Page 11 of For I Have Sinned
The pressure I’ve put on him is disgustingly unfair.
But no matter how many times I tell myself that, I can’t stay away. I can’t.
After that Saturday, I didn’t see him on Sunday or Monday. I even stopped by the cathedral, hoping he’d be outside. When he wasn’t, I went in looking for him. He wasn’t in the sanctuary or any other place open to the public. I asked about him and was told he wasn’t available.
Fuck, did that hurt.
But then he was here the next day at my door, and I nearly sobbed in relief. I threw myself at him, only horrified and embarrassed after the fact, but he hugged me just as tightly as I clung to him.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I know I shouldn’t be putting this pressure on you.”
“Hush,” he whispered, his arms getting tighter still, his fingers digging into me. “I came here of my own free will, Zaiden.”
And that’s the push and pull we’ve been playing for three weeks. I try to be okay with it. Trying not to let it hurt. Remind myself I had no fucking business hitting on a priest. None. I did this to both of us. What kind of person am I to give him that kind of temptation, knowing he can’t get involved with me without being shunned from his fucking life?!
My only bright spots are when he shows up. Because I know he wants me. It’s a reminder that he does. A promise that he’s suffering as much as I am. And while I don’t want him to hurt like this, I appreciate that I’m not alone. That this isn’t one-sided.
No matter how many times I warn myself that I shouldn’t fall for this man, I do a little more every time I see him. With every touch, every stolen kiss, every smile. Every time we speak about something silly or casual or just sit in silence, I imagine myself growing old with him.
But I come down off that high real quick when I remind myself that he’s a man of God and when it comes down to it, those men choose their faith first. Not someone they barely know. The reminder makes me sick. Brings tears to my eyes. Everything in my body hurts as I curl up at night and pray with all my fucking might that he chooses me.
The version of God I believe in doesn’t have any issues with followers being gay.
The three weeks of back-and-forth lead into this week where I haven’t seen him at all. Not once. I’ve been to his Church so many times looking for him. Begging for him. But those fucking miserable old crones just look at me with disgust and tell me that Ellsworth isn’t taking visitors.
There’s a dark fear in my gut that says he was found out and forced to leave. That he’s not really there at all. That those assholes are purposefully not telling me that because they’re dicks and believe that I’m broken. Or that they think keeping me from him will fix me.
Really, it’s just breaking me more.
I don’t know what to do with myself as I stand in the stupidly tall double doors and stare into the sanctuary. It’s peaceful as my blurry eyes track down the center aisle between the pews to the pulpit straight ahead. The vast stained-glass windows paint the space an ethereal rainbow of colors. There are glass chandeliers hanging from the arches in the stone ceiling. Medieval-looking sconces on the wall. The stone floor is polished smooth from so many feet moving about.
There are doors all over the place. In the little entryway where I stand, there’s one to either side. At the end of the room, behind the dais are two more, leading back and away. Right inside the sanctuary doors are other sets of doors on either side with stairs behind them, heading to the choir decks that overlook the sanctuary.
There’s a small dais at the front to the right where a beautiful pipe organ is sitting. It’s old and grand, something magical in itself. Opposite that are the confession closets. I don’t care what they’re actually called, they’re fucking closets as far as I’m concerned. And I scoff at the idea of confessing.
There’s a priest sitting in one of the front pews, looking at me, his eyes all squinty. Unkind. Judgmental. I don’t even glare back. I let my heartache and pain shine brightly in this room that’s supposed to be filled with all things good.
Finally, I turn away and walk out. Aimlessly moving through town. Not knowing where to go. Not knowing what to do. Who to talk to.
I tried telling Liam what was going on, but I couldn’t bring myself to get the words out. I wasn’t ready for anyone to commiserate with me. Besides, telling someone about this thing with Ellsworth will bring on more questions than I’m prepared to deal with. Maybe if Ellsworth and I were in a better place, then I could face them. Liam would help me. I know he would.
But that’s not the case. And my chest fucking hurts. It’s been six days since I’ve seen Ellsworth. Something around six weeks since I first saw him planting flowers. I’ve never hurt so much in my life. Nothing has ever left me this raw. This broken and lost.
I wander for hours. Not seeing or hearing anything as I make my way up and down streets. Not stopping to eat or drink. It isn’t until I find myself at my office and let myself in that I feel how very worn out I am.
My office has a small fridge that I keep stocked with water for clients. I drink two bottles before collapsing on the couch. I can’t go home. I don’t have the energy to do that. To be alone. He’s been there many times and everywhere I look is a reminder that he’s not there now.
Even my fucking room, where Ellsworth hasn’t been, is a reminder. Because it’s there that I’ve researched what gay sex means. What it’s like. What it looks like and sounds like and feels like. All because I have to be with this man. There’s no other option for me.
But what the fuck am I going to do if he’s already made his choice?
I told him that he held all the cards, and I wouldn’t push. But did I tell him I’d accept his decision if that decision wasn’t me? If I was a better man, I would. But I’m not. And I won’t accept it.
That doesn’t answer what I’m supposed to do right now. Wait for him? What if he never comes? What if I never see him again? How am I going to go through life with this gaping hole in my heart? My chest hurts like I’m having a heart attack. I’m sick to my stomach. My head is constantly pounding with a headache that just won’t go away.
Closing my eyes, I lean back and focus on my breathing. Trying to clear my head as the silence of the office surrounds me. I’ve been shit at my job this last month. I know Sam’s getting concerned, but I don’t have anything to tell him. Nothing to explain that I feel like I can say out loud.
This is my misery right now. My burden to carry. My heartache to suffer alone.
