Page 6 of Meant to Burn

M y head has been pounding for the past twenty-four hours.

Or maybe it’s shame making my head hurt.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what happened in the abandoned chapel with the one who must not be named.

If I even think of his name, he might appear.

I can’t take that chance. So I’ve forced myself to block that out, but I can’t unsee him sucking my cock.

I can’t unfeel it. It would be easier to put this all behind me and forget it ever happened.

That would be the safest option, at least. But I can’t deny that he woke a beast inside of me.

If I thought I craved touch before him, I was sorely mistaken.

Now I need it.

Have to have it no matter the cost.

When I tore that page out of the book, not once did it cross my mind that I was summoning some type of fallen angel. At least I don’t think I was fully aware. I firmly believe I wouldn’t have gone through with it had I actually known.

I can still taste his cum in my mouth, can still feel it rolling down my throat as I swallowed it down greedily.

As if I couldn’t get enough—and I couldn’t.

I was hungry for more. Starving, really.

And when he shoved his tongue into my mouth and I tasted him again, I felt relieved.

Because it wasn’t a dream. I didn’t conjure it all up in my head.

It should’ve freaked me out, but that came later in the silence and darkness of my room.

When I had time to sit down with my thoughts and feel defiled.

Even then, I couldn’t deny that I did it to myself.

I was a willing participant. He’s the one who coaxed me into doing it, but I don’t think I would’ve been able to say no if I tried.

Truthfully, it didn’t take much to convince me.

I’m scared of what this means for me. Something inside of me has shifted, and while I’ve always struggled with my sexuality and remaining pure, I can’t help but admit to myself that this is what I’ve been craving all along.

Someone who isn’t afraid to corrupt me, who will ignore my shame and bring out my pleasure.

I’m going to hell, and I know it, now more than ever, but at the same time I can’t bring myself to regret it.

That’s exactly why I’ve been fasting for two days, as penance for my sins.

If I can’t even regret it, how am I supposed to beg for forgiveness?

And even if I were to beg, how will I ever be forgiven, how will I actually repent, if I don’t mean it?

No. I can’t do this to myself. Not after how hard I’ve worked to bury it all deeply.

To not think of the impurities that plague my mind on a daily basis.

I should be at confession right now, telling Father Jacob I’ve fornicated with a man.

But I can’t. I’m too scared. I know they’ll kick me out of the church.

Purity is sacred here, and they’ll deem me dirty, more than I already do.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to admit it out loud, if I’m being honest with myself.

The mere thought of being abandoned, left without a sense of community, is enough to make me spiral.

I’ve relied on the church for so long that I don’t know if I’m even capable of living without it.

I think that’s why I’ve refused to leave.

Why I stuff it all down and pretend I’m okay, when I know no part of me is.

But there’s nothing I can do about it, so I might as well suck it up and get it together.

I can’t think about him anymore—it’s not good for me. It’ll only bring me more despair.

The sense of loss I feel is insurmountable.

Like something sacred has been ripped from my grasp.

And maybe that’s exactly what’s happening—but I’ll never be able to do anything about it.

This is a choice I have to make for myself.

Because the alternative, living in sin, is not a life I could ever lead. Not for long. It’s not sustainable.

So I won’t.

With that decided, I sigh and look up from my bible.

My hand is cramping from how much I’ve written in my notebook.

Bible study is in full swing, and all my friends are laser-focused, everyone but Micah.

No, he’s staring at me intently, clearly trying to read me.

There’s a smirk on his lips, and I quickly look away from him.

I really don’t need any more temptation in my life.

I have to push him away too. It’s the only way I’ll be safe from this feeling festering inside of me.

Like I’m rotting with yearning from the inside out, and there’s nothing I can do to make it stop. But I have to try. That much I do know.

This time, though, I don’t feel excitement when he looks at me.

It almost feels wrong. Like when you put on the wrong size shoe.

Uncomfortable. It’s because he’s not right any longer.

The only one I want looking at me like that is the fallen angel plaguing my thoughts, invading them as if he owns my mind.

He’s living rent-free in my head, and I can’t seem to evict him.

I also don’t have the will to. Because if I can never do it again, if I can’t ever experience him again, at least I’ll have my thoughts to get me through the rest of my life.

At least I can say I experienced it.

Someone who only had eyes for me. Who was obsessed, even if for only a few minutes. Someone who was clearly enjoying himself when he had my body at his mercy.

I’ll be honest though. No amount of purity devotionals or begging for forgiveness will erase his imprint from my body.

He’s stuck there, for better or worse. And in that moment?

When he was touching me as if I was holy and not at all tainted?

I wanted so much more than what he gave me.

I hate myself for even thinking it, but I wanted him inside me.

I wanted him to truly claim me. I wanted him to possess me. To own me.

Even if that meant God striking me down.

It would’ve been well worth it.

Clearing my throat, Brother Jonah looks up at me from his bible.

His eyes are inquisitive as I gather my belongings and stand.

Micah raises an eyebrow but stays silent, waiting for me to speak too.

I smile tightly, looking away from him because I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.

Just a few days ago, I would’ve given anything to sin with him; now I can’t see myself with him at all.

“I need a bath,” I say softly, and Micah’s eyes roam down my body, a slow perusal, then back up. They focus on my lips, and I shift from one foot to the other and look away. “Then I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll walk you,” Micah offers, starting to push away from the table, about to stand up.

I clear my throat and quickly shake my head.

“No, no. I’m good.” I try to give him a reassuring smile, but I’m pretty sure I just look constipated.

I don’t want to be in close quarters with him right now though.

I feel vulnerable. Even if I don’t want to act on anything with him right now, I just might.

I feel desperate enough to feel what I did the other night.

However, I’m sure he’s not as skilled as my?—

My what ?

Nothing, that’s what.

Azriel isn’t anything of mine.

“A-are you sure?” Micah stutters, visibly flustered that I’ve shot him down.

“Yes.” I nod once. “Don’t let me distract you from God, Micah.” I smile softly, then turn on my heel and walk away. But not before I see the confusion and pain on his face. I feel guilty about a lot already, and I’m not sticking around long enough to add this to the pile too.

I practically speed walk through the building, passing the cafeteria and the library, headed for the living quarters.

There’s a communal kitchen and living room that are in the same area, an open floor plan that spans a pretty spacious square footage.

Right behind the sectional couch, there’s a long hallway with bedrooms. I practically run to mine, shutting the door and locking it.

I don’t want any interruptions right now, and even though I know I’m going to regret it later, I can’t seem to stop myself as I set my belongings on the floor beside my desk and begin to strip.

My clothes are flying everywhere, half-haphazardly.

I don’t bother slowing down or caring about where anything lands.

I toe off my shoes and open my bathroom door, thanking my lucky stars that it’s a private one.

I take a deep breath and turn the faucet, letting hot water fill the tub.

Not scalding, but barely comfortable. Once full, I get in and turn it off.

I rest my head against the wall, trying to ignore the incessant throbbing between my legs, but it’s getting harder and harder to accomplish that.

I close my eyes and take deep breaths, but I’m weak, and I give up quickly.

My hand wraps around my cock, hard as steel, and I whimper.

It almost sounds like I’m in pain, and maybe that’s the most accurate way to describe my mental state at the moment.

I’m doing this against every instinct of mine.

I wish with every fiber of my being that I could ignore the thumping in my balls when I think of him, but I just can’t take it anymore.

I need relief. Maybe then I’ll be able to stop thinking about everything that happened.

Hopefully at least for a couple of hours.

It seems he’s the only thing occupying my thoughts lately.

Seems like I’m going to be a sinner for the rest of my life.

I just need to see him one more time. That’s it. No more after that. I just need to experience this again and I won’t ever ask for anything else. Never again. I swear it. God, please bring him back to me.