Page 57 of The Idol

I pressed the note flat against the desk, my hands shaking.

If someone had touched me while I slept, Father would say it was because I’d invited sin with my weakness—that my impurity had drawn impurity. He’d be so disappointed in me. I couldn’t let him find out.

I just couldn’t.

But…

But if someone had touched me—

If someone had been here—

My heartbeat skittered.

I would want it to be Jace.

The thought came unwanted, unbidden, and unreasonably warm. I squeezed my eyes shut as if I could force it back into whatever dark corner it had escaped from.

Jacewouldn’tdo that.

He wouldn’t cross that line.

He wouldn’t hurt me.

…Would he?

I let out a shaky breath and opened my eyes again, staring at the note like it might reveal the truth if I just looked long enough.

If itwashim—

If it was him, I definitely couldn’t tell Father. I couldn’t let Jace be hurt by him, even if… even if he’dtouchedme.

Or, ortastedme, like the note said.

I didn’t think anyone else would call me something likecherub, but my head just couldn’t wrap itself around this whole thing. When I thought about it being Jace, I shivered, and my penis traitorously throbbed. But the alternative sent a cold, sick fear skittering down my spine.

I slipped the note into my desk drawer, hiding it underneath the other contents, then pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm the frantic flutter beneath it.

I needed to wash—that was the only coherent thought I had left.

I hurried into my bathroom, shutting the door gently even though no one but me could hear it. The room was still cool from the night air, the tile cold beneath my feet. I turned on the shower and stepped under the water.

The cold made me gasp softly.

I tilted my head back, letting water rush over my face, down my shoulders, down the rest of me.

I took a cloth and scrubbed at the dried evidence on my lower body, my face burning as flakes dissolved and swirled down the drain. That alone made shame coil tight in my stomach, but worse was the tenderness I felt when my hand brushed lower.

My… myholewas sensitive. It didn’t hurt; it just felt weird.

No.

No, I was imagining things.

Confusing dreams with reality. That had to be it.

Dreams could feel vivid. Dreams could make the body do… shameful things. Father had said that the body sometimes betrayed the spirit, and the important thing was to reject it, deny it, and return to purity.

I held onto that thought as tightly as I could.