Chapter 15
Fifteen
SEBA
Pastor Sinclair’s sermon replays at full volume in my head despite Mass ending a while ago. I can't rise from the kneeler. My fingers, clasped on the pew, strangle each other as war wages within.
Temptations surround me, pulling me in two directions.
A girl whose deep brown eyes x-ray through me while her gentle hands wield a sledgehammer to my walls. All it takes is one of her laughs to crumble my resolve.
The other… a tormentor. A curse. I’m plagued by the reactions of my body to the sounds I hear through my bedroom wall.
Tortured by gasps and moans that I strain desperately to ignore.
Night after night, I wake up coated in sweat and the evidence of unwanted fantasies.
My sanity hangs in tattered shreds, clinging to the only thing I hope can rid me of this disease.
Prayer.
Except confessing to this secret makes it real, even if only to myself and God. So the prayers lodge in my throat.
I’m disgusted with myself.
Fucking furious.
And it’s tearing me apart.
A heavy hand grasps my shoulder.
My head snaps up.
“Apologies, son.” Pastor Sinclair smiles down at me. “I hate to disturb a man in conversation with our Lord, but we’re preparing for the final mass of the day. Might I suggest the chapel for some privacy?”
How long have I been here? My knees ache and my feet are numb.
I clear my throat. “Thanks, but I should probably be getting home.”
He squeezes my shoulder, the warmth of his palm burning through my shirt. The cesspool of sin squirms like worms beneath my skin. His knowing eyes— windows for God himself— assess me. I’m too afraid, too guilt-ridden to break his concerned stare.
His lips purse as he nods. “If you ever need guidance, I'll always make time for you.”
The offer is foreign to my ears. Dad searched for wisdom at the bottom of a bottle.
Mom’s rosy glasses blur the lines of God’s doing and free will.
Declan bends over backwards for everyone like he’s made of rubber.
Teachers and coaches accept achievements and fake smiles as well-being.
No one has looked close enough to see the water rising over my head.
A shaky breath slips past my lips.
“Thank you… Really.”
Two gentle pats. “You know where to find me.”
I watch him saunter down the aisle toward the sacristy, pins and needles tingling in my feet and calves as I stand and float in a disoriented trance out to my truck. The drive home passes in a blur. Then I’m parking in the driveway, sliding out of the bucket seat and shuffling into the house.
The garage door slams behind me.
My disconnected brain comes back online with a zap at the sight in the kitchen.
Elbows on the counter, elegant back arched, Cade plucks a piece of pineapple from the bowl Mom sliced this morning. He doesn’t look my way as he examines a wedge pinched between his fingers.
“Now you eat fruit?”
It’s out before I can stop myself.
I hate that I notice. That I care.
His lips twitch. “Well, hello to you, too.”
I know I’ve been an asshole to him for months, but I don’t know how to act around him anymore. Especially when he’s always wearing as little clothing as possible anytime we’re alone. All that pale skin…
My molars grind.
He pops the fruit into his mouth. Chews. Swallows. His tongue flicks out, catching the remaining flavor.
Then his eyes are on mine. “I like pineapple. Sometimes it’s sweet. Sometimes tart.” Without breaking our stare, he brings another slice to his glistening lips. “And it makes your cum taste good.”
Saliva pools on my tongue. My throat goes dry. Heat slides down my spine. Echoes of illicit sounds ring in my ears. And my eyes dip against my will down the length of his figure.
The stirring reaches my groin.
“I’m going for a run.” I retreat to the laundry room, tripping out of my slacks and polo. My hands tremble as I step into a pair of gym shorts.
They snag on my half-hard cock.
My hands shake harder.
I close my eyes, willing my body to listen— just fucking listen to me. But behind my lids, an imprint of Cade waits with a taunting grin. Gripping the edge of the dryer, I force a breath through my nose. Hold it.
Faint vibrations rattle from my discarded pants. I crouch and fish out my phone.
Andrea:
Alright, I'll admit defeat just this once.
It takes me entirely too long to remember that I sent her one of my favorite country songs— not that computer-generated garbage Cade listens to.
She likes it.
It should make me happy. And it does. But there’s an aftertaste of self-hatred.
I tuck my phone in my pocket, switch to my dirty running sneakers and escape out of the garage. A fat raindrop smacks my cheek. Another on my arm, then my scalp as I take off.
The pound of my feet on the pavement syncs to the berating chorus in my head.
Something’s wrong with you. You want her, but you’re no good for her. You’re disgusting. Objectifying your stepbrother. Reducing him to a carnal desire. Ignore the demands of your body. Resist temptation. Get away. Get away from him. GET AWAY.
Furious tears mix with sweat. I’m losing the battle, whether to my inner voice, the devil, or God— I don’t know anymore.