“Funny...You can’t feel the emotional pains, and I can’t feel the physical ones. Both advantages we would never want to curse others with.”
He nods. “And then, just as with you, there’s my mother...” His tone doesn’t shift from its almost monotone quality, but it’s the way he trails off that straightens my spine to attention. “She used to drag me to church every Sunday when I was a small boy. She became more unsettled and forced Wednesday on me too. Then Friday. I understood later on that it was because of me.”
He pauses for a few moments, gaze lost in a memory he’s not sharing.
“The older I got, the deeper her beliefs burrowed, and the more evil she saw in me. Her faith turned radical, her Christianity a fully formed extremist beast that held no sense of logic. She didn’t believe that I, her son, was evil. She was convinced evil existed within me, a creature controlling me, taking over. And where there’s one, there are many. She found the right fanatic wack jobs to fuel her delusions. Priests who convinced her they could get the evil creature out.”
“No...” I whisper, hoping this confession isn’t going where I think it is as worry for that little boy tightens around my heart.
“I was too young, somewhat sheltered, and didn’t fully understand what they were doing to me. The tightly tied ropes, the Latin chants, the crucifixes they waved around, and the water they kept splashing me with were simply confusing. Slightly annoying. I don’t even remember being scared.”
I watch every twitch in his features, every wrinkle forming as he recounts the horrendous things he experienced as a child, yet none betray emotions he may be hiding. Maybe all I really want is to stare into a mirror. Maybe I’m hoping that, despite everything I know of him,he doesactually feel something. Thathe is,in fact, affected. But he continues his recount in the same calm voice, with the same relaxed expression, not one shift in his perfectly set features.
“It wasn’t long until I began to understand. When the violence escalated and started leaving marks on my body. Of course, none of it worked. The evil was still within me, and she saw more of it every day, overtaking me. When the priest’s exorcisms proved ineffective, she took matters into her own hands. She was so far gone by that point. Delusions convinced her that water is what cleanses us, washes off our sins through baptism, and sends the evil away. More than once, she forced me into the tub, taking matters into her own hands until the water breached my airways.”
“She was fucking drowning you?” I hate that I interrupted him, but the outrage tears through me, viciously stinging my eyes and tightening my chest.
“As she told my father when he caught her and found out everything, she was, in fact,cleansing the evilout of me. Of course, there was no demon, no despicable creature, no foreign evil. It’s always been me.”
And there, with that last statement, there’s a small crack in the mask. A strain in his eyes, many more blinks than necessary, gaze flickering, yanking at my heart.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” He turns to me as a tear slides down my cheek. He watches it, following its path before reaching over to capture it. Bringing his finger to his mouth, he sucks my sadness between his lips, attempting to make it go away.
“What’s funny?” My voice trembles.
“How powerless we find ourselves before our parents. How much we want to trust them.”
My gaze drifts into nothingness, shoulders slumping as his words sink in, along with the countless memories weighing them down.
“What happened after your dad found out?”
“He kicked her out without a second thought. She’s with some cult somewhere. The wrong parent died, unfortunately.”
My heart breaks for him, even if his is made of stone.
“I can’t believe she tried to exorcise you. You w-were just a little boy...”
Carter shrugs like it’s all dust in the wind. Experiences that happened to someone else, not his own tragic background. It fucking infuriates me. But most of all, it fills me with horrible sadness.
I climb onto him, regardless of how detached he is, and slide my hands under his neck. I wrap myself around him. Maybe he doesn’t need this, maybe he just doesn’t know he does, but I certainly do. I bury my face in the soft crook of his shoulder, spilling tears for both him and me, for the parents who failed us, for the people who didn’t know what was being done to us, and for the childhoods tainted by madness.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry,” I whisper against his warm skin.
Seconds flow one by one, each lighter than the one before. His arms wrap around my body and startle me. I squeeze him harder. And so does he, his breaths falling heavier after the shift in his rigid soul. Maybe it’s for me, but hopefully a little bit for himself too.
If all our other moments before didn’t cement my feelings, this one etched them in every inch of my being. He may not be able to give me his, but Carter Pierce has my heart.
Chapter 37
Scarlet
This time around, I made sure to let my family know I’m alive. They would have certainly noticed my absence since I’ve been living it up at Carter’s for two days now. My clothes have been sitting clean in his dryer since yesterday, yet he seems perfectly happy for me to wear his. Even his boxer shorts.
Though I’ve spent much more time out of them. Splayed on his bed. Bent over his kitchen counter. On my knees in his shower. And on all fours in the middle of his church. But I also curled into him as I answered more of his burning questions about my life. I stood quietly as he washed my long hair in the shower. And danced through his kitchen as he cooked some delicious fillet steaks for us.
We’ve had moments. More in the last forty-eight hours than I thought possible. It’s interesting how much you can learn about a person once you remove all the bullshit rules people have about dating, when you remove all the worry about what someone’s gonna think about you, and when you simply stop giving a shit and allow someone in.
There is one thing I didn’t ask, and he also didn’t share—why he lives in a church. I have two theories—what he does in here is his way of desecrating everything his mother stood for, or it’s his subconscious way of being close to the mother he was supposed to have.
