by Lola Darling
I stagger to the doorway, bleary-eyed, my hair a mess, sticking straight up in every direction over my head. But the moment I open the door, I forget about what I look like. Because Paul, standing there in a wrinkled black shirt with red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes, looks a hundred times worse.
“Oh my God, what happened?” I catch his elbow, lead him inside, even as a spasm of pain crosses his face.
He shakes himself free of my grip, though he does follow me inside and lets me shut the door behind us.
“What’s wrong?” I reach for him, but he backs away again, bumps into a side table and winces. I’ve never seen him like this, and it’s terrifying me. He looks like somebody died. Or like he wants to die. “Paul, talk to me.”
Tears, actual tears, shine along the edges of his eyes. He refuses to let them fall, but I can still see them hanging there, sparkling in the early morning sunlight. Last night, those bright green eyes were full of love and light and hope, for the first time in maybe years. I can’t bear to see them now, crushed of that same dreamy expression.
“What happened?”
His throat bobs as he swallows, pulling himself together. “This morning I was summoned to the bishop’s office.”
Oh God. Before he even says another word, my tired, early-morning brain has begun to connect the dots.
Henry.
“Someone called him. Anonymously. Told him that they’d seen me having …” He stammers on the word. “Intercourse with a man. He demanded an explanation, and I … After last night, I couldn’t lie, Darren, it was written all over my face the moment he said it.”
I shut my eyes, the world spiraling around me. Just when we’d finally gotten there, finally reached what we wanted. “What did he say?”
“He grilled me. Asked me a lot of questions. Of course, it was consensual, and we’re both adults, but, you know, the church has been dealing with so much bad press lately, and yet another priest breaking his vows is the last thing they need right now.”
My stomach sinks all the way down to the floor. And then passes through it to sink even lower. “What does that mean? They aren’t kicking you out, are they? I’ll go to the bishop, I’ll explain, say it was me who seduced you, that it wasn’t your fault. I know how much this means to you, Paul, I know you need this.”
But he’s already shaking his head, and from the desperation in his eyes, I suddenly realize that it’s not that. It’s, somehow, even worse.
“They’re transferring me,” he finally says, his voice the smallest he can make it. Barely a shadow of a whisper.
“To where?” I cry, unable to help myself. Panic clouds my vision, makes my heart race. No. No no no. I can’t handle this without him. He’s the only person I can talk to about Gabby, the only reason I’ve been able to claw my way back to some semblance of a normal life now that she’s gone. His presence, his mind, his body—the way he fucks me—he’s the only one who knows how to pull me out of this shitty world and transport me into a better one. A place where I can think about something besides this constant heartbreak.
“Kentucky.” He’s shaking his head, and the unshed tears finally spill over to slink down his cheeks. “I don’t know what to do. There’s still A Safe Place to think about, too. I’m the only one from the Diocese involved there, I’ve been able to convince them to keep funding the house, to keep all those children safe and off the streets. Without me, that whole place falls apart. And there’s my life here, there’s …” His eyes dart to mine, and I know I’m looking into a mirror of my own pain. “There’s you. We’ve only just found one another. I don’t … I can’t leave you, not now. Not when there’s so many places this could still go, not when we have so much to give one another.”
“So what are you going to do?” I whisper, unable to bring myself to speak any louder. I know, of course what I want. I want him to stay. Selfishly, I want him to say that he’ll do whatever it takes to be with me, no matter the cost.
But I know I can’t ask that. Not when our relationship is so new, and not when I know what the church helped him recover from. Would he go into a downward spiral again, the way he did right after his ex-lover’s death, if he lost the church’s support? It’s entirely possible. I, of all people, understand that.
“I don’t know, Darren. I need the church. I love the priesthood. My parishioners, my community, my place in the world, giving up my own life for God’s. I can’t lose that.” His eyes lock onto mine, his brow drawn in desperation. “But I can’t lose you either.”
I take a tentative step closer. Reach for his hand, and this time, he lets me curl my fingers around his. Intertwine them, the way we did last night, when things were still so simple and easy to solve. “What do we do now?”
THE END
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