"I have to confess my sins." Alice giggles, pushing to her feet and dragging Peanut along with her. "We'll be back."
"You never say 'I'll be back." Cole shakes his head, earning him an eye-roll from Alice as she tugs Peanut toward the confessionals.
"In a horror movie." I shake my head, grateful for the change in the direction of our conversation. I can't tell if I was imagining the tension, or if all the talk of dicks was just making things awkward to anyone else. "We're not in a horror movie."
"As far as you know." Brant winks, and something about it makes my stomach turn, like it's trying to burrow deeper to get away from him.
Truth be told, lifehasfelt like a horror movie for a while. Last year, after seeing what I saw, it was like everything changed in an instant. The world tilted on its axis, and everything has been off since then. The image that seared into my brain so deeply that it was there every time I closed my eyes has never entirely left me. Sometimes it feels like that single moment shaped the rest of my life, like no matter what comes after all of this, everything was built on the foundation of that moment.
A loud moan rips through the air before it's quickly cut off, turning into smaller ones.
My cheeks heat with second-hand embarrassment as Alice seems to be enjoying whatever Peanut is doing to her inside the confessional. I press my fingertips to my cheeks to try and ease some of the warmth, doing my best to hold back a nervous laugh.
Alice and Peanut have been together forever, and it's not exactly a secret that they hook up. But sober Alice wouldn't be letting everyone hear exactly how much she is enjoying this. I suspect she'll be embarrassed if she finds out we can hear her so clearly.
You'd think a confessional would be mostly soundproof, due to the private nature of them. I suppose if she were having a normal conversation, and it weren't so silent that I could hear a pin drop out here, that maybe I wouldn't be able to hear anything from inside. Most churches have upgraded their confessionals in the last century, but this church is original to the year it was built. They have made improvements like better insulation and central heat and air, but they take great pride in still using the original pews, confessionals, even the large bronze altar crucifix.
Hooking up in a confessional surely sends some kind of message to Jesus, particularly when it looks like he's watching down on you. But then, I guess so does killing yourself on the altar, too.
"Those sounds are making me hard." Cole snorts, adjusting himself with the heel of his palm.
"How about some Christmas music?" I suggest, sitting up and slipping my phone out of my pocket.
The world tilts ever so slightly, and I can feel the eggnog at the back of my throat as I swallow it back down. I don't care for Christmas music, and it's not like I'm in the spirit, but it's the perfect excuse to diffuse the moment and possibly cover Alice’s sounds of pleasure.
I blink against the wavering text on my phone, surprised that my tolerance has gone to shit. Three glasses of eggnog, and I didn't even feel buzzed, but all of a sudden, it's hitting me.
I type in Christmas and tap the first playlist, raising my volume and letting the first chords of Silent Night fill the air.
"Oh, fuck no," Brant laughs, snatching my phone out of my hand before I can even react. "I'm not listening to this. If you want Christmas music, I'll allow it, but I'm not listening to this slow shit."
I choose not to say anything about him 'allowing' me to do anything, but it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, and my jaw clenches as he scrolls through my phone, looking for a better alternative.
"There isn't a single Christmas song that I do like." Nick says.
"You'll like this one." Brant promises, grinning as the sound of screaming fills the air, making the blood in my veins turn to ice. It takes a moment to realize the scream is supposed to be the music.
"Fuck off with that screaming shit." Cole groans, shoving him in the shoulder.
But Brant doesn't fuck off. He leaves it to play, and I don't hear a single chord of anything that sounds remotely festive.
When, at last, the song ends, he looks at us, grinning proudly.
"What the fuck was that?" Nick laughs, and the sound is so opposite the screaming that just assaulted our ears for the last two minutes that I can't help joining in, too.
"That was art." Brant argues, clearly offended that we don't agree with his musical taste.
"That wasn't art." I argue. "That was thedeathof art. Anyone can scream into a microphone."
"So uncultured." Brant shakes his head, his nose crinkled in disgust and disappointment, neither of which I am offended by.
"Sorry to interrupt the argument." Peanut says, drawing our attention to where he stands in the center aisle between the pews. I tilt my head to look for Alice and find her on her hands and knees near the confessional, retching. "I'm gonna get her home and hydrated. Too much eggnog, I guess."
"Is she okay?" I ask, moving to stand. But it's a big task, and my limbs feel weird, uncooperative. Nick grabs my arm, steadying me as he pulls me back against him.
"Yeah. She was great, and then all of a sudden it just... hit her." Peanut shakes his head, letting his bottom lip sip through his teeth. "Areyouokay?"
I nod my head, because I haven't been able to answer that question for the last year. I'm actually pretty sure I'll never be okay again.
