

He sounds so earnest and genuine, and she isn’t really sure what to say. 

“Uh, you really don’t have to thank me,” she finally manages, distinctly uncomfortable with the turn this conversation has taken.

Because here’s the thing: she didn’t pray for him. 

She did dutifully write down: a successful meeting with the recording company for a young man on the prayer line in the prayer request binder at the end of her shift. She may have also added a postscript about his love life, but that had mostly been done in jest. But she did not personally pray for him. She didn’t even pray with the congregation on Sunday. She never does.

In fact, if she’s being completely honest, Julie doesn’t pray at all, except for the nights she volunteers for the prayer line. 

It’s…penance, she supposes. The volunteering. The praying-with-and-for-others. Never for herself, though. Never on her own time. She doesn’t go to Mass and she doesn’t reach for God, and that’s exactly what she deserves. 

“I’m glad you got what you wanted,” she says, because that at least is true. 

Other people deserve to live their dreams. 

“Well, like I said, we worked hard for it,” he says, not unkindly, “it’s been a long time coming.”

There’s pride in his tone now, and the rotten part of her core that wears regret and anger like a cloak wants to reach out and claw at it, tell him to shove it away before it burns the world down with its sin. Before it costs him more than he can afford. Instead she takes a long, steadying breath and forces herself to swallow down the bitterness threatening to choke her. 

The prayer line is a selfless place, she reminds herself. This isn’t about her.

I just called to love you like we’re gonna die

in which Julie volunteers at a church prayer line and Luke accidentally calls in one night || loosely inspired by the lone star: 911 episode “saving grace”

In the old, drafty basement of the Blessed Virgin Mary Catholic Church, Julie Molina sits at a small round table in a metal fold out chair staring at the phone in front of her the exact same way she’s been doing every Wednesday night for the last four years, waiting. 

There are six other tables scattered about the room, phones and volunteers stationed at each one. A small kitchenette is tucked on the back wall, a carafe of coffee always hot and waiting, an electric kettle ready for tea at a moment’s notice. It’s comforting and familiar, these sights and sounds that remain unchanged week after week, month after month, year after year. 

Volunteering for the prayer line is routine and expected and one of the only remnants of her life in the Before Time. The time before the sickness and the sadness. The time before being told there was nothing more to do. The time before learning to say goodbye when what she wanted to say is please don’t go. The time before her mom died. The time before Julie’s faith died with her. 

And even though she doesn’t believe anymore, she still comes here every Wednesday. She still sits in her chair at her table, waiting for a call. She still answers and talks and digs deep into her past to offer the words the other person needs to hear. 

Because at the end of the day, Julie needs some things to stay the same. The world never stops, but the prayer line never changes. 

Until today. 

“Blessed Virgin prayer line, how may I help you?”

Laughter explodes from the other end of the phone. Julie pulls the receiver away from her face as the loud guffaws continue on the other line. A few of the other volunteers in the room glance at her, and Julie shrugs in response. She answered the phone the exact way they always do. From the corner of her eye she sees Tía watching her from across the room. Julie gives her a wide grin and firmly reattaches the receiver to her ear. 

“Holy shit — oh I probably shouldn’t say that, sorry — holy crap!” A soft baritone says on the other end. The guy sounds young, his voice smooth, his vowels rounded with a slight accent. 

“I just,” more laughter, and it’s so heartfelt Julie can’t help the way the corners of her lips curve just a bit, “I’m just honestly trying to decide if I’m more impressed or insulted right now.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I follow?”

Julie keeps her voice kind, the way she’s been trained to when working the prayer line. Usually it’s older folks calling in, either lonely or in poor health. Sometimes it’s a parishioner with an emergency, though ‘emergency’ can stem from a disagreement over a Bible passage to someone in a life or death situation who maybe should have called a different 24/7 phone line. This particular caller doesn’t sound familiar, which isn’t necessarily weird, but he does sound at least a bit confused, which definitely is. 

“Look,” he says after a moment, “I met a girl at a bar last night, and I asked for her number, and this is the number she gave me. I was trying to call her up to see if she wants to go out, but clearly she doesn’t.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t sound particularly upset about it. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve been turned down before, but never by a church prayer line. That’s a new one. Do you think she was trying to send me a message?”

This time, Julie’s the one who can’t help but laugh. 

“What kind of message would making you call a prayer line be?”

“I don’t know, maybe that I need to have a come to Jesus talk? Oh, oh, I know! That I haven’t got a prayer with her! Damn, that’s actually pretty clever,” he murmurs, more to himself than to her she thinks. 

Julie can’t help but be amused at the thought of this girl passing out prayer line numbers, and she finds herself abruptly wondering how badly this guy was flirting. His voice, at least, is fairly charming. And so far he’s been a pretty good sport about the whole thing. Occasionally they’ll get an addict calling in that was given their number by someone claiming it belongs to a dealer in an ill fated attempt to help them get clean. Those callers are never this nice about the bait and switch. 

“Well, in that case, I’ll be sure to include you in our Sunday prayer requests,” Julie vows, just a hint of tease dancing along the edges of her words, slipping through the half curved smile she can’t seem to hold back. 

“Oh man, that’s a real thing? Like, people call you up to request a prayer for ‘Ol Boi in the sky to deliver on?”

Julie swallows the snort that threatens to burst out and forces her voice to remain cheerful and church approved. 

“Well sometimes, yes. Mostly people call in to pray together over the phone, but sometimes they want to be added to the Sunday list. Usually when it’s a really important prayer, or a really big one. Having the support of the congregation makes them feel closer to God.”

She doesn’t really know why she’s explaining this to him. Clearly he isn’t Catholic, and he probably won’t ever call the line again. Plus, despite what others may think, she doesn’t volunteer for the prayer line in an attempt to convert people. 

“Damn, who knew church could be so transactional. Oh shit, sorry, I probably shouldn’t say the d-word. Ya know, I’ve got a buddy that used to go to church, and he never mentioned anything about prayer lines or requests. And we totally coulda used some of those back in the day...”

His tone sounds genuinely bummed, but in a way that tells Julie whatever they would have prayed for back then is something this guy would do anything to obtain. She’s said that kind of prayer before, too. 

“Well, you’re here now. Could be as good a time as any to start. Is there something specific you’d like me to include in your Sunday prayer? You know, other than a plea for better game.”

“Hey now!” The guy laughs, surprised but not upset, “I’ve got plenty of game, thank you very much. Church girls notwithstanding.”

Julie makes a noncommittal noise. She doesn’t know him well enough to offer a comment on this subject matter. He laughs again, the sound carefree and open in a way she almost envies. She doesn’t know the last time she felt an emotion so unrestrained. Her heart has been under lock and key for years at this point, almost everything feels dulled and muted through layers of survival. 

“Okay, okay, how ‘bout this: you can say a prayer for me, but it has to be cool.”

“A cool prayer?” Julie doesn’t quite manage to keep the slight sarcasm from her tone. He chuckles, just two little ha-ha’s, but the sound splits her lips into a grin again. 

“Yeah, dude! Like, pray that I wake up a millionaire or with a sold-out international tour or – oh! Oh! I know!! Pray we cinch our record deal next week! Think you and Sky Daddy can make it happen?”

“You can’t call Him that if you want me to put your prayer in,” Julie says with a mockingly stern voice, ignoring the pulse of pain that rockets through her chest at his mention of touring and record deals. 

“Okay, fair enough, my bad. No disrespect, I promise. We just talk like that around Alex, my friend that went to church, ‘cause, ya know, religious trauma. It helps him when we joke about it.”

He’s slipped into a more casual cadence, his words blurring a little and she thinks, this must be what he sounds like around his friends, and then ignores the way that thought makes her heart jump a little. She has friends. Well, she has Flynn. And Flynn has friends that sometimes Julie also spends time with. Usually because Flynn invited her to something. It’s fine, though. It’s hard to make friends in your twenties, everyone knows that. 

“Oop, sorry, probably shouldn’t bring that kinda stuff up on a prayer line either, eh?”

She can hear the smile in his voice, and she has no way of knowing what it looks like, but she knows it’s kind. She just…knows. It makes the pain from earlier flare back to life. And suddenly Julie is struck with an intense, overwhelming sense of loneliness. Which is why she lets just a little bit of her real self leak out across the line.

“That’s something Alex and I have in common actually, so it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

Silence.

Shit. 

“Forget I said that,” she says in a rush, tone bright and perky the way it should be, foot moving a mile a minute against the linoleum floor. It squeaks in protest and Julie doesn’t even flinch at the sound. Maybe if she moves her legs fast enough her brain will believe she’s outrunning the awkwardness of this situation and she’ll be able to chill the fuck out before her Tía catches on. 

“I’ll put you down for one prayer on Sunday, a record deal special. Thank you for calling the Blessed Virgin prayer line, may the Lord be with you.”

She hangs up the phone before he can get a word in. Not like he was going to anyway. She holds her breath for a long moment, but it doesn’t ring. She exhales in a rush, slumping over the table with her head resting in her hands. A warm hand falls to rest on her shoulder seconds later. 

“Everything okay, sobrina?”

Julie spits hair out of her mouth and sits upright, turning to her aunt with a practiced smile.

“Everything’s fine, Tía. Just a prank call, but I handled it.”

One perfectly sculpted eyebrow raises as hazel eyes sweep her head to toe checking for any signs of distress, and then Victoria nods decisively. 

“We’ll pray for them.”

She squeezes Julie’s shoulder once before releasing her, heels click-clacking across the floor as she turns and makes her way over to where Mr. Martinez is holding his receiver upside down again. 

And that’s that. A weird occurrence at her weekly prayer line volunteering, for sure, but not really anything more than a funny story to share with Flynn over delivery pizza later that night.

Until he calls back two weeks later.