“What did you do?”
“I told him to stop touching me or I would kill him. It shames me to admit I meant it. If he touched me again, I would have killed him. I told him to stand up. I told him to find an excuse, any excuse to leave St. Ignatius, because if he returned next semester, I would tell Father Henry he’d tried propositioning a student for sex.”
“You wanted him?”
“I wanted to hurt him.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t love him,” Søren said.
“You hurt me. The next semester you—”
“I loved you.”
“Well...” Kingsley said. “Now you tell me.”
Kingsley met Søren’s eyes. It was past tense, the word he’d used. Loved, not love. But it was enough. Tonight it was enough.
“Here’s my confession,” Kingsley said. “I fuck for money.”
Søren looked at him in shock and dismay.
“Why?” he breathed. “You have all the money in the world.”
“It’s not the money. It’s the paper trail. Makes it easier to blackmail people if I have the paper trail. That’s where I was going when I left you alone with Blaise. A DA’s wife. The DA I paid off to get your Virgin Queen her ‘Get Out of Jail’ card.”
Søren didn’t say anything at first. The silence was the purest hell.
“How much do you charge?” Søren finally asked.
“Why? You want to buy an hour with me? I’ll give you the friends-and-family discount.”
“I want to know what price you put on something I considered priceless.”
“Sex isn’t priceless.”
“It was with you.”
Kingsley’s stomach cramped from guilt and sorrow. Søren laid a hand on the top of Kingsley’s head.
“I absolve you,” Søren whispered.
“I’ve killed people.”
“I absolve you.”
“I’ve fucked half of Manhattan and three-fourths of Europe.”
“I absolve you.”
“Absolve me? I’m not Catholic.”
“I absolve you of that, too.”
Kingsley laughed once more, a real laugh this time. Søren laughed with him. Then the laugh died, and the room was silent once more, silent but for the slight sloshing of the water against the side of the pool whenever Kingsley moved. Søren stepped even closer. Kingsley rested his forehead on Søren’s chest, too tired to hold it up any longer.
“You have to stop punishing yourself,” Søren said, cupping the back of Kingsley’s head. “Judgment is for God alone. You’re committing slow suicide with the way you’re living. That is a sin I cannot absolve you of.”
“I’m so tired,” Kingsley confessed, ashamed to admit even this one small weakness. “The nightmares make me afraid to sleep. No matter how tired I am, I don’t want to sleep. But if I have someone in bed with me, I sleep better. They expect me to fuck them first. Can’t disappoint them, can I?”
“Are you at least being careful?”
“Not very often.”
“Kingsley, you have to be.”
“I’m getting a condom lecture from a priest.”
“You’ll get more than that if you’re not careful. And you have to stop taking drugs. And you can’t drink like this.”
“I’m a bon vivant.”
“You’re the most miserable bon vivant I’ve ever met. Drinking is for celebrating, not for suicide.”
“I have nothing to celebrate.”
“I do. Celebrate with me.”
“What are you celebrating?”
“For years I had no idea where you were, what you were doing, how you were living. And then you were shot and in the hospital and dying. And that’s why they contacted me. That’s how I found you. Now here you are, right in front of me. God brought me back to you, brought you back to me. I haven’t stopped celebrating from that night I first stepped in this house and saw you again.”
“You were angry at me.”
“It breaks my heart to see you like this.”
“I don’t believe that. I don’t believe you have a heart.”
Søren pressed his hand to the side of Kingsley’s face and with his thumb stroked the arch of his cheekbone. A gentle touch, a loving touch. He would have preferred a slap. It would hurt less.
“Do you remember all those notes you hid inside my Bible?” Søren asked.
“I wrote them in French so no one could read them.”
“I still have them. They’re still inside my Bible. I think the Kingsley I remember is still here.”
“You kept my notes?” Kingsley asked. It was the last thing he expected to hear. The notes, the remnants of his bullet... What other pieces of Kingsley did Søren still have in his possession? Other than his heart?
“All of them.”
“Why? You aren’t in love with me anymore.”
“I treasure the memory of what we had. And I pray we can have something even better, deeper now.”
“What?”
“Friendship. A real friendship.”
“You’re never going to fuck me again, are you?”
“Could you be faithful to me if I did?”
“Is that a serious question?” Kingsley asked.
“I told him to stop touching me or I would kill him. It shames me to admit I meant it. If he touched me again, I would have killed him. I told him to stand up. I told him to find an excuse, any excuse to leave St. Ignatius, because if he returned next semester, I would tell Father Henry he’d tried propositioning a student for sex.”
“You wanted him?”
“I wanted to hurt him.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t love him,” Søren said.
“You hurt me. The next semester you—”
“I loved you.”
“Well...” Kingsley said. “Now you tell me.”
Kingsley met Søren’s eyes. It was past tense, the word he’d used. Loved, not love. But it was enough. Tonight it was enough.
“Here’s my confession,” Kingsley said. “I fuck for money.”
Søren looked at him in shock and dismay.
“Why?” he breathed. “You have all the money in the world.”
“It’s not the money. It’s the paper trail. Makes it easier to blackmail people if I have the paper trail. That’s where I was going when I left you alone with Blaise. A DA’s wife. The DA I paid off to get your Virgin Queen her ‘Get Out of Jail’ card.”
Søren didn’t say anything at first. The silence was the purest hell.
“How much do you charge?” Søren finally asked.
“Why? You want to buy an hour with me? I’ll give you the friends-and-family discount.”
“I want to know what price you put on something I considered priceless.”
“Sex isn’t priceless.”
“It was with you.”
Kingsley’s stomach cramped from guilt and sorrow. Søren laid a hand on the top of Kingsley’s head.
“I absolve you,” Søren whispered.
“I’ve killed people.”
“I absolve you.”
“I’ve fucked half of Manhattan and three-fourths of Europe.”
“I absolve you.”
“Absolve me? I’m not Catholic.”
“I absolve you of that, too.”
Kingsley laughed once more, a real laugh this time. Søren laughed with him. Then the laugh died, and the room was silent once more, silent but for the slight sloshing of the water against the side of the pool whenever Kingsley moved. Søren stepped even closer. Kingsley rested his forehead on Søren’s chest, too tired to hold it up any longer.
“You have to stop punishing yourself,” Søren said, cupping the back of Kingsley’s head. “Judgment is for God alone. You’re committing slow suicide with the way you’re living. That is a sin I cannot absolve you of.”
“I’m so tired,” Kingsley confessed, ashamed to admit even this one small weakness. “The nightmares make me afraid to sleep. No matter how tired I am, I don’t want to sleep. But if I have someone in bed with me, I sleep better. They expect me to fuck them first. Can’t disappoint them, can I?”
“Are you at least being careful?”
“Not very often.”
“Kingsley, you have to be.”
“I’m getting a condom lecture from a priest.”
“You’ll get more than that if you’re not careful. And you have to stop taking drugs. And you can’t drink like this.”
“I’m a bon vivant.”
“You’re the most miserable bon vivant I’ve ever met. Drinking is for celebrating, not for suicide.”
“I have nothing to celebrate.”
“I do. Celebrate with me.”
“What are you celebrating?”
“For years I had no idea where you were, what you were doing, how you were living. And then you were shot and in the hospital and dying. And that’s why they contacted me. That’s how I found you. Now here you are, right in front of me. God brought me back to you, brought you back to me. I haven’t stopped celebrating from that night I first stepped in this house and saw you again.”
“You were angry at me.”
“It breaks my heart to see you like this.”
“I don’t believe that. I don’t believe you have a heart.”
Søren pressed his hand to the side of Kingsley’s face and with his thumb stroked the arch of his cheekbone. A gentle touch, a loving touch. He would have preferred a slap. It would hurt less.
“Do you remember all those notes you hid inside my Bible?” Søren asked.
“I wrote them in French so no one could read them.”
“I still have them. They’re still inside my Bible. I think the Kingsley I remember is still here.”
“You kept my notes?” Kingsley asked. It was the last thing he expected to hear. The notes, the remnants of his bullet... What other pieces of Kingsley did Søren still have in his possession? Other than his heart?
“All of them.”
“Why? You aren’t in love with me anymore.”
“I treasure the memory of what we had. And I pray we can have something even better, deeper now.”
“What?”
“Friendship. A real friendship.”
“You’re never going to fuck me again, are you?”
“Could you be faithful to me if I did?”
“Is that a serious question?” Kingsley asked.
