Page 35 of My Saintly Demon

It’s okay for me to not want to live the life of a priest and be married to the church. There are too many things I disagree with on a basic level for it to fit right with who I am. There was a time when searching the bible brought me comfort and peace when I was alone. The same passages, some interpreted as being against people like me, people under the rainbow, are also passages I interpret as teaching us to accept and celebrate all our differences.

I may have allowed myself to step off the pedestal of the church, but I can’t fully pull myself away from these habits of comfort. The pull to help someone in need has always been my calling.

My mind drifts to Dave, though. I’m confused about the entire situation. I can only imagine how he feels and all I want to do is ease his troubles and mind. Not to mention I still need to find him an anti-itch lotion. And I should also find a better shower soap. Little things make a big difference.

If I can make the difference in even one life, I’m still serving humankind. I’m still considered a good person to do that if he’s a demon, aren’t I? He’s still flesh and blood and, while different from me, he still has a heart. I know because I’ve felt it beat against my cheek as I drifted off to sleep against him in the most peaceful of sleeps I’ve had in years.

The wetness on my cheek startles me and I wipe away the tears that can’t stop now that they’ve started. So I pray. Because it’s still the only way I know how to soothe my soul. It’s all I have left of the person I used to be. The one who always tried to do right for others.

I hope Mike is right that Dave needs me to help him.

Because Mikewasright.

I think I’m in love with Dave.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

DAVE

After I left Mike and Charles behind, I had to get out of the house. I needed space to process all this unexpected information. I didn’t even bother with shoes and I’m still wearing the ridiculously small pants of Charles’.

Chuck.

I noticed the horrified look on his face when Mike said my mother was an angel. Fuck, I probably had the same look on mine. Followed quickly by anger towards my dad for never telling me. How could he have kept that a secret all these years?

I couldn’t sit there any longer. After pacing our room for a few minutes, I left through the patio door out onto the grounds. I found a small pond near the back of the property and there was a cluster of wild rose bushes and raspberry canes behind the perfectly manicured shrubs. It was exactly what I needed.

Without pause, I walk into the untamed prickly plants and let the thorns scrape and poke me. It’s not an extreme torture by any means, but it works to draw blood. A reminder that I’m alive and I’m not just a being who’s lost his identity. I can focus on the stinging from the scrapes and thorns rather than the tornado of confusion in my head. For a long time, I sit on the grass watching the tiny rivulets of blood run down my chest and arms. It wasn’t the pain of welts from a lashing, but the stinging of the shallow cuts was enough for me to focus on who or what I was.

And I wasn’t sure now.

I’ve spent my entire life trying to be the horrible demon my father was hoping for. I tried to make my dad proud and be like my brothers. It was always hard. There was never a day it was easy to be, well, to be cruel. When the last man had the adorable pet rabbit, I knew it would land me in hot water, but I couldn’t help it.

Has it been this hard all these years because I wasn’t a full demon? Was I just more like my angelic mother and no matter how hard I tried, it wouldn’t ever be enough?

So many questions and not nearly enough answers.

And what about Charles? Sure, he was already leaving the church in spectacular fashion, not that I’m complaining. The man can suck a dick like nobody’s business and that’s a gift he needs to share. Well, not with everyone, just me.Onlyme. And when I allow the wordforeverto float through my thoughts, I don’t know if it will happen.

Or how?

And that thought makes me feel… lost.

When I feel like I’ve sat alone, bleeding and feeling sorry for myself long enough, I make my way back to the pond. And I see him there.

My Charles.

And the wetness on his cheeks has my heart pounding out of control. Without a second thought, I walk right up to him and startle him with my words.

“Why are you crying, Chuck?”

He gasps and drops the rosary before standing and touching his fingertips to my scratched and bleeding chest.

“What happened to you, Dave?”

My tongue can’t form words to reply. I only grip his wrist, bringing his fingers to my mouth and kissing each one. The flush in his cheeks fans the fire in my belly for this tender, yet extremely passionate man.

Even I know he’s thrown himself into drugs, alcohol, and excessive sex to escape the tangles of his conscience. I’ve never wanted to save anyone so badly in my life.

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