Page 25 of Biblical Knowledge
And now he is gone.
The clock struck the hour and Dr.Scheinbaum snapped her notebook shut, the signal that class was over.“That’s all for today.Please finish the remaining commentary for Thursday.”
Chairs scraped, papers shuffled, the usual post-class chaos.I slid my pen into my notebook, trying to look like I wasn’t holding my breath.
“Mr.Miller,” Dr.Scheinbaum said, her voice crisp, “stay a moment, please.”
My stomach dipped.
Rebecca smirked as she brushed past me, that damn halo braid gleaming like a crown.One by one the room emptied until it was just me and Dr.Scheinbaum.The door clicked shut behind the last student.
She walked closer, hands folded in front of her.Her slate-gray blouse and silk scarf made her look untouchable, but when she leaned in, her voice softened.
“I don’t want to overstep,” she said carefully, “but… was there something going on between you and Mr.Forrester?”
The breath left me in a sigh.I stared at the table Henry and I had shared, tracing the grain with my eyes like it held the answer.“Yeah,” I murmured.That was all I could manage.
Her hand settled gently on my shoulder, cool and steady.The touch startled me—not because it was unexpected, but because it was kind.
“Anything else?”I asked, my voice barely holding together.
She gave me the smallest, most uncharacteristic smile—soft, almost maternal.“No, Mr.Miller.That’s all.”
I gathered my books slowly, like the careful movements might keep me from cracking open.Then I walked out of the classroom, and a question popped into my head.
Was Henry terrified of me… or of himself?
ChapterNine
Henry
Song of Songs 8:7- Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot wash it away.
* * *
I lay sprawled on my narrow twin bed, staring at the ceiling as though it might finally hand me an answer if I looked long enough.My body ached with exhaustion, but my mind wouldn’t shut off.Every time I closed my eyes, Noah was there—his face, his voice, his warmth pressed against me.The memory of last night burned in my chest.
I’d left his apartment hours ago, but instead of going home like a rational person, I’d wandered the streets like a ghost.Past shuttered shops, flickering streetlights, and the occasional couple holding hands.Each one was like a punch to the gut: the thing I wanted most, the thing I’d just tasted, felt so impossible for me to hold onto.
By the time I finally collapsed onto my bed, dawn had broken.Now it was nearly noon, and I was still wide awake, more unraveled than ever.My faith, my so-called foundation, felt like it was dissolving beneath me.I believed in God—or at least I always had.But how did God fit into this?Into me?Into Noah?
I turned to the Bible sitting on my nightstand, its leather cover cracked from years of use.Maybe the answers were in there, maybe they weren’t, but I couldn’t not try.My hands shook as I picked it up and flipped it open.Psalms.Matthew.Some passages I’d read a hundred times before.The words swam in front of my eyes, meaningless, like ink smeared on water.I snapped the book shut and, with a surge of frustration, hurled it at the wall.The thud echoed in the tiny room, too loud, like it had broken something I couldn’t put back together.
I buried my face in my hands.I wasn’t confused about Noah.That was the one thing that felt terrifyingly, beautifully clear.I was deeply attracted to him.And last night—it wasn’t just sex.God help me, it was so much more.The way he touched me, the way he looked at me, like I was worth being seen.Like he wasn’t ashamed of me.
But the guilt.That was what gnawed at me.Not guilt about Noah.Guilt about the promises I’d made to God.Guilt about how I’d spent years pretending chastity was noble when maybe it was just me hiding from who I was.
I dragged in a shaky breath and tried to think.My brain felt fried, too fogged with fatigue and emotion to reason my way through this.Then, out of nowhere, I remembered being fifteen, ducking into the confessional at St.Joseph’s.The cool darkness of that little booth, the wooden lattice between me and the priest, the murmured words of absolution.Every time I confessed—whether it was lying to my parents or the secret, shameful things I’d done to my own body—I’d walk out lighter, cleaner.Like I’d set something down.
Maybe that was what I needed now.To unburden myself.To confess.
I sat up, legs heavy, and shuffled into the bathroom.The cracked linoleum floor was cold under my bare feet.I twisted the shower knob to hot, knowing full well it would take ten minutes to heat, as always.Steam would come eventually, but right now the pipes groaned like they were mocking me.
I went back to the bed and dropped to my knees on the worn carpet.My fingers found the rosary I kept in the drawer, the beads smooth and familiar against my skin.My chest heaved, but I pressed the crucifix to my lips anyway, desperate for some anchor in the storm of my thoughts.
I whispered the words I’d said a thousand times before: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit…
And I prayed, not for forgiveness exactly, but for clarity.For peace.For the strength to stop tearing myself apart.
