My Favorite Sin

by Lina Langley

  I need to go home. I don’t know if it’s Lawrence revealing his sexual preferences to me or if it’s the realization that despite that, there is no chance for us, but I suddenly feel like I’m going to throw up.

  I need to get out of here, but he drove me here, and I can’t tell him that the reason I need to go home is because I don’t want to be around him anymore. Because I can’t be around him anymore.

  I can’t feel like a charity case. Everything he has done for me has just happened because he has been paid to do it for me. Including picking me up from the drunk tank.

  I wasn’t wrong… I did make a fool out of myself. I shouldn’t have called Lawrence. I shouldn’t have called anyone. I should have just remained with Montgomery until dawn came. Even though the drunk tank smells like piss and vomit, it would have been better for me to stay there. I would have saved myself the embarrassment of… whatever this is.

  I’m about to excuse myself and ask for the bathroom when I notice he’s staring at me.

  “I think we need to talk about this,” he says.

  I shake my head, looking away from him. “No,” I reply. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  He sighs. “Will you just hear me out?” he asks. “And then, if you decide to leave after that, you absolutely can. I just don’t think that you will.”

  I bite my lower lip. I don’t want to say anything to him, partly because I think there’s nothing he can say to me that is going to make this feel okay. But there’s no way for me to leave now, not without being rude.

  He sighs again and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry,” he says. “It was never my intention to make you feel trapped. If you want, I can drive you home and—”

  “No,” I say. “That won’t be necessary.”

  I have to stay and hear him out. He has helped me so much already, it would be the height of rudeness of me to tell him to drive me home. I don’t even think I could take being in the car at the same time as he is, because I wouldn’t even know how to speak to him.

  “Are you sure?”

  I nod. “Yes,” I say. “If you want to talk then just… talk.”

  CONTINUE

  “This isn’t just for my job,” he says. He puts the photo album on the coffee table in front of us. “I could have just told you about this at the restaurant, after all.”

  “I know,” I reply.

  “But I didn’t want to do that,” he says. “I guess I just wanted you to see that it’s possible to be happy even if you don’t make the right decision right now. Things seem to be in flux for you and I… I don’t know, maybe this was misguided, but I wanted you to see you weren’t alone.”

  I nod, swallowing down the knot in my throat. I don’t look at him when I speak. “Is that why you wanted me to see your ex-boyfriend?”

  “Honestly? Yes,” he says quietly. “And I know that probably wasn’t the wisest idea I’ve ever had, but I needed to show you that—”

  “That you were into guys?” I ask, regretting it immediately. I shouldn’t have asked that so bluntly when he’s clearly struggling here. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I need to chill the fuck out. He hasn’t done anything to me and there’s no reason for me to act like he has.

  “I… guess,” he says. He’s quiet for so long that I open my eyes again and set my gaze on him. “But maybe you’re right.”

  “Right about what?”

  He furrows his brow. “Nothing.”

  “Oh, c’mon,” I say. “I’m already here. The least you can do is talk to me.”

  He nods. “I suppose that’s true,” he says. “I don’t know. I guess I haven’t said it aloud for so long… I thought you would understand, I guess.”

  I lick my lips and then shake my head. “Well, shit,” I said. “I ruined it, didn’t I?”

  He shakes his head, his brow furrowed. “No,” he says. “You didn’t ruin it at all. But I fear I might have overstepped your boundaries. I shouldn’t have done that…”

  I wait for him to say something else.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to add to your confusion.”

  I chuckle. “You did,” I say. “But not how you mean it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I shouldn’t do this. Even as I approach him, I know this is a terrible idea, but it’s as if my body is the one driving me forward. My mind is on autopilot and there’s nothing I can do to stop myself.

  I suppose he could turn his face away, but he doesn’t. He stays where he is and he allows me to kiss him on the mouth, but he doesn’t kiss me back. I can feel his breath on my skin, the way his lips feel on my own.

  He’s so hot. He doesn’t seem to mind at all that I’m kissing him, he doesn’t pull away from me. There is a moment when I pull away from him and realize what I have just done. I feel like I can’t breathe. I want to apologize, but he doesn’t let me. He puts his hand behind my head and pulls me close to him so that we’re kissing again, but this time, he’s kissing me back, his tongue going into my mouth and warring with my own.

  My heart is beating really fast, especially when he moves away from me, a line of spit connecting our lips. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “I’m sorry—”

  He holds up his hand. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for,” he says. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “I shouldn’t have kissed you,” I say.

  He nods. “You’re right,” he says. “But I shouldn’t have kissed you back.”

  I close my eyes and lean back on his sofa. He runs his hand through my hair, and his fingers are warm against my scalp. Despite myself—despite the fact that I know I shouldn’t do this and this is a bad idea—I lean into his touch and let out a deep sigh.

  “We can’t do this,” he says, his voice steady.

  I blink, not even looking at him. “Yeah,” I say. “I know.”

  “You should stay,” he says.

  That does make me look at him. He’s not looking at me when he speaks, though. “I have a perfectly serviceable guest bedroom which never gets used. I’ll drive you home in the morning.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but before I can, he gets up. He stops before disappearing down the hallway, looking over his shoulder to speak to me. “It’s the first door on the left,” he says. “There’s a bathroom, there, too. There’s towels and linen in the cupboards in the bedroom.”

  I want to ask him where he’s going, but I don’t think I can get myself to say anything at all. Instead, I just nod and watch him disappear into his house, as if the place was a goddamn forest itself.

  CONTINUE

  Fuck it. I don’t think it’s fair to leave Montgomery, especially because I think he’s getting annoyed with me, and I’m already here for him. I don’t know when he’s going to sober up, and yes, it’s gross and it stinks in here, but I think it’s going to be a lot easier for him if I can stay here with him. It’s the charitable thing to do, I suppose, and Montgomery is my friend.

  That’s probably why he’s upset, because he thought he was going to have a friend in here and I was going to bail on him. I don’t want to do that.

  Maybe he’s not my friend, but he’s someone I’m friendly with. I have to live with him and I don’t want to make him feel like I’ve abandoned him when he’s clearly dealing with this alone. It might not be a big deal, but there’s no reason for me to make it worse.

  There’s also the fact that I have to live with myself too, and regardless of what’s going on in my life, I’m trying hard to be a good person. If that means staying in this place, which smells like piss and vomit, for a few more hours, then shit… I guess that’s what I’m going to do.

  I turn away from the officer and set my gaze on Montgomery. He’s back on the stone bench, sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, but his head is cocked as he looks at me. I try to flash him a smile, but my face doesn’t seem to want to follow my commands,
so I swallow instead. I want to be a good person. Even if that doesn’t mean being a priest. Because it doesn’t have to, right? Right.

  Montgomery keeps staring, as if he’s challenging me to tell the officer I’m going to leave. I’m not going to do. I’ve made a decision, and so I’m going to stick with it, even though it might not have been the best idea ever. I can hear the officer closing the metal door. I think he makes a big show of locking it. I’m sure unlocking it didn’t take nearly this much time or effort.

  I think he might be doing this for my benefit—or rather, to teach me a lesson. I get a little closer to Montgomery as I try to remind myself of why I stayed here.

  “Hey,” I say as I look down at him. “I’m sorry I was going to bail.”

  He shakes his head. When he looks up at me, his eyes are watery. “I get it,” he says. “I’m sorry I was being a little bitch. I’m drunk and I’m not having a great time.”

  I raise my eyebrows and smile at him. “You are?”

  “Shut up,” he says. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s going to be easier to get through it with a friend.”

  I think this is the first time Montgomery has ever called me his friend. He scoots over slightly so that there’s enough room for me on the stone bench. We’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, touching when we do. His arm is bare and touching my skin. It’s too close, and if this was any other time, in any other setting, I would have already jerked away from him. He made space for me on the stone bench, though, and I think it would just be rude to move away. He turns to look at me, his eyes wide and watery, and then, before I can really process it, he grabs my hand, his fingers interlacing with my own.

  It’s weird, but even now, I don’t want to jerk my hand away from him. His face is only inches away from mine, but right now, I’m mostly focused on the way his hands feel. They’re soft and warm, his fingers long. They interlace with my own. For a second, it feels like this is exactly right, and like it’s a shame we haven’t been doing it for longer. He’s looking down at me, a smile on his face.

  From the corner of my eyes, I notice that a couple of belligerent drunks have stopped bickering with each other and are staring at us. I turn to look at them, and Montgomery turns with me.

  “What?” Montgomery asks, moving our hands up so they’re more visible to them. “Do you have a problem with love?!”

  I’m a little afraid, but when they both stop looking at us, I can’t help but snicker. Montgomery shakes his head and begins to tut. “Fucking rednecks.”

  I bite my lower lip. He lets go of my hand as he sets it down on the stone bench again. as if he’s suddenly realized what he was doing. “Anyway,” he says. “Thank you for staying. You didn’t have to.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “You really made it seem like I had to.”

  He smiles. “Okay, yeah, you had to. I’m glad you did, though.”

  I smile back at him. I’m about to tell him it’s okay, but then I hear someone vomiting behind me, and the smell of puke fills my nose, so I blink and walk over to the stone bench instead.

  Montgomery has a smile on his face. His eyes are glimmering. “I don’t think you’re going to get much sleep tonight, choirboy.”

  “Yeah,” I reply, licking my lips. “No shit.”

  CONTINUE

  We finally walk into the police station, both of us ignoring the chatter coming from inside. I’m sure both of us have been here before. I’ve only been here a couple of times, but it’s something like a ritual for people to come to the police station, considering it’s the biggest tourist attraction in a place with tons of beautiful beaches and legendary food.

  Sure, there are nice restaurants here, and the beach is beautiful—the sand feels nice and cool under your feet even in the hottest of days—but the island really makes the majority of its money from fining drunk college students for their drunk and disorderly behavior. It’s really easy, considering they all come down here in droves for spring break, and they think they can get away with murder.

  And they can, of course, for a fee.

  It’s not like the townies don’t party hard either, they just have a symbiotic relationship with our police force. They call in drunk college parties or throw them out of restaurants right before the police arrive and then the town ends up with a tidy cash sum every year, especially during spring break or at the end of summer. Everyone knows it’s an outrage, but it’s not like these kids are going to go crying to mom and dad. They’ll just take the slap on the hand, spend discretionary money and then go back to partying.

  One of the only people I know who seems to consistently manage to get in trouble is Montgomery. He’s not a townie, he arrived around the same time I did, and we were thrown together by terrible roommate matching. That feels like forever ago, I think as I walk through the door Cyrus is holding open for me.

  I could live on campus, but that’s a long drive away and living close to the beach is both nice and surprisingly more affordable than living across the bridge and in the city. I could never afford to live in the city. Hell, I can already hardly afford to live in the shitty apartment I share with Montgomery. My money is going to run out soon and I need to decide what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.

  Ugh, it feels like even when I’m the one bailing him out, I’m worried about my own shit. This sucks. I’m not going to feel better about any of it until I make a decision. I know that for a fact and it makes me angry. I shouldn’t have to bother with making a decision, I should just… know.

  I’ve always known.

  I should still fucking know. I’m thinking about it, completely ignoring the chatter going on around me, as I walk up to Cyrus. He’s walking a little faster than me, partly on account of not being injured.

  I don’t want to tell him to slow down, since he seems to have more courage than I do. Plus, I know he’s going to enjoy this. I don’t want to take that away from him. We walk over to the reception area and we exchange a look when the uniformed blond officer there barely looks up at us. He’s flipping through something—a magazine, I think. Whatever it is, I know it isn’t work.

  Cyrus narrows his eyes and clears his throat. The officer doesn’t even look up. We exchange another look and I get closer to the desk. He makes a big show of rolling his eyes and closing the magazine. I don’t need to look at Cyrus to know that his expression is a cross of amusement and bewilderment.

  I look down at the officer’s badge. Roberts.

  “Hello,” I say. “We’re here to pick up our friend.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Okay.”

  “Montgomery,” I say.

  “Montgomery,” he echoes, his fingers still in the magazine. He’s keeping his space. “Is that the perp’s last name?”

  “No,” I reply, my cheeks red. Cyrus gets a little closer to me and grabs my hand. It’s only for a second, he wouldn’t hold my hand in a police station, but it’s enough to make me feel better about what’s happening. “His last name is Banks. Montgomery Banks.”

  Officer Roberts smirks at me, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “Is he in the drunk tank?”

  I think this line of questioning is truly unnecessary, but I guess I understand why he’s being flippant. There are a lot of people my age here.

  “Yes,” I reply, looking at Cyrus for reassuring. Cyrus is nodding his head. “He said he was when he called.”

  “Oh, he already called you?” Officer Robert says, looking a little bored. “Then he has to have been here a while. You should take a seat. I’ll let him know someone is here to collect him.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, a little hesitantly. He doesn’t do anything, though, he doesn’t even reach for the phone next to him, and it looks like he’s about to open the magazine. I clear my throat and he lifts up his face to stare at me. “What is it, son?”

  I resist the urge to tell him that he looks about a month older than me. “I mean, you could go get him now.”

  “I could,” he replies. I wait for him to
say something else, but he starts reading his magazine again.

  Cyrus and I look at each other and laugh. I don’t think we’re supposed to, but this has taken a turn for the ridiculous. Cyrus approaches the desk and flashes Officer Roberts a triumphant smile. I suppose if just asking him nicely won’t work, Cyrus can always attempt to flirt with him. “Officer Roberts?”

  He nods, saying nothing. “My name is Cyrus,” he replies, extending his hand. Officer Roberts looks at it for a second and then, to my surprise, he takes it. His handshake is brief, but it’s there, and I think Cyrus might have just won. I’m watching them both, saying nothing. I know when it’s better to stay out of things and it seems like it’s better to stay out of this. “Officer Roberts, my friend and I don’t want to inconvenience you. We’re just here to pick up our friend so you can make room for someone else. We promise we’ll take care of him and you won’t have to deal with him again.”

  He raises his eyebrows, and then, he smiles. It’s the briefest smile, only for a millisecond, but I think Cyrus might have just turned the tide with this asshole. The man is a social genius. I need to buy him a drink.

  Officer Roberts turns to the computer on the desk and types in a few words. “What did you say your friend’s name was?”

  “Banks,” I say. “Montgomery Banks.”

  Officer Roberts nods, his magazine forgotten. “Hang on a second.”

  We watch him type a few more words on the computer, tilting his head slightly when he does. “Yes, he’s here,” he says. “I can release him to you now or we can wait until morning. You know, if you want him to sleep it off.”

  Cyrus looks at me and I shake my head.

  “No,” Cyrus says. “Don’t worry, Officer. We can take care of him. Isn’t that right, Alex?”

  My eyes widen, but I don’t think I have much of a choice here. “Yes, sir,” I say. “Of course we do.”

  Officer Roberts nods. “Wait here.”