I just needed to calm down, catch my breath, and try to remember that Alessio was drunk and saying things he didn’t mean. He probably wouldn’t even remember this tomorrow with the way he was stumbling around.
But his words had already embedded themselves under my skin. All that pent-up rage pouring out of him that he’d obviously been holding back all these years. The ache in his words when he asked,“Do you even think about me anymore?”
I pressed my palm over my chest, right over my heart, like I could keep those words from stabbing me there.
After all this time…why now? Why tonight? Why dredge up the past when I thought we’d left it there, buried deep?
But that was a lie. We’d both moved on in our separate lives, but the unease and tension between us had been there for years, even though we’d gone through the actions of a mended acquaintance.
It was the one part of my life I hadn’t fully turned over to God, and tonight it had come back full force to haunt me, reminding me that I was a fraud to hold on to any piece of my old life.
I took in a deep, steadying breath and opened my eyes. The rectory was dim, lit only by the lamp on the dresser. A simple twin bed adorned the space, extra-long to accommodate my height, but that was as far as the luxuries went. The room was the size of a tiny studio, without the kitchen and only a small full bath. We didn’t need much, not when the church provided in all other ways.
This home was safe. Familiar. A place no one else ever entered, that was mine alone. I’d walked through the door thousands of times and left everyone outside—but tonight Alessio had followed me in.
Not physically, but in a way that still felt like a betrayal to the one I was most loyal to.
I reached for my collar and hesitated. It was such a small thing to mean so much, and I traced the edges, trying to remind myself of my vows. Every night was the same, a routine I’d established to stay in control. I took off the collar, setting it carefully in its spot on the dresser, and then began to unbutton the cassock. There were thirty-three buttons, one for each year of Jesus’s life, and I usually reflected on the Incarnation each morning and evening as I dressed and undressed.
But tonight I unfastened a handful and drew the material up over my head. Patience was a virtue, but not one I possessed at the moment, though I took the time to carefully hang the garment in the closet. As I continued to undress, Alessio’s voice echoed in my ear, telling me about watching scantily clad men tonight. Hoping they would incite a reaction from him.
For his…cock.
A soft groan left me as, for the first time in a long time, I could feel my pulse everywhere—thumping wildly in my neck, across my chest, and down my hips, like my body was awakening from a long slumber. My dick stirred, rising with every word Alessio uttered.
“My cock wants you…father.”
No. I couldn’t do this.
I entered the small bathroom and turned on the faucet, splashing my face with cold water to shock me back to my senses. It worked to slow my heart rate a little, and I sighed, staring down at the water draining down the sink and willing the temptation rising inside to do the same.
But every time I closed my eyes, he was there, Alessio’s dark gaze boring into mine, desire swirling with agony in those depths. It felt like a punishment. I shut off the faucet and reached for the towel to wipe my face.
I didn’t mean to look in the mirror when I opened my eyes again. There was only one allowed in the small space, and I only ever used it to shave. Never to look at myself. Not like this—naked and half hard, a version of the man I used to be and not the reality.
But as I moved to turn away from the reflection taunting me, the stranger in the mirror dared me to stay.
Stay and look.
Look at what he’s done to you. What he’s made you feel.
This is why you should’ve walked away.You should’ve walked away and never looked back.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to banish the words, not liking the way they made me feel. I didn’t want to associate Alessio with the guilt twisting my stomach into knots.
It wasn’t his fault I was weak. It wasn’t his fault he made my body respond.
That was my burden. My hardship to bear.
I braced my hands on the sink and opened my eyes, staring at the stranger looking back at me, judging me.
Temptation of the flesh. Man’s greatest weakness.
What made me think I would be any different? Any stronger to resist? Because I’d resisted this long?
Only because I refused to remember. But when faced with the past, when confronted with the feelings and experiences we’d once shared, it was much more difficult to push aside.
He’d said his biggest sin was that he thought about me all the time. He’d asked how I’d been able to forget him, forgetus, and the way we’d been together.
