I can’t do it.
I sob, tears trailing down my face. “The devil touches you through desire,” I whisper, whimpering. “Don’t give in. Don’t do it.”
But before I can stop, I wrap a hand around myself and squeeze hard. I groan, feeling lightheaded. I don’t think anymore, just feel. For a minute, I’m suspended in time, and all I focus on is the way my hand moves up and down as I jack myselfoff. I tighten my grip, doubling over from how good it feels, and go faster, rocking into my fist. It’s unbearable. I almost can’t take it, and just when I think about how I should stop before I die, my body begins to tremble, and I explode with a loud moan.
Cum coats my fingers, and I struggle for breath, my entire body shaking. I don’t know if it’s from the force of the orgasm or from my shame, but I close my eyes and bring my fingers to my lips, sucking the salty taste of myself off them. It’s the closest I’ll get to what I want, and even still, I feel filthy. Corrupted. Depraved. I cry out, covering my mouth with my other hand, stifling sobs once more.
“God, please forgive me. I have defiled the temple you gave me.” My voice quakes as I say softly, “Make me holy again.”
I don’t wait for an answer, I know there won’t be one. God has probably deserted me for my sins, and unless I confess to what I’ve been doing behind closed doors, until I truly repent, I won’t be forgiven. But I’m too ashamed to tell anyone, so I won’t. Instead, I’ll live with the guilt. It’s going to eat me alive, I know it. Yet I know I have no other choice.
Running to the bathroom within my dorm, I wash my hands and look at myself in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, hair sticking to my forehead with sweat. My eyes are shining for the first time since I last did this, and I can’t deny that I look like myself again. Not the shell of a man I’ve become lately. It soothes me slightly, but not for long. It’s only been a few minutes since I locked myself in my room, but I’ve already decided I’m going to skip dinner. As punishment for my sins, of course. It’s the only way I know how to beg for forgiveness at this point.
My room is now freezing, at least it feels like it against my heated flesh, and it raises goosebumps all over my arms and torso. I put my clothes back on and unlock the door, then go to my desk and open my journal. My personal diary. It’s part of my punishment, putting my most shameful desires on paper. Eventhe pen is disgusted by me. But still, I write. Until my hands ache, until I feel like I can’t anymore. Yet I continue, pushing through because if there’s one thing I go by, it’s mind over matter. And yet my mind keeps failing me.
After a while, I take a break, my wrist aching something fierce as I stare out into nothingness. My journal is open, my pen is sitting on the inked page, mocking me. Everything feels heightened. The overwhelming feelings in my chest feel like they’re going to flood me until I burst like a dam, and even the tapping of the rain against the stained-glass windows is too loud. Too much. I can’t bear it.
There’s a knock at the door, but before I can say come in, Micah opens the door and invites himself into my space like he owns it. I know it’s him—he’s the only one in this seminary who would dare. Probably the only person who cares about me in a less superficial way too. I don’t look at him, but I do hear him get on my bed and shuffle around.
I stiffen when I finally look over at him, and he’s lying down, his face buried in my pillow as he smells it. There’s a soft smile on his face when he turns my way, and I gulp. We make eye contact for one heady moment, and I can tell he senses I’m overwhelmed. He flings an arm over his eyes to make me feel more at ease, which works, and I spend the next hour ignoring him. I write again until my hand aches.
He sighs.
“You’ve been sitting there for an hour, Elijah.” His voice makes me shiver even though it’s muffled by his arm. “Are you writing a second bible?”
“You don’t have to be here,” I snap. “You could be sleeping in your own room—shouldbe.”
“And miss the drama? Not a chance.” I hear the smirk in his voice, but I refuse to give in to it. Refuse to react. There’s a beatof silence, and Micah continues, “Come on, what’s keeping you up now?”
I sigh and close the journal halfway; my hand wedged between the pages. “Nothing.”
“Lie better,” he tuts, and I narrow my eyes at his face. He does it right back. “You twitch when you lie.”
“Do I?” I raise an eyebrow, but it quickly turns into a frown.
“Mhm,” Micah hums. “It’s adorable. Tragic, but adorable.”
I smirk, but turn away, warmth quickly heating my cheeks at the memory of what I did earlier. How I desecrated my body. “It’s just prayers.”
“It doesn’t look like a prayer book to me.” He rolls his eyes.
“It’s…” I hesitate. “Personal.”
“Everything about you is personal. That’s what makes you so dangerous. That’s why I’m so intrigued by you,” Micah whispers, and I stiffen. “You’ve been different lately, too.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say softly, looking away.
“Lookat me.” He sighs, and I do, making eye contact with him for the millionth time today. It makes me feel twitchy, but I try to push past the uncomfortable sensation. “You know exactly what I mean. Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You keep saying that like you’re trying to convince yourself. But it’s not true.” He raises an eyebrow, but I don’t reply. He sits up in bed, eyes wide. “Elijah.”
I shake my head rapidly, whispering, “I don’t think I’m made for silence.”
“Then speak.”
“I don’t know how.” My voice trembles as I say it, and so does my entire body.
