27 - Jonah
27
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Jonah
Although Lucien disappeared again on Saturday evening, he at least appeared at home more often after that—albeit only late in the evening. Half asleep, I could hear the front door and his mumbling as he stumbled over the threshold. But he disappeared again in the morning, like a thief in the night, without leaving a trace.
When I came out of the bathroom on Wednesday morning and almost collided with him, my heart almost stopped. With only a bath towel around my waist and my hair dripping, I stood looking at him as if Jesus Christ had appeared to me. Lu was obviously just as surprised, standing with his back against the closed door of his room and would certainly have backed away even further if it had been open. His hair was disheveled and he still had a small Band-Aid on his cheek. Were those bruises on his neck? His green eyes sparkled as he lowered his gaze slightly, still looking at me like an animal on the lookout.
None of us could say a word. I held my bath towel and stared at Lu. My heart was pounding like crazy in my chest.
It was only when his gaze wandered over my naked upper body that I realized I was almost naked. Feeling embarrassed, I brushed back my wet hair, though I didn’t think it made the situation any better.
Lucien hastily tightened his scarf, concealing the marks on his neck, and swiftly squeezed past me. As the door to the apartment slammed shut behind him, I was overcome with a sadness that plunged me into a deep hole. I hadn’t been prepared for something like this. I rushed to my room, put on some clothes, and replayed the situation I had just experienced in my head, but I couldn’t come to a conclusion about how I could have been more open with him.
He appeared so wounded, so utterly fatigued. The way he looked at me, he must have found me repulsive.
Desperate, I began to pray, but it didn’t help. Talking to God didn’t give me any more strength. On the contrary. The feeling of having been abandoned by God became more present with each passing day, and it hurt. It was dark inside me. I was convinced that God no longer wanted anything to do with me.
I completed the courses and then hid away in my room again. The whole time I sat there apathetically, staring at the white wall. That’s how I wanted to be. White and pure. But I was dirty. I was filth.
I twisted my shabby behavior toward Lucien so that I could convince myself that I had done the right thing. Insulting him had finally done something good: I had put him back on the right path—into the arms of a woman. Into a woman’s arms. A woman he didn’t even love.
Or did he?
No, that couldn’t be. I firmly believed he was seeking distraction, even if it was only to satiate his desires. He sought to divert himself and thus irresponsibly allowed himself to be swept away. The physical aspect was merely a means to an end.
Ever since I saw him with that woman, I tried to concentrate on other things. But Lucien was everywhere. He had gotten into my head and I struggled shutting him out. The question of whether I had been just a toy to him shocked me so much that I was completely off. But it must have been because I couldn’t find any other logical explanation as to why Lucien would have done this to me otherwise. This guy had a darkness about him that someone should have warned me about. He probably had fun playing me too.
Let’s play a trick on the believer and see how he reacts.
I felt as though I was gradually sinking into the swamp of sin. Confession was no longer an option. No words in the world could compensate for my missteps, as I had crossed far too many lines. No, not me … this other version of me. And that realization was eating away at me. Something had stirred within me that I struggled to suppress with all my might. I could no longer sleep without satisfying myself first, and no matter how hard I fought against it, thoughts of Lucien persisted in my mind.
How could I repent when I was so full of dirty thoughts? Lu was like an obsession in my head that turned me into an addict. I kept trying to visualize the faces of the women we had partied with, but only the thought of Lucien made me climax.
I was confused.
Frustrated.
No longer understood the world.
Why was it so hard to get away from him?
“Jonah!” Simon’s voice disrupted my thoughts.
Confused, I blinked my eyes and found myself in the library again.
“Come on now! It’s closing time,” he said and put my book back on the shelf. “We’re going for a drink.”
The past four weeks of self-flagellation had revealed to me that I was no match for God. It had left me so exhausted that I no longer had the strength to resist anything. While I could still rationalize my shameful actions to myself, I couldn't confront the Almighty. Therefore, I apathetically followed Simon into a bar and ordered a beer—after all, it was Friday.
“What’s going on?” he asked after the second glass. “Problems at home?”
“What? No.”
“Is it your crazy roommate?”
“No!” I replied, perhaps a little too vehemently. “It’s just … like I’m not even there. I’ve been living there for three months, but they completely shut me out. I have the feeling that I’m no longer wanted there at all, just tolerated. And nobody speaks plain language.”
It felt good to get that off my chest, and in that moment, I was convinced that I had finally uncovered the root of all evil. However deep down, I knew I was only telling half the truth. “Is the offer of the room still on?” I asked.
“Of course it is,” Simon said casually. “You can move in at any time.”
“And your roommates don’t mind?”
“I’m the main tenant. And the two girls have been saying for weeks that I should look for a new roommate because they don’t have the time.”
It wasn’t the last beer I drank that evening. Simon didn't even attempt to stop me. He was likely pleased that I had finally opened up and confided in him about my problems. But as drunk as I was in the end, I kept my deepest shame to myself. Besides, I couldn’t have articulated everything that had kept me awake for so many nights. Although Simon was obviously very calm about the topic of homosexuality, I couldn’t and didn’t want to imagine how he would have reacted if I had told him about my night with Lucien. Just the thought of it made my blood boil again.
By the time we left the bar, I was barely able to walk straight. Simon took my arm over his shoulder and walked me home.
“Damn, they should put an elevator in here,” he said out of breath when we finally reached the fifth floor. The apartment door opened, and Martin stood in front of us. Apparently, we hadn’t been as quiet as I had thought.
“What happened?”
“Beer,” Simon replied curtly.
“Ah, come in. This way.”
With Simon’s help, I stumbled over the threshold and staggered into my room. I dropped into bed like a stone and longed for sleep.
Simon whistled through his teeth. “Wow, he lives like a monk. Well, if that’s all his possessions, you can’t really call it moving.”
“Moving?” Martin asked in surprise.
“Oh, I thought you knew. Hasn’t he told you?”
“Does he want to move out? Why? What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Simon replied. “He hasn’t been concentrating for weeks. Haven’t you noticed that? He’s been sleeping through lectures, and he hasn’t shown up at church either.”
Simon cheerfully recounted all my missteps without knowing the true story behind them, while Martin played the unsuspecting one—it seemed impossible that he hadn’t noticed anything.
So, this is it … my punishment.
Exhausted, I crawled under the covers and turned to face the wall. They could talk about me all they wanted; all I wanted was to sleep.