Chapter 26

Draft

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As a result, you never moved back to your own room.

Lemuel would always seduce you at bedtime, when you're hugging each other and stumbling towards the bed, it's hard to think of things like "this isn't your room", and afterwards, it doesn't feel right to leave. Most of the time you still take showers (and pull Lemuel up to also take a shower). You let him go into the bathroom, change the sheets, and wash yourself when he comes out. Lemuel's eyes are always open when you leave the bathroom.

He's sitting or lying on the bed, facing the bathroom door, opening his eyes once you come out. He looks at you, you say goodnight, he says goodnight, and he keeps looking at you. You think of some of the pigeons you've fed that don't want to fly away, you think of a lady in a phone booth across the street calling her lover, "Goodbye, love you, come back soon. Goodbye!" She smiles, but still don't go off the telephone, "Goodbye, dear, goodbye!" she said. She holds the telephone like this for several minutes, laughing non-stop, she doesn't hang up and neither does her lover.

You want to watch Lemuel fall asleep, you want to make sure he's sleeping well before bed, not struggling with nightmares or kicking the blanket to the ground. But he always stayed awake, even when visibly lethargic. You stand outside the bathroom, wondering if it's time to say goodnight again, and then you realize, perhaps like you, that he wants to watch you before bed.

You go to him on a whim. He yawns, moving aside, and fell asleep on the side of the bed.

"Good night," You say, turning off the light.

"Good night," He says, closing his eyes.

You can have sex several times a day, and you can not do it for days, it depends on how busy you are, the weather, or whatever. It's hard to come up with a standard, it's more of a... intuition? Tacit agreement? A bad description. On the days when you're not having sex, Lemuel would open the door to the guest bedroom for you, he'll stand there, holding the doorknob, waiting for you to come in like you're supposed to sleep in his room. When he walks ahead and looks back at you, your feet walk towards him like they have a mind of their own- he's waiting for you, he shouldn't be kept waiting.

The biggest advantage of sleeping together is that when Lemuel's plagued by nightmares again, you'll be the first to notice without delay. He sleeps right next to you, you can push him awake before turning on the lights. Many times you can't leave to turn on the light, Lemuel grabs your hand tightly after being woken up by you, like grasping at life-saving straws.

At one point, Lemuel let out a silent scream and jumped when you touched him. You thought he was awake, but he wasn't. He shoved you onto the bed, strangling you by the neck and nearly crushing your throat. You smell blood on the back of your tongue and black specks run across your retinas, you grab his hand, hesitant. Lemuel let go of his hand after a few seconds, panting violently and falling into a ball. The next moment he scrambles to you in a hurry, patting your cheek and breathing to you. "Enoch?" He asks, his hands shaking violently.

You finally get your breath back and cough. Your throat must be swollen, and you won't be able to speak for a while. Neither of you said a word, you can only hear your heavy breathing ringing in the dull room.

"Why not pray?" Lemuel asks. "Why not? You don't need to be careful... I almost, I almost..."

His voice trembled like his hands, and you almost doubt whether you heard a cry.

Lemuel was having a nightmare, he was frightened, and frightened people should be comforted, just as the sick and wounded need treatment and medicine, not further hurt. You want to answer this, but you feel that explanation is too long. "If you didn't let go, I would've used it." You soothe your neck and say, "Don't be afraid, it's alright."

You put Lemuel's hand on your neck and tell him you're alright, there's no traces there. Later, when you have sex, he becomes very fond of kissing your neck, kissing the place where he pinched you, just like he likes kissing your forehead and palm.

No matter how far apart you were at bedtime, you'll always wake up with a part of you next to each other, body, head, or hands and feet. Before you even open your eyes, you can feel the heat, and you don't have to get out of bed to know that Lemuel's still alive in your house today, which is nice.

In the first two days of the next week, the temperature drop was incredibly large. Lemuel asked you to transfer the bedding from the master bedroom. You brought in a quilt, a pillow, and later two nightstands, a lamp and some books because Lemuel wanted it. The weather was getting colder, you bought autumn clothes, changed the bed, and successfully cleaned up the garden. Once again, you've expanded the range of prayers that gave demons freedom, and in the courtyard where the number of runes outnumber fortress walls, Lemuel could bask in the sun. The prayers hide him from plain sight.

On the day the garden was completed, Lemuel was very happy. He walks around in the yard, leaning on the railing to watch people passing by. You suddenly feel like you should buy a recliner, just like what you see in your neighbors' yards. After all, sleeping on the lawn wouldn't be as comfortable as sleeping in a reclining chair, and the ground becomes very slippery on rainy days. Speaking of rainy days, you think of whether you should buy another big umbrella, one that could be inserted into the ground without having to be held

Today was a day off, you set off immediately and went to the supermarket to buy a parasol and folding chair. Lemuel is still in the yard when you returned, he saw you and waved at you from a distance.

It felt like you were coming home late at night to find that Lemuel had waited with the lights on. You feel your heart pounding, like soda bubbling, you feel warm from the top of your head to your toes, like you've drunk a cup of hot water in winter. You pick up your pace, almost trotting, and zip back home.

Lemuel is stunned at your reason for going out, he then laughed and told you about his barbecue in the yard of his sister's house. "Of course, Maria's family wasn't as old-fashioned as you, Father." He laughs, and you realize that he sometimes calls you priest as an endearment. "father", "nerd", "old-fashioned" and so on. Lemuel fixed the parasol with swift hands and feet, he said while setting it up: "Parasol, lounge chairs, a small table, and a barbecue grill! If you don't have a barbecue grill, you can also use a cast iron pan, or sweep a pile of dead branches to roast sweet potatoes..."

The barbecue grill had to be arranged, but you remember that there's a folding table at home, where is it, the master bedroom? You hurry into the bedroom and start looking for the folding table the previous priest had. When you found the table and stand up, you suddenly feel strange.

This is the master bedroom, the room you've lived in for five years.

Was your bed so small? Was it so narrow and rigid? Was your room so empty? It's obviously still your room, and the thin quilt that was replaced earlier had been folded back on the bed. Strictly speaking, one pillow was missing. The room was so quiet that you feel like the temperature had gotten cooler. You measure it with a room thermometer, only to find that the temperature in both bedrooms is exactly the same.

Feeling vaguely uneasy, you start walking around the house, looking carefully at places that weren't the same as before. There's an extra cup and toothbrush in the bathroom, and a few towels. Many daily necessities have been doubled. Your black-and-white, robe-only wardrobe has lots of other colors now, more than any you've had in the past. A stainless steel cup, a reindeer mug set, a fruit bowl, some bamboo skewers, assorted seasonings in the seasoning rack, butter, honey, a new pot, a new spatula, a whisk, a juicer, an oven, a sieve, a nightstand, lamps, big soft beds, some pointless books that tell fictional stories, stickers magnets on the refrigerator door, doodle books, and colored pencils.

Before you knew it, there have been so many.

Too much.

Lemuel isn't here, there's only you. The curtains were drawn, but not tightly, and a beam of light passed through in the middle, like a candlestick inside a confessional.

If all that was added was Lemuel's stuff, it would just be taking care of the tenant. But no, you slept on that soft bed, you changed to towels of the same kind as Lemuel's, you ate the food, you bought yourself a pair of gloves, and just now, you were going to take out the folding table, thinking about participating on a picnic in the yard.

In this moment of solitude, you suddenly became horrified. The previous days were like a dream, and now you've realized what had happened. The intense unease that was vaguely creeping on you fell down on your back, and you felt its presence, even if you couldn't see it- you didn't want to see it clearly, where the sword of Damocles had fallen, it's too late.

What am I doing? What do you think you've done? Confused but unstoppable words scramble through your head like a swarm of bees knocked out of their nests. Depravity, sin, corruption, uncleanness, lust, pleasure, sloth, covetousness, gluttony, lust; I've sinned, I've sinned, I've sinned, Lord, forgive me...

You shake your head vigorously, like you could shake off the noise for a moment. The table, you think, I have to get the table out first. When you walked out, your speed unconsciously became faster, your posture more solemn, and the distance of each step the same as the last. When you see Lemuel's back, you breathe a sigh of relief. The grand voice in your head paused for a moment, like in these months...

Then, the sudden sound of something being broken.

You stand in the doorway, you can see the street, and you can tell at a glance what just happened. There was a dog, a large and strong wolf dog with a black back and erect ears, who had suddenly broken free from its master's leash and ran forward. It crossed the road very quickly, trying to run across, the high-speed car swerved, but it was too late to brake.

It took off and let out a whimper, much quieter than the screeching brakes, but it made you a shudder. The blood-covered beast fell down, not far from your yard, like a smashed tomato. You run out, crouch down. It's dead.

The poor dog, a hot, panting, lively German Shepherd half a minute ago, was now an immovable corpse. The scarlet blood seems like a religious painting, a motto in red, capital and bold. Its reddish-brown eyes were still open, and it seemed confused as to how it had gotten like that. Its owner ran over and cried sharply, "Oh God, my little Bill!" she whimpered, "Why run?"

Yes, why leave the path you should've walked? Why break free from the rope around your neck? That is the tool it's master used to protect it, just as God protects the world with His rules. You console the lady and take the body for her. You take time to look back. Lemuel is frowning at the dog, looking surprised and concerned after seeing your face. What's wrong? Are you all right? He mouths at you, and you shake your head. Lemuel stands in your yard with a straight back and a jacket, strong and fit. Your tongue suddenly goes limp with pain, like it's been cut by a razor blade.

You gracefully help the neighbor who lost their dog, even briefly hosting a pet funeral. It takes hours of your time, you don't know what you've said during those hours, you're amazed that you can still speak. Of course you can, your tongue is intact. You go home at twilight without lunch and dinner, but you're not hungry in the slightest, your stomach feels like a sticky balloon.

Lemuel has left you a meal, a small pot of golden chicken broth, with carrots and celery floating in it, simmering over a low flame. It smells good and you know it tastes good. You vaguely let Lemuel think you've eaten outside, he nods and says, "Are you okay?"

You nod too, not saying anything, you didn't want to say any more. Lemuel doesn't ask you, you don't need to be perfect once you're with him, you're not his priest. You take this time to look in the mirror, and your expression is impeccable—well, impeccable enough. Your hand holding the toothbrush keeps shaking and the toothpaste falls into the sink. You grab the edge of the sink and think about chicken soup and other delicious meals you've eat. You retch but vomit nothing.

You need to go to the confessional, right away, right now. But you have to wait for Lemuel to fall asleep, and since you've been sleeping together, you have to wait for him before walking to the confessional. You wait restlessly for a long time, and the person next to you in bed finally began to breathe evenly. You walk barefoot to the confessional, light the candlestick, and kneel like you've always done before.

The bright red cross reassures you a bit, and you dip the cane whip into the sink. You take off your jacket, fold it, and put it on the chair next to you. Vines that haven't been soaked in water break easily, adding salt to the water is purely hygienic, wrapping iron thorns on the vine whips that have been taken out is to pay tribute to the Holy Father and the Holy Spirit. Your teacher had always said that. You hold the cane and wave it back.

The sound of it breaking the air is sharp, the sound of the blow is crisp, and the fiery pain spreads across your back. If it's just a vine whip, the first stroke would only form a deep purple bruise, but since its wrapped in iron thorns, flesh will tear with a single whip. You feel blood running down your back, the wounds feel hot and cold. You've never liked the feeling, but that's the purpose of it: if it's not painful, how could it be called repentance or punishment?

You swing a second time without pause, more hurried and ruthless than ever, and the iron thorns pierce your body and tear off again. You don't know how to get God's mercy back, so you try to make your confession as sufficient as possible. I've sinned, I've sinned, I've sinned, you chant, blood splashes on the floor.

You stop.

You stop, not because you wanted to, but because you couldn't continue. Someone had grabbed your hand, taking the whip, and throwing it hard on the ground. You raise your head and Lemuel stands there, his face ashen.

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PastTimer: A bit rush, sorry bout that. Fun fact early gods were never kind or meant to be kind they were what humanity pictured as beings with power to abuse. They're the condensation of humanity, especially the bad parts. Although kind deities weren't purely Christians, the idea of compassionate deities rose in popularity as Christianity did.