Chapter 27

Draft

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You suddenly realize that Lemuel wasn't asleep.

He just evened his breathing, fooling the flustered you. When you left the bed, he also left to follow you. The confessional room is unlocked but there are hidden prayers on it, but you've forgetten that you've tried too many means of resisting prayers on him during this period of time, and that his demon blood isn't pure enough.

Lemuel found the confessional, Lemuel saw you.

He stares at you, and as you said before, Lemuel could be very stern, the kind of sternness an officer would show to a recruit. You subconsciously feel guilty, like you've been interrupted while doing something shameful.

"What are you doing?" He asks.

What you're doing is obvious and needs no reply, but when he asks you, you find it hard to answer.

"Confessing." You bite the bullet and reply anyway.

"Because of me?" He says.

"No, because of me." You blurt out.

You're repenting and it's entirely about you. It was you who have done so many things you shouldn't have, and you wanted to get close to him. Any crime of Lemuel has to be borne by you, he is innocent. You can do this, just like the Holy Son who had been crucified to cleanse the sins of this world, as long as you suffer you still have the power and the qualifications.

But Lemuel didn't let you go. "Why?" he asks. "What did you do?"

You feel a little distressed.

You shouldn't have eaten the extravagant food, you shouldn't have slept on a soft bed, you shouldn't have worn woolen gloves, you shouldn't have indulged in lust, and you shouldn't have let Lemuel take such a huge place in your heart, squeezing out your belief and the Lord. You shouldn't have enjoyed his company day after day, telling yourself it was just healing and helping... What have you done wrong? Too many, too many to count. Why? There is no why, it's just how it is, it's wrong. A fish living in water can't tell what water is, and you don't know how to explain it. If Lemuel had been one of your former colleagues or teachers, he would've understood.

But he wasn't, Lemuel's face is saying that he doesn't understand at all, he didn't want to understand either. He looks like an inflated balloon, a step away from bursting. You're afraid that he'll be mad at you, but you're also ready for him to become angry with you. You already knew that Lemuel wouldn't like seeing this, did you? Otherwise why would you hide it and repent while he's asleep? You kneel where you are, waiting.

Lemuel didn't get angry, he glares at you angrily for a moment, then closed his eyes suddenly. His shoulders slump and he wipes his face, his anger suddenly deflates at its peak. "It's none of my business, isn't it." Lemuel smiles self-deprecatingly and whispers, "What right do I have to take care of you."

He turns his head and walks out.

Your heart suddenly sinks, his leaving back chills you. You're afraid that Lemuel will be angry with you, but even more worried that he'll be disappointed with you. You'd rather Lemuel curse and question you than for him to turn around and leave, as if he's completely disappointed and has no interest in reconciliation. You hurriedly step up and accidentally fall back to the ground. The numbness from your wound and being at a kneeling position for so long has affected your movement. You get up and stagger towards the door, almost colliding with Lemuel walking back.

You stare at the door of the confessional and Lemuel says with a sullen face, "Put on your clothes." When you picked up your clothes and put them on your body, he grabs your hand again. "Your back!" Lemuel says through gritted teeth.

You were stunned and treated yourself. The confession isn't over, you shouldn't heal yourself, and you shouldn't follow him out, but when Lemuel said that, you obey before thinking about anything else. You hurriedly heal yourself, quickly getting dressed lest Lemuel leave if you were half a beat slower. Lemuel doesn't go away, he stands there with an ugly face, waiting for you to finish, going out with you, and slamming the confessional door behind you.

You walk back to the bedroom, silent the whole way. You laid back on that big bed, no one fell asleep. The anxiety of not completing your confession is mixed with the anxiety of disappointing Lemuel. You can't force a blink of sleep at all, as long as you move in the bed even a little, Lemuel would open his eyes and stare at you. You slept on either side of a bed with a small half-meter in between, no one crossed that invisible line. It was a very difficult night.

This complicated atmosphere didn't dissipate with the appearance of the rising sun.

Lemuel ignored you again, there was a freezing silence between you, like strangers forced to share a room. You realize that for the past few months, he's been the initiator for all the conversations, the switch for the conversation is in his hands. You're not dumb, you know how to respond appropriately in most situations and you know how to use language correctly— but only in feedback.

You can't make an expression if you don't have someone to face. You can't speak without someone opening the conversation or a triggering scenario that you know of. You are a reflector, you are a soundbar, and without light and sound, you can do nothing. Someone once compared you to a crystal shard, yes, crystal is beautiful and flawless, but empty inside.

Lemuel doesn't talk to you, he doesn't touch you, he doesn't even look at you. It makes you sad but you accept it, what else could you do? You can't do anything without permission, and Lemuel has withdrawn his permission. You stay away from him obediently, hoping that his mood will improve, but no, he becomes more depressed and anxious by the day.

You really don't know what to do, lo and behold, you didn't even enter the confessional again, but he wasn't satisfied with this. The panic brought by Lemuel once again surpassed the fear of the unknown. You wander around him, trying to break the layer between you, but there was no way to start. As you sit on opposite ends of the sofa once more, Lemuel changes the channel from time to time, only the TV hums.

"Every inch can be easily smoked! The best tobacco makes the best cigarettes, and no cigarette is as good as the goat brand cigarette..."

"The cultists of the cult organization 'Liberation Front' has once again confronted the Holy See in the early hours of this morning. A terrorist attack was carried out, and God willing, under the leadership of His Majesty the Pope, the Holy Son Isaac and the Crusaders foiled their plot. The sixty-year-old woman who opened the door to the cultist, Susannah, is suspected to be a devout believer. A child died in a crusade against hell, and the believer became mentally vulnerable and was bewitched by a cultist. The police reminds you to please pay attention to the mental condition of lonely elderly..."

"The image of the Virgin in a cathedral in north county sheds tears and smelled of roses, thousands of believers have flocked to the North for pilgrimage. Cardinal Joshua pointed out that the impiety of the people is the reason for the Mother Mary's tears. The brave youth are fighting against the demons, excessive negative emotions will inevitably birth evil..."

"Amazing grace, so sweet, my sins have been forgiven. I've been lost, but now I've returned. I've been blind and now I can see again. The grace of God, taught me to fear..."

The hymn came to an abrupt end, Lemuel had abruptly turned off the TV.

He stares blankly at the extinguished screen, and you vaguely feel that the pressure that had been accumulating on him these days had reached its tipping point. Lemuel doesn't look at you, he just raised his chin in the direction of the confessional and asked, "How long have you been doing that?"

You haven't talked at all for three days. You are very grateful to him for reopening topic, you cooperate quickly and answer without thinking: "Twenty years."

"...What?" He says in shock, abruptly turning to you.

Only then did you realize that what he asked wasn't when you started repenting, but when you started repenting during this period. You should've answered a few months ago, not 20 years. Before you could remedy, Lemuel speaks again, he asks, "How old are you?"

"Twenty-five," You reply.

Lemuel's eyes widened, his fists clench tightly, his claws must've pierced into the palms of his hand again. "Not every day... every year, not often." You look at his expression and change your words, "I was a qualified student. And soon the rules relaxed, there wasn't much use for confessionals in wartime."

You've always been a good student, you learned your lessons as fast as you learned your prayers. You've been submissive, you've made few mistakes, but your father is proud of you. Of your siblings at that time, you spent the least amount of time in the confessional, you remember that, even though you don't remember how many times you confessed, probably no one can.

"You..." Lemuel said slowly, you know the look on his face, it meant he wasn't quite sure if he should ask, and wasn't sure of whether he'd like your answer. He pauses and says, "How old did you go in the battlefield?"

"Eight," You say.

Lemuel suddenly stands up.

He paces back and forth in the living room like a trapped beast who just wants to bite but can't. He grits his teeth and becomes silent for a moment, he then suddenly burst out with a series of loud curses. His hands clench into fists, and his tense arms tremble slightly, as if trying to control himself to not hit anything. You can't help but stand up when he approached you aggressively, it's like seeing a rhino rush towards you.

Lemuel slams the brakes in front of you, his anger higher than you've ever seen. The flames seemed to burn everything in front of you, but never touched you. When he faced you, he lowered his voice, suppressing his anger, like in front of that drunken, easily startled girl.

"Who?¹ Twenty years ago, you hit yourself with that thing? Why?" Lemuel spilled his words out, the questions jumping in a chaotic manner. It lacked both order and logic, "Eight years old, fuck, are eight-year olds in a hurry to find death? This is fucking murder!"

You tell him you didn't hit yourself "with that thing" twenty years ago, the whip was much lighter, after all, you couldn't wield a rattan whip like that. You must be five years old, because children under the age of five can't bear the healing spells, it must start at the age of five. You add, "I didn't go into battle," You continue, "I was under the best care with the protection of the Crusaders."

"Even with the most ordinary care, you don't send eight-year olds into battle! Whipping a five-year-old is called repentance!" Lemuel explodes, "Were you fucking raised by some sadistic trafficker?"

No, of course not.

From the moment you were born, you have received the best care, the most nutritious food, the most balanced exercise, and the best education. You have lacked nothing. How many people have died in poverty, disease or disaster? Isn't it worthy of gratitude that you were able to grow up safely? You're a piece of jewelry wrapped in layers of soft cloth. Your teachers carefully took care of you, wiping away the dust and polishing the edges and corners. If you make a mistake, after repenting, your father will heal your wounds with tears.

For a long time, it was the only way you could touch other people, and it was good, you loved it, it was warm. Be a good boy, Enoch. Your father said, You have to be good enough for the war.

Yes, you must be good enough and obedient enough to have a chance to leave that gorgeous and closed chapel. You don't understand Lemuel's anger, just like how he doesn't understand your joy when you stepped on the battlefield. At the age of eight, you came to the front lines surrounded by a crowd, you looked up and saw the sky outside of the high wall for the first time.

How fortunate that you're the best, you're able to go to war. When you left, you looked back and saw the envy of your brothers and sisters who stayed behind. You won't see most of them again, that was a goodbye. When you turned fifteen, you received that phalanx, it was still fresh. You look at it and wonder, which one of my siblings was it?

"My teachers were strict but loving," You explain. "They urged me and correctee me so that I could continue to bathe in the grace of God..."

"Grace my ass!" Lemuel interrupts you, he grabs you furiously, "Listen, Enoch, this isn't normal at all! No one, and I mean no one has the right to do that to a child, no one has the right to do that to you! My goddamn dad beat me too, but at least he didn't beat me while saying it was God's grace and I should be thankful. Do you understand Enoch? Open your eyes and look away! Whose children grow up like this? Do you treat others the same way?!"

"No, I'm different." You say, "God loves the world, that's why I was born. I was born to bear suffering, in order to save this world."

"Who the hell brainwashed you..."

His voice suddenly becomes lighter, his anger froze. Lemuel stares at you, epiphany spreads on his face, along with a little horror.

"Fuck." He swallows, "The Holy Son...?"

You nod.

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Notes:

1- Something kind of messed up here? I don't know but I think it's just a translation problem. Might've missed something, will come back to it later

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PastTimer: So many things to do wuwuwuwu, sorry its so rough T T