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What if Maggie was wrong?
What if Eden was right, and I just needed to let go?
What if.
Those two words were supposed to bring hope, but in reality, they were worse than any profanity I could have uttered. There weren’t any more ‘what ifs’ for me, not now that Eden had crossed my path and managed to open the once-blockaded door of my lowest moments and filthiest desires.
But I broke my vows.
What did it say about me that in my darkest hour, I made the conscious choice to forsake my God? More than that, what did it say about me that I thought it was worth it? That one night with Eden was worth every penance I’d have to do to obtain my forgiveness?
Because that was all I could do.
This couldn’t continue.
She was half my age and had her whole life ahead of her. She didn’t need my baggage, or the epic shit-ton of emotions I needed to unpack. There was no reason to see her again.
It didn’t matter that my soul had never been happier than when I was between her legs. Maggie may have pulled me from the dark, but she didn’t see me or accept every facet of my being. Eden did. Maggie pushed me to be something better, but Eden saw what I needed and gave it to me tenfold. She pushed me to accept who I was.
But she wasn’t the only person that gave me that feeling. That rush of endorphins that came from pure authenticity.
It was the same feeling I got when I helped others at my parish. When I gave myself over to my ministries and did the work of the Lord. That was who I was supposed to be. If I continued down this path of corruption, I would be no better than my father. I needed to get my head out of my ass and remember why I chose this life. At the beginning it may have been for Maggie, but in time, I grew to love my role in the church. I wasn’t just a deacon for her. At the end of the day my vows were my own, no matter how I got there.
Again, clarity with the light of day.
I silently repeated the last line about being more than just a deacon for Maggie three more times before it solidified in my heart.
Mostly.
I chose to ignore the useless, lingering doubt.
My gaze drifted to the bright red numbers on the clock on the nightstand.
Seven thirty.
Mass on campus was at nine.
If I hurried, I could speak with Tristan before the service started. I needed him to remind me of who I was. I needed to confess and for him to reassure me that despite my choices, I was forgiven. Sins of the flesh were among the most common, and I was a sinner as much as the next person. He would guide me and help keep me on the straight and narrow.
As opposed to the kinky and depraved.
A strange kind of numbness settled over me as I carefully gathered my clothes and stumbled toward the bathroom. I glared down at my cock standing at full attention. Apparently it didn’t get the memo that the activities we took part in the night before were wrong. Chastity had never been an issue for us before. We’d come to accept our status.
Alone.
Me and my cock for the rest of our lives.
It was a comical thought, one that shouldn’t bother me as much as it did.
I slipped into the shower where moments passed like hours as the pain from my soul expelled itself in raw emotions. I tipped my head back and whispered, “Forgive me.” The words were my plea, and the bleeding heart in my chest was my offering. I waited for something, some sort of answer or miracle to prove I was on the right path. Moses got a burning bush, and I wanted some sort of sign that I wasn’t to be forsaken.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but nothing happened.
The water didn’t turn to wine—the sea didn’t part—and my clarity felt empty.
I exhaled deeply, and after rinsing off the remaining suds, turned off the water and stepped out of the shower feeling just as shitty as when I entered.
When I was dressed, I paused and stared at the redheaded goddess who was still sleeping. I could have climbed back in with her, kissed her neck and whispered everything I’d like to do to her before breakfast. But I wasn’t that man. I couldn’t be.
