“Yes, but you are not responsible for the will of another,” I cautioned her. “You have done a fine job with the girl. I hope you are able to replace her with someone from the order before she leaves for good. How much time do you have?” I pushed.
“September, when the new year for university starts,” she responded. “It gives me plenty of time to bring in a new sister and to get Simone set up for life in an unfamiliar city.”
My insides dropped with the knowledge of how long I had to wait. It was only early summer, and September was months away. I tried to hide my disappointment and do my job as Deacon André, “It’s wonderful you have so much time to arrange everything. I will pray it goes smoothly for you all.”
“Thank you, Deacon. I must say, I sent Simone here for confession to ease her soul. It seemed she was quite upset,” her voice rose an octave and I cursed inside my head.
“Sister, you know I can’t divulge what is discussed in the confessional,” my own voice questioned if she were asking me to break more rules.
“Oh, yes, yes. I know you can’t. I am just worried about her,” her voice filled with concern. “She hasn’t been the same since you came back. I wish things could have worked out differently for you two.” She sighed heavily, “No matter, how have you been feeling?”
I wanted to divulge everything to the woman who raised me and took care of me during my episodes, but I couldn’t. All I could say was, “I’ve been feeling ill today. I may go lie down for a while when Father Augustin comes back.”
“Yes, that would be good. If you’d like, I can come and check on you,” she offered. “But maybe you should go for a walk first. That always seemed to help when you were a child.”
I winced at the memories of Sister Marie taking care of me as I sunk into depression time and time again, followed by moments of anger, and then suddenly I would pull out of it and happiness would flood me. It was as if my emotions were a rollercoaster back then, and they’d barely improved since. “Yes, I may do that. I’m not sure if anything could help me at this point,” I sighed. It seemed her confession turned into my own.
“André,” she addressed me informally, “I have a feeling I know why you decided to take this route with your life. I raised you since you were eleven years old and cared for you during your darkest times. I don’t know why you went from the man who we thought would marry Simone to giving her up, but you can still change your mind.”
“Sister, with all due respect, I don’t think this kind of talk is wise,” I warned her.
“Oh, pish posh. God knows what’s in your heart. He does say go forth and multiply. Frankly, I see the misery you have caused Simone with your decision, and I also see what battles you go through yourself. I don’t approve.”
“It’s complicated,” the only words I could think to say without revealing everything about my monster. It didn’t matter she had seen it all through my childhood, I didn’t want to say it out loud or have her know I never outgrew it like she assured me I would.
Thankfully, I was saved from any more conversation on the subject when the sound of the large door boomed through the church. It was either Father Augustin coming back or another parishioner coming to confession. Either way, it signaled it was no longer time for personal discussions and I finished my blessings to the sister.
It was a parishioner, and the day seemed to continue with a line of parishioners coming to absolve themselves of sin. My mind wandered to Simone as I listened to confessions ranging from simple coveting of neighbors to more scandalous sins. I couldn’t help but think none of them compared to what I’d done just hours earlier where they sat and bared their souls to me. I felt like a fraud and sunk lower into the darkness that was all consuming.
I’d never been happier for my time working as a Deacon to be up when I gave the last absolution of the day. It was long past dinner, yet I wasn’t hungry at all. I wanted nothing more than to lay in my bed and pull the covers over my head. I knew if I did, I wouldn’t come out, and I couldn’t let that happen.
Taking off my frock, I donned my street clothing and exited to the street where the sun was setting in the sky. Studying the colors for a short time, I tried to appreciate the beauty of the reds and oranges streaking across the sky. It was God’s painting, one I should’ve appreciated more.
I let my feet lead me, taking me around the town to nowhere in particular, while the dark cloud followed me. Each step away from the church brought me a sense of relief and my muscles relaxed after being so tight since Simone and I made love.
The part of me that wanted to hide in my bed changed to wanting to keep walking until I was far away from the church and the city of Lyon. To disappear from all my problems, even though they were self-induced. I found myself at the bus station looking at the boards of where I could travel to if only I’d brought money. There weren’t many options I could afford with my pitiful earnings from the one baptism I’d performed. As a transitional deacon, I didn’t receive a salary weekly and was only paid right away for the ceremonies I performed. I’d have to figure something out before I spoke to Father Augustin.
Turning away from the station, I crossed the river and trudged back up the hill. I hadn’t found much peace on my walk, and it only served to bring me further down. The sky itself had turned dark with stars sparkling brightly in it. What I wouldn’t have given to be in the heavens at that moment with no more pressures of walking the earth.
My feet continued to lead me, and I didn’t think about where I was going. As if they had a mind of their own, they stopped in the same spot I’d spent many nights staring up at the window, waiting to get a glance of Simone. I didn’t know whether to be elated or relieved when her lamp turned on and she moved into view of the window.
Chapter Fifteen - Simone
Turning on my lamp, I couldn’t seem to get comfortable. I was in a strange state of elation and anger, both vying for attention. What André and I shared was magical and I didn’t regret it, despite his rejection of me afterwards. I told myself the experience of one time with him could be enough.
But as I undressed and put on my thin nightgown, the memories of his touch were still vivid in my mind. Each movement of the fabric against my skin made me ache to have his touch again, to feel the explosion of pleasure with him and watch his face as it tightened and relaxed with the look of ecstasy.
Wetness pooled between my legs at the thought, and I stood up and paced, trying to relieve the need I had. “He left you, Simone. Stop being pitiful,” I chastised myself. It was true I didn’t deserve to be used and I knew it. I just didn’t know if he truly used me or lost control because of his own deep seeded need for me.
I supposed the reason didn’t matter as long as we both believed what we shared was special and a memory which would never leave us, no matter what barriers were in our way.
Goosebumps erupted on my arms and I knew what that meant, the dark stranger who was probably André was outside my window again. I stopped my pacing and tried to find a place to look out to the street below without being seen. He was there, his head tilted towards my window. He was in the light and there was no doubt in my mind it was him.
I stumped my foot and growled, "The nerve of that man. What is he doing to me?"
Throwing on my shoes and running down the stairs, I was determined to catch him this time, to confront him and find out why he was playing with my heart. But as I opened the door, I came face to face with him, his eyes looking at me, the brown pools filled with sadness.
"I shouldn't be here,” he muttered quickly before he turned to walk away.
"No!” I shouted as I grabbed him by the shirt. "You are not leaving until you tell me why you're here. Why do you keep following me? Why? Why, André, why?"
His shoulders slumped and he ran his hand through his short hair shaking his head vigorously, "I don't know. I need to let you go but I can't and I'm selfish for that. I hate myself for what I'm doing to you."
"André," my voice came
out needy and I hated myself for it. After everything he did to me, I should have been able to send him away. I should have seen him as my enemy. I steeled myself for what I knew needed to be done. “If you can't stop this... this stalking, I'm going to have to go to Father Augustin."
The pride I felt in myself for threatening to report him to the priest, who held André’s future in his hands, stopped the moment he turned to me and I saw the tears streaming down his cheeks. The color drained from my face and guilt washed over me. No matter how much he hurt me, I couldn’t stop caring. Placing a chase kiss on his lips I whispered, "Come upstairs and let's talk. No anger, no hurt, let's just be like we were when we were kids."
His mouth opened to say something, but it seemed the words were stuck. Nodding once, he followed me up the stairs to my apartment. No one had ever been inside of it before, and I was a little embarrassed by the ratty couch and threadbare blankets on my bed.
I wanted to apologize for my living conditions, so different from what he was used to. I shouldn't have felt that way, especially not with a man who started out as my best friend and became the love of my life, yet I wasn’t sure who he was anymore. The man who was my best friend and the love of my life would have never played games with my heart.
"This is quite cozy." he complimented as he walked around the small open room. His eyes scanned my many drawings on the wall before he looked out the window to where he spent so many days watching me from the street. "What a glorious view you have. I would love to live in a place like this. I can imagine it's so peaceful and good for your creativity. I see it from the art you’ve created.
"I do like it here, and as you can see by my drawings, the two rivers and the city are very inspirational. Would you like something to drink?"
"Yes, some water would be wonderful. I had quite a long walk tonight and I'm feeling parched."
I told him to make himself comfortable, gesturing to the couch as I went to the sink and filled up a glass with water. It gave me a moment to collect my thoughts because I didn't have a plan when I invited him up. I didn't know what to do or how to feel.
It was a mixture of comfort in his presence and unsureness of what to say or do. I knew talking about our problems that tore us apart hadn't done anything up to that point, so maybe the right thing to do would be to just ignore it and pretend that we were just friends.
I handed him the water and he gulped it down before thanking me. He was unable to meet my gaze and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. A small part of me cheered for the victory, though I didn’t like how far apart we’d become.
"Would you like some more?"
"No thank you. I appreciate your hospitality, especially since I don't deserve it."
I sat down next to him and laid my hand on his arm, "Let's not talk about that right now. Can we just talk about what we've both been up to since we last saw each other?"
His face relaxed as he gave me a tired smile, "I'd love that. When did you move into this apartment?"
"It was a few months after I turned eighteen. Sister Marie was kind enough to find it for me. And she also made sure that I had enough income working at the church and the orphanage in order to pay for it, plus a little bit extra for me to save. We all knew that eventually I would go to Paris."
"It has always been your dream. My train stopped there on the way to Belgium and again on the way here. I was able to explore it a little bit. It's a gorgeous city full of life. Those pictures in the books don't do it justice. I know you'll be so happy there, especially with all the performers in the streets. I know how much you love music."
Feeling more comfortable, I asked him to tell me more about Paris. "Are there really musicians playing in the streets? And is the Eiffel tower as big as I think it is?"
The smile that bloomed on his face caused my heart to skip a beat, "It's bigger than you could ever imagine. There are six hundred and sixty-nine steps to the top. Can you believe it?"
My jaw dropped, "It has to be bigger than the bell tower at the church. There's only about hundred steps to get to the top of that. I can't even imagine how tall it is."
I leaned forward unconsciously, drawn in by his excitement as he described the city to me. "I would love to see your face when you finally get to stand underneath it and see how high it rises into the sky. And the musicians, oh, they are everywhere. Plus, there's what they call street performers. There are also people who paint themselves to look like statues and then pose in one spot for hours at a time."
"It sounds so lovely,” I responded dreamily.
I didn't realize he grasped my hands in his excitement for telling me everything I would be able to experience when I moved there. It was comfortable though, no pressure to be lovers at that moment. We were back to children, when we talked about all the exciting things we would do with our lives, things I thought, at the time, were actual plans.
"Oh, and there are also jugglers and what they call mimes, which are people who pretend they are stuck in a box. I thought of you so much when I saw all the people with easels and paints standing in the parks or on the streets, painting the beauty of Paris. But I tell you what, none of them had as much skill as you do," he smiled at me warmly and my insides did a flip.
Our conversation changed to Belgium and the university he attended. He had many stories to tell me about the people there and everything he learned and did. It left me with an important question. I knew it would bring our time together to a screeching halt, but I couldn't contain myself any longer, “Are you happy with your choice to become a priest?"
He bit his bottom lip and darkness seemed to cloud his eyes as he thought about how to answer. "I don't know if I’m meant to be happy. You know I've always felt at peace during the sermons at church and I thought that it meant I was called to serve God in this capacity. But being back here, being around you again, I just don't know."
"As your best friend, it's my duty to make sure that you're doing the right thing for yourself. Forget about me and anything you may or may not feel about me. Can you do that?"
He bowed his head, "I don't know if I can. You're such a part of me, it's as if you are my soul."
"You have to try. Just like I have to try to imagine my life without you in order to figure out my own dreams and wishes.”
With his thumb, he rubbed soft circles on my hand, and I doubted it was a conscious choice. He always did things like that when he was nervous or having to face the demons from his past. I waited patiently for him to answer my question and when he finally did, I wasn't disappointed, "I don't think it's right for me. But I also don't know what else to do with my life. I wasted so much time and spent everything I had going to school to be a priest. There's nothing else for me and I can't let myself end up working in a factory and coming home as a monster like my father. You know," he let out a humorless chuckle, "I actually thought the peace I felt in church would carry over if I became a man of the cloth. But it hasn't. Some days I’m farther from peace than I was the day before. It’s a never-ending vicious cycle."
His downfall and the expression on his face stabbed me in the heart and I wanted to do everything I could to take away his pain and suffering. It angered me that he had to carry this burden inside of him since he was a child. He never told me, never talked about it, and I didn't know him any differently. He was always just André, my best friend and then my love.
"Tell me more about what happened to you to make you think you're like him.”
He went on to explain how he would fall into depression where he would not be able to get out of bed for days at a time. Then, suddenly, it lifted like nothing was there and he was happy again. To top it all off, he had times of sudden angry outbursts where the slightest things, that shouldn't have been anything more than an annoyance, would make him want to punch the person or scream and rage at the top of his lungs.
The episodes had lessened in their frequency over the years, but they were still there. He felt like he didn't have any impulse control and the
University, specifically his mentor, tried to help him manage the way he felt. Meditation and prayer helped a small amount, but they didn't cure it. He told me of his secret place under a bridge where he would get his anger out by throwing things against the rocks, smashing stones, and sometimes even hitting the walls to the point where his knuckles would bleed.
My heart went out to him for all the suffering he went through, and I knew then why he had that fear of becoming his father. But in my mind, which I told him, he wasn't as bad as he thought when he was with me. Sure, he had lashed out or became angry over silly things, but it wasn't as bad as he described, pouring his heart out to me about all I didn’t know.
"I never told you this because it's a memory I don't want to have and when I talk about it, it's there. I tried so hard to get it out of my mind and deal with it, but it seems to come back every time my anger rises to the surface." He grimaced, “I was in the car with my parents when they died. My mother wanted to leave my father, but divorce isn’t allowed in the church. She stopped speaking to him and was going to leave. He begged her to stay, swearing he would change. She didn't believe him at first. I remember him down on his knees, hugging her legs as he begged for her to give him one last chance. I don’t know why she relented, but I suppose it was because she loved him and cherished the good times we had as a family. To make up for his behavior, he took us on a trip to the countryside, to a winery. I remember little things like when he stopped on the side of the road and picked flowers for her. Their laughter in that long car ride, especially hers, is the thing I remember the most. I relish those moments of happiness because they were so few and far between and I never knew when the adoration they had for each other would change because of him."
"There we were, a happy family enjoying the beauty and the greenery around us as my father drove us through the countryside. We’d just left a village where he bought her lace and I picked out treats with my father. I don't know what changed, but suddenly he became very angry. I think maybe my mother was teasing him and he turned on her. He grabbed her by the hair and there was a struggle, and I don't remember all of it, just the sound of her screaming and crying while my father threatened to kill her. I..."
Coming Undone Page 9
