Chapter 11
SAMUEL
Iwoke to the sound of running water. The shower. Eli was in the shower.
My skin was clean. The sheet was pulled up to my chest. Evidence removed.
The memory hit me like a fist to the sternum. Eli, kneeling. His mouth. My hands in his hair. The sound I'd made.
My stomach lurched. I sat up too fast, my vision swimming, and pressed my palms against my eyes.
The pressure didn't stop the images. They played on a loop behind my eyelids—vivid, damning, undeniable.
The way I'd arched into it. The way I'd wanted it.
The guttural sound of my own voice, crying out his name like a prayer to the wrong god.
I'd liked it.
The words echoed in my head, my own voice, muffled and broken. I'd said it out loud. I'd confessed it to him, the one person who could destroy me with that knowledge, and worse—I'd meant it. I had loved every second of it. My body had sung with it. And that made it real. That made it a choice.
The shower shut off. I heard the scrape of the curtain rings, the shuffle of movement in the tiny bathroom. I couldn't be here when he came out. I couldn't look at him.
I threw the sheet back and stood, my legs unsteady. My sleep pants were on the floor. I grabbed them, yanked them on, and moved to my scriptures on the desk. My hands were shaking so badly I knocked over the lamp. I caught it before it fell, the metal base cold against my palm.
The bathroom door opened. Steam billowed out into the hallway. Eli stepped into the bedroom, a towel slung low around his hips, his hair dripping onto his bare shoulders. He stopped when he saw me standing at the desk.
"Samuel—"
"Don't." My voice was flat. Dead. I didn't look at him.
I opened my Book of Mormon, the pages crackling, and stared down at the text.
Alma 39. The very chapter I'd been avoiding for weeks.
Now this is not all, my son. Thou didst do that which was grievous unto me; for thou didst forsake the ministry, and did go over into the land of Siron among the borders of the Lamanites, after the harlot Isabel.
The words blurred. I blinked hard, forcing them back into focus. Know ye not, my son, that these things are an abomination in the sight of the Lord; yea, most abominable above all sins save it be the shedding of innocent blood or denying the Holy Ghost?
Most abominable. The second-worst sin a person could commit.
Worse than murder in some interpretations.
The Law of Chastity, sacred and inviolate, written in every mission rule, every temple interview, every youth fireside.
And I had shattered it. Not in a moment of weakness.
Not by accident. I had participated. I had wanted more.
"You need to eat something," Eli said behind me. His voice was careful, quiet. "You didn't eat dinner last night."
"I'm not hungry."
"Samuel—"
"I said I'm not hungry." I turned the page, my fingers pressing too hard, leaving a crease in the thin paper. My chest felt tight, my lungs too small. I couldn't get enough air.
He didn't leave. I heard him move to his bed, the rustle of fabric as he pulled on clothes. The whole time, I kept my eyes locked on the scripture in front of me, reading the same verse over and over, the words becoming meaningless shapes.
"We need to talk about this," Eli said.
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Samuel, look at me."
I didn't. I couldn't. If I looked at him, I would see the person who had knelt beside my bed. The person who had touched me. The person who had made me feel things that proved, beyond any shadow of doubt, that I was exactly what I feared I was. Broken. Unnatural. Damned.
"I'm not going to apologize," Eli said, his voice hardening. "You wanted it. You asked for it. You needed it."
My hand slammed down on the desk, the crack of it loud in the small room. "I didn't ask for anything."
"You nodded. You gave me permission."
"I was—" My voice cracked. I swallowed hard, my throat aching. "I was half-asleep. I didn't know what I was doing."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. When Eli spoke again, his voice was low, dangerous. "You're lying. To me, and to yourself."
"Get out."
"This is my bedroom too."
"Then I'll leave." I grabbed my scriptures, my journal, my pen, and shoved past him, my shoulder clipping his.
He didn't try to stop me. I walked into the main room, my bare feet cold on the tile floor, and sat down at the small kitchen table.
I opened my scriptures again, my hands shaking so violently the pages rattled.
Eli appeared in the doorway, dressed now in his slacks and white shirt, the sleeves still unbuttoned at the cuffs. He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, watching me with an expression I couldn't read.
"You can't pretend it didn't happen," he said.
"Watch me."
"Samuel—"
"Elder Price." I looked up at him, my voice ice. "You will call me Elder Price. We are companions. That is all we are. That is all we will ever be."
His jaw tightened. For a moment, I thought he was going to argue. Instead, he pushed off the doorframe and walked to the kitchenette, pulling out a box of cereal and a bowl. He didn't say another word.
We left for our morning study at the chapel at 7:30 a.m., exactly on time.
I walked three paces ahead of Eli the entire way, my scriptures clutched to my chest like a shield.
The streets of Barcelona were still quiet, the early morning light soft and golden, but I didn't see any of it.
I saw only the list of rules I had broken.
Missionaries are to be together with their assigned companion 24 hours a day.
We'd been together. That was the problem.
Avoid being alone with members of the opposite sex.
I'd been alone with a man. Did that make it better or worse?
Do not participate in activities that arouse sexual feelings.
A laugh bubbled up in my throat, bitter and hysterical. I choked it down.
At the chapel, I unlocked the door to the small classroom we sometimes used for companionship study and sat down at the table.
Eli sat across from me, pulling out his own scriptures.
I opened Preach My Gospel to chapter two, "How Do I Study Effectively and Prepare to Teach?
" The irony wasn't lost on me. How could I teach anyone about purity, about the plan of salvation, about eternal families, when I was an abomination?
"We're studying the Law of Chastity today," I said, my voice mechanical.
Eli's head snapped up. "You're joking, right?"
"Chapter six. How Do I Develop Christlike Attributes? Section on virtue." I flipped to the page, my fingers precise. "We need to understand it better. To teach it better."
"Samuel—"
"Elder Price."
His eyes flashed. "This is insane. You're punishing yourself."
"I'm preparing to teach." I kept my gaze on the page, my voice flat. "We have a lesson with the Morenos tomorrow. Sister Moreno asked about the temple last time. We need to be ready to discuss worthiness."
"Worthiness." Eli's voice dripped with contempt. "You mean we need to tell her that people like us are unworthy."
"We are unworthy."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy and final. Eli stared at me, his expression shifting from anger to something else. Something that looked like pity. It made my skin crawl.
"No," he said quietly. "You're unworthy because you think God made a mistake when He made you. I'm just fine with being who I am."
I looked up at him then, my vision tunnelling. "You're fine? You broke the Law of Chastity. You defiled your body and mine. You led me into sin, and you're fine?"
"I didn't lead you anywhere. You came with me willingly, and it wasn't the first time I broke the law, and it most certainly won't be the last."
"I was weak."
"You were human."
"I was damned." My voice rose, echoing off the walls of the small room.
I stood, my chair scraping back, my hands braced on the table.
"Do you understand what I've done? What we've done?
I can't take the sacrament. I can't pray.
I can't even stand in front of an investigator and tell them the gospel is true, because I am a liar. I am unclean. I am—"
"Would you stop it already?" Eli stood too, his voice hard. "Stop fucking flagellating yourself. You're not damned. You're not unclean. You're just a nineteen-year-old kid who got off and enjoyed it, Samuel. That's it. That's all it was."
The words were a slap. I recoiled, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Don't you dare reduce it to that. This isn't—this isn't just some mistake. This is my soul."
"Your soul is fine."
"My soul is lost." My voice broke, and I hated myself for it.
I hated the tears that burned behind my eyes, the tightness in my chest, the way my hands trembled.
"I prayed, Eli. I prayed every single day of my life to be fixed.
To be normal. To want what I'm supposed to want.
And I failed. I failed, and now I've dragged you down with me, and I can't—I can't—"
I couldn't finish. My legs gave out, and I sank back into the chair, my head in my hands.
The sobs came then, ripping out of me, raw and unstoppable.
I'd held them in for so long. Since I was fourteen.
Since the first time I'd looked at another boy and felt something I wasn't supposed to feel.
Since the first time I'd confessed it to my bishop and been told to fast and pray harder.
Since the first time I'd knelt in the temple and begged God to take it away.
Eli moved around the table. I felt him kneel beside my chair, his hand on my shoulder. I flinched, but he didn't pull away.
"Samuel," he said, his voice soft. "Listen to me. You didn't fail. The Church failed you. The doctrine failed you. God—if He's even there—failed you."
I shook my head violently, my hands still pressed against my face. "Don't say that. Don't you dare say that."
"Why? Because it's true?"
"Because it's blasphemy."
"Is it blasphemy to say that a God who made you this way and then told you it was wrong is cruel?"
I looked up at him, my vision blurred with tears. His face was inches from mine, his dark eyes fierce and unwavering. "He didn't make me this way. This is a test. A trial. I'm supposed to overcome it."
"By hating yourself?"
"By being obedient."
"And if obedience means you spend your whole life alone? Celibate? Pretending you're something you're not?"
"Then that's what I'll do." My voice was hoarse, broken. "Because the alternative is losing everything. My family. My faith. My chance at the celestial kingdom. I can't—I can't lose that, Eli. I can't."
His hand tightened on my shoulder. "You already have."
The words were a knife between my ribs. I jerked away from him, standing so fast the chair toppled over behind me. "Get away from me."
"Samuel—"
"Get away from me!" I was shouting now, my voice ragged. "You don't understand. You don't believe. You think this is all just some game, some oppressive system you can walk away from whenever you want. But this is my life. This is my eternity. And you've ruined it. You've ruined me."
Eli stood slowly, his expression shuttering. "I didn't ruin you. I showed you that you're not broken."
"I am broken." The words were a whisper now, all the fight draining out of me. "And I can't be fixed."
Eli stared at me for a long moment, his jaw tight. Then he turned and walked to the door, his hand on the knob.
"We have district meeting in an hour," he said, his voice flat. "I'll be outside."
The door closed behind him, and I was alone.
I sank to the floor, my back against the wall, and pulled my knees to my chest. The chapel was silent around me, the morning light streaming through the high windows, illuminating the dust motes in the air. I closed my eyes and tried to pray.
The words wouldn't come.