It's Hard To Be Holy

EP. 69: Chapter XII

Coarse and Offensive Language. Reader Discretion Advised.

The opportunity for confirmation presented itself much sooner than Alan Carr honestly expected. He came to the answer for the test of his rule soon on the walk home, but by the time he reached the front door of Apartment 33, Alan only cared for bed.

What a day...what a day...Hopefully, Colin was home now. He wasn't in the depot, which meant he'd probably found his way home...although...I should have checked the graveyard for him. It's either the depot, the graveyard, or here, and if he's not here, fuck, Niamh will have a field day—

It's not my job! It's her father. Why should I be responsible?! She's the one that won't put him away—

Doesn't want you getting ideas for when it's her time.

I'll be long gone by then.

Yes!

Fuck her!

Yes!

He turned the key in the door lock, and thinking wonderfully hateful thoughts of his mother, threw it open with a colossal

BANG!

Loud screams came from the living room as two figures popped into view, scrambling about in Alan's long shadow, no sense of direction between them.

'Jesus Christ, Bud!' Vera shouted, dressing as fast as possible, half-relieved that it wasn't their mother, half-annoyed that her brother stood on the threshold, staring openly and unblinkingly at the her and her companion's state of undress. 'It's not what it—Jesus! Stop fuckin' lookin' Bud!'

Alan Carr, less surprised by the insinuation of what was taking place in his living room, as he was disgusted at the brazenness of the confidence his sister possessed, turned his eyes on her partner, who was struggling with the clasp on her bra.

People in distress were some of the silliest looking people, he thought.

They needn't be if they just used their brains.

If only they did then the world would be a much less chaotic place.

But Alan did not linger long on the exposure of Leanne Lee just to feel superior. He lingered to prove a point. He wanted to feel something for her. He needn't be subjected to Bud's desires. He was independent. He was free. If Bud, the inferior, could expand for the masculine, then he, Alan, greatest of all, could feel equally allured by the feminine. He had to be allured by it. He wouldn't live out his reign half a man. He would overcome this detestable compulsion. He would not allow this scar to linger. She was bared before him, bared as he'd never seen a woman before, attractive, aesthetically at least, and with an impartial view, he could understand what interested Vera so...but he couldn't move beyond that basic understanding. Nothing was happening in him. All he could feel was obliviousness. She was an object, not to be conquered or taken, but an object like any person on the street. If she hadn't been in his sight, struggling and bare-assed, Alan would have forgotten her within moments.

And unhelpfully at this juncture, a blurred and distorted vision of the man in the bar...Mr. Professor...came to life, and so too did Alan's valor. It ached him. The memory of the bearded man's thrusts—those somehow easily recollected—still hurt! The taste of his whiskey mouth, of his flesh, still dithered on his tongue. But it was so much less than that. The thought alone of the man, now indefinite in his mind, blurred and eternal, brought to life a potency in the Great Carr, one that no amount of forced attention on Leanne Lee would ever accomplish.