Hector stumbled into a familiar cathedral, it's high towers & stained glass windows offering shelter from the rain. Alcohol was playing with his chest, his stomach turned as he approached the empty altar.
He hadn't come here because of the rain, though he told himself that. His wet boots made a foreign tapping noise in the silence of this holy building, only a few feet away from a gilded statue of Christ so large it towered over him. Candle light flickered against his flushed face as he fell to his knees before the altar, taking off his hat & avoiding looking up at the golden eyes of his savior.
He brought his hands together, brows furrowed as the words on his lips seemed to fall away. What does one say after what he'd done?
"Forgive me lord" his slight southern drawl was stronger when he was drunk. His throat was tight as he spoke "forgive me for I have sinned...in the arms of another man" he was curling into himself now, shaking with the weight of his words. His forearms met the ground "forgive me for my thoughts betray me, lord".
The warmth of calloused hands against scarred skin, soft touches from firm bodies & scratches from stubbled chins
He made a pained noise, water filling his tear ducts even though he was so angry. He cried when he was this angry. He furiously wiped the tears away. He was a grown man & men his age didn't cry.
"H-he...he says things, lord. He says things in such a way...I can't fight it. I'm not s-" he stammered, silenced by his own shaky voice, he lowered his head further, lips shaking "s-strong enough. I'm not strong enough" admitting that felt like he'd had something ripped out of him. Men were strong enough. They didn't ask the divine for help in their own matters when they could carry it themselves.
He clenched his hands around one another so hard his knuckles turned white "he's beautiful. He's beautiful, lord. H-he...he does this to me. Please" he let out a choked cry "mercy. Mercy" his freckles were hidden against red cheeks & streaks of tears.
Flushed fingertips, strained thighs & curled toes. Hot breath against cold skin, please please please.
It haunted him. Guilt wore heavy around his neck as he willed himself back onto his knees. He was muddled & dizzy as he looked up at Christ above him.
"Reach hither thy finger, & behold my hands. Reach hither thy hand, & thrust it into my side, & be not faithless, but believing." Saint Thomas put his finger in the hole & felt holy, for the rush of blood & the warmth of Christ was godlike.
The warmth in his chest was nauseating, he stared up at Christ, defiant anger under his teary eyes. He was an angry child. A man not yet himself "why these feelings?" He pleaded with empty air "why make beauty if I can't behold it?".
He probably hadn't talked this pretty in a long time-but there was no one to watch him here except God. He stood, approaching the altar & taking out a cigarette, tears still wetting his cheeks.
He brought the cigarette to one of the candles, it lit in an ember of hot ash. He brought it to his lips, taking a drag as he looked up at the Son of God with glassy eyes "I-I hope you see me" he choked out "I hope you know you never told me I wasn't allowed. I only had it read to me. But not by you" Christ did not look at him, but up at the ceiling. "I hope you know how I tried".
When David had kissed Johnathan, when he had kissed him in the name of the lord, it was sweet. & when they found grace in each other's eyes the world was still.
Hector left the church, the rain hitting his shoulders with a dull force as his tears no longer looked as if they belonged to him, but to the sky. His burden was no more.
