Page 20 of The Last Feast
“My sweet thief.”
And then, it crumbles.
The downpour starts as I hide in the crook of her neck.
Shame.
So much fucking shame, I’m drowning internally, but my tears don’t carry any of it away.
12
CRY OUT TO ME
Auguste’s tears start slow, dripping down the side of Hana’s neck as she continues to grind into him. The warmth of his cum fulfills something inside her she’s never felt before. It’s always been something she found dirty, yet under this bound man, she finds herself craving more.
His back shakes as she presses her lips to his collarbone. The shuddering sobs make his dick twitch inside her, but she stops moving her hips as she strokes the back of his head. “Cry out to me, and I will heed you.”
He sobs harder at the deep acceptance in her voice. She doesn’t add to his shame or belittle his emotions; she patiently waits for him as she continues kissing across to his shoulder and stroking his hair. In a rare act of mercy, she reaches above her head, takes the knife, and cuts his arm free. It drops heavily to the floor, but with the little strength he has left, he drags it closer to her and hugs her. He hugs her without a threat, without her request. He hugs her due to his own need.
And, in her first selfless act, Hana hugs him back. She cuts his other arm free, and he cries freely when he has them both wrapped around her. His voice comes out low, innocent as heshakily whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
After reading the messages on Odette’s phone when she got bored of Auguste’s, and watching the videos Odette had secretly taken of him after their night together, Hana isn’t afraid of his reaction. She was anticipating it. He isn’t aware Odette, his best friend since the age of six, not only took advantage of his drunken stupor, but she also documented it for the days when she was curious about Auguste’s secrets. He craved ignorant bliss, the one thing he couldn’t have during his childhood. So, with Odette, he was willfully ignorant, refusing to ask any questions about why he was in her bed, then he hadn’t been violated again. He’d just gotten drunk, and he couldn’t remember—the norm for his age, he told himself.
But Hana doesn’t react the same as Odette did. She doesn’t scream at him to get off her as he cries or ask why he’s so weird. There’s no examination of his behavior when they’re still learning each other, so her only reference point to Auguste’s character is what he’s currently showing her. The same goes for him, even though her every impression has been violent up until this point. He can’t stop seeking her non-judgmental comfort.
They both offer each other what they’ve never been allowed to have. Auguste: a safe place to express his emotions. Hana: someone who doesn’t have to fight. She’s a friend, a confidante, and she’s not useless as she gently strokes his nape while kissing his shoulder.
“I’m here,” she softly reassures him. “Your prayers won’t be ignored anymore.”
To which Auguste is only capable of replying, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
The same apology he would give in the months he confessed to his parents.
One apology to each of his parents.
One to the Father.
Two for himself.
13
CLEANSED
AUGUSTE
Idon’t know how long I hide in Hana’s neck, but when my tears finally slow, the sensation has returned to my now-freed arms. She continues peppering my skin with delicate kisses that cleanse my soul.
Then, I can’t stop crying again, like her lips are calling my tears back.
All of the shame, the self-loathing, the bitterness that comes from being made out to be a liar always seep out as soon as my body is depleted. More than that, there’s the guilt. It’s overwhelming. Guilt is the worst of all the emotions rising in the tide of my tears. That singular feeling has no rationality, but it screams at me, telling me if I just shut my mouth, I wouldn’t be alone.
If I kept quiet, buried the secrets, I’d be normal.
If it didn’t happen at all, I wouldn’t feel the same guilt.
I wouldn’t be crying into the neck of a woman while my dick is still inside her. I wouldn’t be this worthless mess who’s barely a man.
Hana strokes the back of my head down to my nape then lightly squeezes. Her voice is gentler than before, care woven between the syllables as she says, “Show me your tears.”
