Invictus, page 11
One last glance at the chance to escape forever below me and I swing my legs back into the room. My bare feet move quickly against the cool wooden floor as I grab my crumpled shirt from the end of the couch and pull it over my head. Sitting down, I unfurl my socks from the ball they’ve been in all day, slide them on, then my boots and quickly tie them.
“Where are you going?”
I look up and find August leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, looking at me curiously.
To get into some trouble.
“Um. I’m out of smokes. I’m gonna go buy some,” I say as I finish looping my laces and pulling them together tightly. “Need anything?”
“No,” he replies with a sigh as he comes over and drops down to his knees in front of me. I raise an eyebrow as he pushes his glasses up his nose and unties my laces, only to retie them tighter than I had them before. “They would have loosened on you.”
He gets to his feet and holds a hand down to me. I stare at him for a moment before I take it and let him pull me to my feet.
“Listen, I know I keep pushing shit off, but I promise this time—tomorrow,” he says, putting a hand firmly on my shoulder.
Tomorrow? Or the tomorrow after tomorrow? Or maybe the tomorrow after that?
“Sounds good. I’ll be back later. I’m gonna walk around—try to get my head on straight again,” I say, clearing my throat and pulling out of his grip. I walk out of the room and can hear Auggie following behind me.
“Robbie…are you sure you’re okay?”
His voice stops me when I reach the front door of his place and for a split second, I’m almost convinced to stay because he seems so genuinely concerned.
It’s all a fucking lie.
“I’m fine. See you later,” I say, nodding at him and walking out the front door. I don’t have to turn around to know that August is standing in the door watching me, wondering if he should follow me, but when I hear the door close it only assures me that I’m going to do the right thing tonight.
I take in a deep breath of the crisp Seattle air and shove my hands into my pockets. If I weren’t so out of it right now, I might actually be cold, but the fact that I can feel one of my episodes coming makes me proud. It’s hard for me to detect the feeling sometimes, but it always feels like I’m falling through a sky full of clouds and each cloud that my body breaks through leaves a piece of sanity nestled soundly inside of it. I’m able to hold onto it a lot longer right now and I know that’s because of Auggie.
I only hope he doesn’t hate me even more after I’m done.
There’s a gas station around town somewhere and that’s where I’ll go get my smokes because then I can ask for directions. No one will ever remember who the fuck I am and CCTV doesn’t worry me, so it’s not like there will be a trail of evidence left behind. I’m too smart for shit like that and I know how to blend in perfectly where I don’t belong.
Everywhere except in August’s life again.
Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck.
That hurts to finally realize it. It hurt me before when I wasn’t exactly sure, but now that it’s actually sitting as a constant taunt in the back of my mind, crawling from the abyss to the front where there’s only a little bit of light left…
“Okay. It’s okay.”
I don’t realize that I’ve said that out loud until the little kid that’s out way past his bedtime looks up at me curiously. When the fuck did I even get to the corner?
“Hey,” I say, smiling down at him. He reminds me a lot of me when I was his age. Curious dark blue eyes, a bland look on his face, and probably drowning in his own loneliness. “What’s your name?”
“Chris, what’s yours?” he asks curiously, almost cautiously. It’s apparent that his parents told him that he shouldn’t talk to strangers, but I’m sure he can see his future standing in front of him and that’s why he’s humoring me.
“Trent. But my brother calls me Robbie,” I reply with a small smile. “Hey look, the sign is blinking, we can cross now.”
He looks across the street then curiously back up at me again, before he turns on his heel and runs in the other direction.
Smart kid.
Seeing his future must be a scary thing, but I know what he’s going to do tonight. He has to be at least twelve years old so he’ll go home, find some porn website in his father’s history on an old outdated laptop, and rub one out. It’s what I would have done at his age—and he’ll think about me while he does it. In the back of his sick, demented little mind, he’ll think of the tall, strange man that tried to be friendly and it’ll help get him off. Then he’ll cry himself to sleep feeling dirty and used wondering if the strange man on the corner was still thinking of him too.
It’s a dirty, vicious cycle.
Yeah; that kid is totally fucked for the rest of his life.
As I make my way across the street I decide to turn left and head for where I think the main road is. There are always gas stations on a main road in every town so I know I can’t lose.
As long as I’m going the right way.
“The right way,” I mutter to myself with a soft chuckle. Auggie would know the right way because Auggie is always right.
Once, just fucking once, I would like to be right too, and the farther down the street I walk, I realize that I am right. I can see the lit-up sign displaying gas prices looming in the not so far off distance and I pick up the pace. I can damn near taste the nicotine and it’s making me antsy. I haven’t smoked in the past couple of days because Aug doesn’t like it, but there’s only so much I can put up with and cigarettes usually help calm me down.
Usually, but not always.
I clear my throat as I approach the parking lot and walk past the only car sitting at the pump closest to me. It’s a small red convertible and the guy leaning against it has thinning, light blonde hair, and probably an earring in his left ear. Mid-life crisis at its best from what I can tell.
With a chuckle, I pull the door open to the station and walk up to the register. The girl behind it is young, really young, and beautiful. Petite with small, perky tits and a million-dollar smile prominently sitting on her face. Her light brown hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail and her almost black eyes are lit up like she just won the lottery.
I wonder why it’s so easy for some people to feign such a simple thing like being happy to see another person when I can’t even feign a fucking yawn.
“Pack of Salem menthol, please,” I say to her as I run a hand quickly back through my hair before I begin to fish for my wallet in my right pocket. By the time I’ve pulled it out of my pocket and flip it open, I can feel her eyes on me. She’s taking me in and most likely wondering why she’s “never seen me around before.”
I give her a look from beneath my brow and she shivers slightly. It’s the look I’m famous for in my own fucking mind, but her reaction tells me that even though I can still feel my body falling away from my loose grip, I’ve still got it.
I hand her a twenty and tell her to keep the change to which she smiles and slides the money into her bra. My hand lingers on the pack of cigarettes for a moment as I watch her brazen move to keep my attention, before I slide it off the counter and head toward the door.
“Have a good night. Stay safe,” I call over my shoulder as I make my way onto the sidewalk again.
I’m halfway down the sidewalk when I stop and roll my eyes. The entire point of going to the gas station besides getting my pack was to ask for fucking directions, but there’s no way I can go back in there now. She’ll think I want to fuck her and while the thought is tempting, I don’t exactly have time for that right now.
“Hey!” I call out to Mid-life Crisis as I approach his car.
He raises an eyebrow and nods at me he removes the gas pump from his car and places it back.
“Are there any bars around here?” I ask him, stopping at the end of his car.
“Yeah,” he replies with a nod. “Keep going the way you were just heading and take a right on Johnson Street. There’s quite a few over there.”
“Thanks, man. Nice car!” I say to him as I begin my trek toward humanity again. I’m not looking for a bar, but I know that where there are bars, there are usually churches. It’s a weird but fucked-up coincidence, and I feel the need for a confession tonight.
I walk another ten minutes until I find the street that Mid-life Crisis told me to turn on and almost immediately I’m engulfed in the drunken nightlife of the town. It amazes me how many bars can fit on one stretch of road, but it makes me smile.
Inside each one, I can guarantee that there are plots being hatched, roofies being slipped into drinks by some nerdy boy that doesn’t have the courage to just fucking talk to girls, and a dick or two getting sucked in a bathroom.
I weave through the small crowds outside the bars and ignore the drunk girls calling out to me telling me how “hot” and “sexy” I am. I’m not out here for an easy fuck, I’m out here to get my brother’s attention and maybe to save what’s left of my soul.
The latter would be a bonus while the former is my main concern because with Auggie, I feel like I’m nothing. I hate that it seems so fucking melodramatic, but it’s the truth and he has to feel it as much as I do.
“Hey sexy!”
I roll my eyes and pull the arms of the latest drunk girl away from my shoulders and give her a gentle shove back into her group of friends and keep walking.
“Probably has a small dick anyway!” she yells loudly to her friends, who all laugh raucously.
I stop walking, pack my cigarettes against the palm of my hand, light one, and place it between my lips. Inhaling deeply, and without a second thought, I reach down and unzip my jeans, turn around, and pull my dick through waving it at them.
“Too big for you, baby,” I say with a smirk as her and her girlfriends let out squeals of delight. Once I’ve given them enough of a six-second show, I push it back into my pants and pull the zipper back up. That’ll give them something to think about the next time they want to question someone’s manhood for not wanting to dive into their probably gaping, rotten pussies.
Not that I care about that really because I’ve had some pretty raunchy pussy in Singapore, but those were hookers and that’s to be expected one should assume.
I raise an eyebrow when I see a large structure coming into view on the other side of the street and head to the crosswalk. I knew I would find one near the same place where all of the drunk assholes are.
“Saint Sebastian’s,” I mutter to myself, reading the sign as I get closer. Sounds promising enough even if I don’t know who the fuck that is.
It’s such a fucking gimmick; lose your morals and then come let us restore them!
Whatever.
It works right now and that’s all that matters. I don’t bother putting my cigarette out when I reach the front doors and walk through. I figure the smell of smoke inside such a pious place will bring out someone faster than me just wandering around waiting.
I take a deep drag as I slowly make my way up the aisle and head toward the altar. There’s a large scene on the wall behind it, the crucifixion and the closer I get the more I can almost swear that Jesus is watching me.
“A devil in the house of God,” I say softly as I reach the end of the aisle. I take another drag off my cigarette when I hear a door open and close nearby.
“Excuse me, young man, but you’re not allowed to smoke in here,” comes an agitated voice.
“Sorry,” I say, dropping the cigarette to the floor, crushing it with my feet, then leaning down to scoop up the remnants.
“That’s quite alright. Can I help you?”
I stand back up to my full height and shove the crushed butt into my pocket, then glance at the voice and smile. It’s a priest; exactly what I came here to find—gray-haired, bespectacled, withered face, and waiting patiently for me to respond.
“Yeah. I want to make a confession,” I reply, running my hand back through my hair. I’ve noticed that that’s become something of a nervous twitch in me but he doesn’t know that and I’m still in a semi-safe place mentally.
“Confessions are on Saturdays from one to three pm,” he says kindly.
“Yeah, um. I’m not from around here,” I say, clearing my throat and furrowing my brow. “And I really need to make a confession. Now.”
He looks at me through narrowed eyes and nods slowly. “Follow me.”
I smile widely in appreciation and follow him to some little clubhouse of sins that sits on the side wall and go through the door he tells me to.
I sit down in the dark room and wait for a moment as he opens the shutter between us and lights a candle on his end.
“My name is Father Gregory, what’s yours, son?” he asks as he makes himself comfortable on the other side of the partition.
“Trent, but my brother calls me Robbie. I like Robbie better, you know?” I reply nervously.
“Alright, Robbie, let’s begin, shall we?” he asks tiredly.
I move my chair closer to the partition and fold my hands in prayer.
“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been…well fuck, I guess it’s been twenty-three years since my last confession,” I admit with a nervous laugh.
“Watch your language please. You’re in a house of God.”
“Whatever, listen. Um. I’m not a good man and I try to be, but it’s so hard. There’s temptation everywhere and there’s this girl that’s staying with my brother and he’s hiding something from me and he won’t tell me what it is and it’s just making me crazy, you know?”
Father Gregory clears his throat but doesn’t say anything.
“Okay, so,” I begin again as I unfold my hands and slip my fingertips through the holes in the wall, “I…what I tell you stays here, right? Like you can’t tell anyone?”
“What you say to me stays between you, me, and God,” he replies softly.
“Stop saying that, okay? ‘God.’ Like he’s watching or some shit. I’m not even convinced he’s real,” I snap irritably.
“Then why are you here?” he asks tightly.
“Because I need to confess and you have to listen to me. It’s in your job description, isn’t it? Someone bad comes in and tells you their sins and you save them, right? I need to be saved. My brother does too, but he’ll have to tell you his own shit,” I ramble quickly.
“Robbie, I’ve asked you to stop using coarse language. Please refrain from those words or I will end this confession,” he warns ominously.
“Just listen to me!” I yell, slapping my hand against the partition. “I was in Singapore for a few years, right? And well, I went there on some kind of retreat. I wanted to find a better version of myself and come back completely cured of this bullshit that plagues me all the time, but I…I fucked up, Father. There was this hooker. You’ve had your cock sucked before, right? I mean you weren’t born a priest, you must have. Anyway, you know how good that feels, right? Okay so here I am with this young girl—really young—she probably shouldn’t have even been working the streets, and oh my God. She gave me the best head I’ve ever gotten in my life.”
I’m not in control anymore and I can feel it. Father Gregory can feel it too because regardless of his warning me against swearing in “a house of God,” he’s frozen on the other side of the wall listening to me ramble on and on.
“So when she’s done, I start fucking her, right? Because naturally, but the problem is that when I put my hand around her throat, I broke her neck. I didn’t mean to—totally unintentional, but she felt so fucking good that I didn’t stop until I came inside of her. She was still warm and at that point she couldn’t get pregnant, so I’m sure she didn’t mind, but it haunts me when I close my eyes. The sound of her neck snapping, the way her mouth was hanging open and the way her eyes stared up at the ceiling void of life while I kept fucking her. Is that…is that something I can be saved from? Like is there an act of contrition I can do that might make the nightmares stop?”
At this point, I’m breathing heavily, erratically, and Father Gregory is probably shitting himself knowing that he’s sitting across from a murderer that he’s under obligation to protect.
“Have you told anyone else about this?” he asks after what feels like an eternity.
“No. I mean I tried, but Auggie? My brother? He’s got other shit he’s dealing with. Way more important than me, and that hurts you know? Cause I thought we’d always be best friends and he’s treating me like I’m some kind of fucking burden,” I explain desperately, feeling a sob rising in my throat. “So can you help me? Please?”
Father Gregory clears his throat. I can hear him fiddling with his rosary beads on the other side of the wall and it’s playing with the little bit of sanity I managed to walk in here with. The sound—the click, clack of the beads as he continues to wrap them tightly in his hands as he thinks of some kind of lie to tell me is grating on my nerves.
“Father?” I ask, letting out a strangled sob.
“Robbie, I want you to turn yourself—”
“What? No!” I shout before he has a chance to finish his sentence. I’m not going to turn myself in. I’m going to get extradited back to Singapore to be hanged all because some hooker gave one blowjob too many.
“I can’t help you then,” he finally says quietly as he closes the shutter. I’m sitting in a stunned silence, completely confused by the rejection when I hear his door opening.
And that’s when it all leaves me. I’ve fallen as far as I can go and if he won’t absolve me then I’ll absolve him.
I quickly get to my feet and push my door open. Father Gregory hasn’t had a chance to close his door yet and because I’m so tall and agile, it’s nothing for me to wrap an arm around his throat and pull him back into his side of the sin clubhouse. I shove him back into his chair and pull the door closed behind us. Ripping the rosary out of his hands I stand over him and lean down to look him in the eyes.
“You have one last chance. Absolve me,” I say softly.
He shakes his head slowly and puts his hands up. “I can’t.”
