Ophiuchus

Before

Before

The night Matthew left it was as though the slamming of the door was all that could be heard throughout the house. Camille hadn't it moved from the dinner table, but the rest of her family had returned to their own respective places. She remembered watching Maria, the maid, clean up the small shards of crystal glass that were once apart of a single wine glass. Camille felt empty.

That night as she lay in bed she tossed and turned, struggling to fall asleep. She couldn't stop thinking about Matthew. She wondered where he's gone. He'd never ran away before. In the past, when he would fight with their father, he'd storm off to his room and slam the door behind him. This time was different, felt different too.  This time Camille couldn't go to him and be his rock of refuge because she didn't know where to find him. And perhaps that was what worried her more was the itching feeling that this time he didn't want to be found.

She knew she wasn't going to sleep that night and she knew Matthew wouldn't take her calls. So, she did what she did every time she stumbled upon a sleepless night.

She did 50 pushups.

Well not fifty. Forty nine.  She can't do fifty. Her arms give out before then.

She dropped to the floor and started counting. At fifteen. She felt her face getting hot and sweat dripping down the side of her head. At thirty one, her left tricep started cramping, but she pushed herself onwards nevertheless. At forty six, she wondered if she would for the first time make it to fifty, but just as she came up again from number forty nine, her body dropped down to the ground, hard.

And although she was out of breath, her lungs screaming for air, her arms radiating with pain, she found it was easier to fall asleep when it she was physically, not emotionally exhausted.

Somewhere across town, Matthew found himself at the doorstep of a place he'd abandoned long ago. Despite the bitterly cold October air and darkening sky above him, he found refuge in the St. Meinhard's church up the hill. Afterall, it was the only place that was warm and seeing that its doors were open, he didn't think twice about going inside.

He sat down in a pew a few rows from the back. The Cathedral was dark, but candles were lit and incense was burning at the altar. He looked up at the stained glass windows, eyes glazing over the faces of saints he didn't have the names of. Their divine faces were etched with staggering sanctity, but he wondered if perhaps behind all that, they hide the immense grief and suffering that they had endured all their lives.

His eyes trailed down the aisle to the steps of the altar. He'd always thought of himself as a saint, though he'd never said it aloud. All his life, Matthew had only ever done what he was told. He'd almost never caused any trouble and usually obeyed his parents. He'd done well in school, and earned himself a scholarship to the local university with the help of his athletic career. He made his own money, and paid for his own things. He took care of Camille, and made sure he had her best interests at heart. When his father was angry, he would protect her. He would shield her from his fists and the striking of his belt. And at night, when it was his mother who would be taking the beating, he'd cover his sister's ears and hold her tight.

But he'd reached his limit. He was sick of living his life beneath the surface. Sick of living under his father's roof, sick of hiding in the closet, and was suffocating from the confined space that was his life.

There was a string pulling at his heart that reminded him of what he'd done. He left the house in a rage, thrown a wine glass at his father and left without a trace. He knew no one would sleep that night. His mother might have, judging by how much she'd had to drink, but Daniel wouldn't and neither would Camille. He feared that perhaps he'd betrayed her, thrown her to the wolf that was his father.

But he was human, and he was exhausted.

God, he was tired.

Matthew had never believed in God, but he prayed that God might hear his call to protect Camille tonight. And though he'd declared himself an Atheist many years ago, he found himself drawn to the sanctity of the Cathedral that night- for the first time ever, he learned to value the heavenly silence that surrounded him and make peace with it.