Chapter 11 Elior
Elior
I didn’t understand what I was feeling—only that my skin itched and my clothes felt… wrong—too clingy, a little damp.
Then the realization struck, sharp as a pinprick.
Oh no, no, no.
Not again.
I sat up quickly, heart thudding, and shoved the bed sheets aside. My breath caught the second I looked down.
My underwear was… soiled. My sleep shorts had a small spot of discoloration from where it had leaked through.
Shame flared so hot it felt like a fever under my skin.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, fingers trembling as I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes. For several long seconds, I couldn’t breathe.
This had happened before.
A few times, over the years.
Always in the morning.
Always alone.
Always leaving me with the same hollow, sick feeling, like I’d woken up already guilty of sin.
I’d prayed every time, asking for forgiveness. Father had always taught that purity of body reflected purity of soul, and this—this could only mean I’d faltered somewhere—that the Light had found some hidden stain in me and was forcing it out.
I swallowed hard, running a hand through my hair even though it tangled around my fingers.
I was about to fall to the floor in prayer when I felt the itchiness somewhere it didn’t make sense to be.
I frowned in confusion. Dazed, I twisted my body on the bed and reached down, slipping my hand under my underwear.
I paused as my hand brushed against the dried flakes on my butt. Puzzlement overshadowed my shame as I tried to understand how it had gotten back there.
My butthole also felt strangely sensitive in a way I couldn’t even begin to explain.
A wave of heat crawled up my neck.
I rose and crossed the room, pulling clean clothes from my drawer with quick, embarrassed movements even though no one was here to see. No one could ever see me like this.
I peeled off the soiled underwear, unable to look at it as I balled it up in my fist. The sight alone made my stomach twist. My hands were shaking again as I hid it under a stack of linens to wash privately later.
When I went to leave my room to take a shower, I noticed a piece of paper on my desk that I hadn’t remembered putting there. With my clean clothes tucked under my arm, I walked over to take a closer look.
You taste heavenly, cherub.
“I taste… heavenly?” I read the note out loud, wondering if it would make more sense that way than in my head. “…Cherub?”
Hadn’t Jace called me that during confession?
Did he…? He couldn’t have… Right?
My heart thudded in my chest as I looked at the note.
The messy handwriting wasn’t unfamiliar, but that meant…
It didn’t make any sense, though!
None of this made sense.
I sank slowly into the chair by my desk, the note trembling between my fingers like it might vanish if I blinked too hard.
I taste heavenly?
My mouth felt suddenly dry.
People didn’t… say things like that, or at least not to me. Especially not to me.
And no one would ever come into my room like that.
No one would—
Jace wouldn’t.
He wouldn’t.
I clutched the note a little too hard, crumpling the corner.
Jace was… kind. Strange and a little overwhelming—well, a lot overwhelming, but kind. He listened to me. He smiled in ways that made heat pool quietly under my ribs. He made me feel seen.
But he would never—
…would he?
My face warmed so quickly it almost hurt.
I remembered last night in the chapel, and how he’d rubbed my feet, daring to touch me when he could get in so much trouble for it. It had felt like the air thickened so much between us that I had to fight to breathe normally. The way he had looked at me like—
I shook my head hard.
That wasn’t the same as this. He said that was how the Light called him to worship me. It wasn’t the same as… whatever happened here. It couldn’t be. That kind of thing didn’t happen.
I pressed the note flat against the desk, my hands shaking.
If someone had touched me while I slept, Father would say it was because I’d invited sin with my weakness—that my impurity had drawn impurity. He’d be so disappointed in me. I couldn’t let him find out.
I just couldn’t.
But…
But if someone had touched me—
If someone had been here—
My heartbeat skittered.
I would want it to be Jace.
The thought came unwanted, unbidden, and unreasonably warm. I squeezed my eyes shut as if I could force it back into whatever dark corner it had escaped from.
Jace wouldn’t do that.
He wouldn’t cross that line.
He wouldn’t hurt me.
…Would he?
I let out a shaky breath and opened my eyes again, staring at the note like it might reveal the truth if I just looked long enough.
If it was him—
If it was him, I definitely couldn’t tell Father. I couldn’t let Jace be hurt by him, even if… even if he’d touched me.
Or, or tasted me, like the note said.
I didn’t think anyone else would call me something like cherub, but my head just couldn’t wrap itself around this whole thing. When I thought about it being Jace, I shivered, and my penis traitorously throbbed. But the alternative sent a cold, sick fear skittering down my spine.
I slipped the note into my desk drawer, hiding it underneath the other contents, then pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm the frantic flutter beneath it.
I needed to wash—that was the only coherent thought I had left.
I hurried into my bathroom, shutting the door gently even though no one but me could hear it. The room was still cool from the night air, the tile cold beneath my feet. I turned on the shower and stepped under the water.
The cold made me gasp softly.
I tilted my head back, letting water rush over my face, down my shoulders, down the rest of me.
I took a cloth and scrubbed at the dried evidence on my lower body, my face burning as flakes dissolved and swirled down the drain. That alone made shame coil tight in my stomach, but worse was the tenderness I felt when my hand brushed lower.
My… my hole was sensitive. It didn’t hurt; it just felt weird.
No.
No, I was imagining things.
Confusing dreams with reality. That had to be it.
Dreams could feel vivid. Dreams could make the body do… shameful things. Father had said that the body sometimes betrayed the spirit, and the important thing was to reject it, deny it, and return to purity.
I held onto that thought as tightly as I could.
After several minutes—longer than I normally stayed under the water—I shut the shower off and wrapped myself in a towel. I dried quickly, then dressed in my clean underclothes and robe.
When I stepped back into my room, the note felt like it was glowing from inside the drawer, calling my eyes to it.
Cherub.
The word made my stomach flutter in a way it shouldn’t.
I pushed the thought aside and walked through the short hallway to my little kitchen.
As always, Sister Dahlia had come in and left before I had a chance to even notice her.
Breakfast sat waiting for me on the small wooden table—oatmeal with honey and a small bowl of cut fruit.
I sat down heavily, lifted the spoon, and took a bite.
I barely tasted it.
My mind kept drifting—circling around the same impossible question again and again and again.
Should I ask Jace?
Just thinking about it made my chest twist.
If it wasn’t him…
If someone else had sneaked in here…
If someone else had touched me—
The fear was immediate and icy.
But if it was him, and I confronted him…
Would he be angry? Would he think I was accusing him of something terrible? Would he leave?
My throat tightened painfully at the thought. I couldn’t lose him. Not when he was the only person I’d ever met who seemed to want to know me, not the Vessel, but me.
I swallowed a spoonful of oatmeal that tasted like paste.
What if talking about it made him pull away? What if talking about it made Father find out?
I set my spoon down, pressing my palms flat against the table to steady myself.
I didn’t want to lose Jace, and I didn’t want him hurt.
I ate mechanically until the bowl was empty, then washed it quickly in the small sink. My hands moved through the familiar motions even as my mind spun.
I still didn’t know what I would say—if I should say anything at all.
Maybe it was better to pretend nothing happened.
Maybe it was safer that way?
I took a deep breath, smoothing the front of my robe, and stepped out of my rooms. The side door closed quietly behind me as I entered the chapel.
Father glanced up from what he was reading at the pulpit, nodding at me in a way of greeting.
I smiled the best I could, hoping it looked normal to him. “Good morning, Father.”
“Come here,” Father told me, not looking very happy. My stomach dropped as I shakily walked over to join him on the dais. He couldn’t already know, could he?
As I met him at the pulpit, he gestured to what he had been looking at when I first came in. My confession log.
I’d given it to him last night, but he hadn’t asked to go over any of it with me; he just took it and left.
“I want to warn you that I will be doling out a harsh punishment this morning. You must remain calm as it happens, or else the congregation will have concerns.”
I frowned, wondering what Father planned to do. I tried to think back to last night, going over everyone’s confessions in my head. It made sense to me that some of them needed to repent, but what worried me was Father deeming it necessary to warn me in advance.
He never did that.
My fingers tightened around the edge of my robe, hidden in the folds so Father wouldn’t see them shake.
A harsh punishment.
Someone had sinned badly enough to—
My thoughts skittered wildly.
Was it me?
Did he know?
Did the Light tell him?
Did I somehow confess without realizing?
Did something show on my face, on my body—
No. No, no, stop. Stop. Breathe.
I shifted my weight and tried to steady my breathing. Before I could gather the courage to quietly ask who he meant, Father closed my confession log and set a heavy hand on my shoulder.