Page 11 of Redeemed

“I’m used to a lot.”

Hmm.Maybe getting this boy’s opinion could be helpful. I can’t ask Julie every time I’m not sure what to think. She’s busy with her job, and I don’t want to become a nuisance.

Talking to this boy could be a good place to start. Maybe I can gather up as many opinions as I can from other people and sort through them to come up with my own.

That’s how this all started, isn’t it? When I first met Julie, I discovered that her beliefs were similar yet different to mine, and it opened up a whole new world of possibilities for what the truth might be. What right and wrong could be.

“Do you…” I stop myself. What if I’m wrong? What if I already know the answer to my questions, and I’m just running from them because I’m rebelling from God?

How am I supposed to know?

“Go on,” the boy says.

I clear my throat, searching deep to find the resolve to get over my worries. “Do you ever wonder how much of your life you’ve wasted feeling guilty over doing things that weren’t even wrong?”

My stomach lurches, and I immediately regret asking. That’swaytoo personal of a question to ask a stranger. But the boy’s face turns contemplative. He tilts his head upward so the light from one of the lampposts casts him in a warm, inviting glow.

“You reallydohave a lot on your mind.” His voice is subdued as he stares upward.

I follow his gaze, startled to find a starless sky. There weren’t any clouds earlier, and I can’t make out any now, but… well, where did the stars go?

“What’s got you thinking something like that on tonight of all nights?”

“I… I don’t know if I should’ve come here. I don’t know what to think about… aboutanything.”

“Aww, missing home?” he teases, nudging me in the arm. When I don’t react, he sobers. “Oh, shit, you are.”

“Maybe.”

“Hey.” Reaching out, he twists a lock of my hair around his finger before tucking it behind my ear. “You’re gonna be fine, all right? I’ve heard it’s pretty typical for freshman to get homesick while they adjust to living at college.”

“I suppose,” I whisper. Something deep in my heart aches as I realize that type of touch is something I wished for desperately with someone else. Someone who couldn’t understand the significance behind such a simple gesture.

The boy watches me quietly for a second. I wonder what his life has been like up until now. I doubt he grew up like me—married by the age of fifteen and chained to a life of serving God by serving my spouse. Or providing, I suppose, if he was in my shoes. The serving is usually left to the women.

“But I don’t think I can be of much help,” he says. “I’ve spent a particularly small portion of my life feeling guilty.”

“What do you mean?”

Shrugging, he drops his gaze so he’s looking at me again. Except it’s more than looking. It feels like he’s analyzing me. What he’s hoping to find, I don’t know.

“I just don’t feel guilty that often, especially for things that I don’t think are wrong.”

I frown. “How?”

“How what?”

“How do you not feel guilty?”

“Well, for starters, I don’t let other people tell me what’s right and what’s wrong.”

I can’t help my wince. If he knew more about my upbringing, I’d think that was a personal jab.

“And second,” he continues, “I follow my gut, and I don’t make a decision until I’m sure of it. That way, there’s no second guessing later.”

“That sounds nice,” I say quietly. All I want right now is to have confidence in my decision to leave Cornerstone.

“Besides, guilt has never really suited me,” the boy continues. “Why bother with it when there are much better things to occupy yourself with?”

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