Page 22 of Gay for Pray
Wait.
I nearly spill my coffee when I gasp and sit up straighter, shooting a panicked look at Jude.
“What time is it?”
“Ten thirty.”
“No,” I gasp. “No. We’re late. We’re supposed to be at Mass. It started half an hour ago. The director will—”
Jude puts up the hand that isn’t holding his coffee. “Relax. Calm down. You aren’t going to Mass today.”
“But it’s Sunday. I have to.”
“You’re already late, Theodore, and you are not going to feel like standing up and singing for an hour today, I promise. Sit and drink your coffee. It’ll help.”
“But…”
I run out of arguments. Jude is right. It’s way too late to get to Mass now, and even without standing up, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be super steady on my feet. Whatever happened last night, I’m going to pay for it all day today.
It’s all my fault. I’ve never gone to a party before. Why in the world did I rise to the bait when Jude suggested it? Why didn’t I tell him no like I knew I should have? I had all these excuses in my head about understanding the average college experience and using that for my ministry later in life, but I was wrong. I was completely wrong. I never belonged in that place, and now I’m being punished for thinking otherwise.
Ultimately, I deserve this.
“Hey,” Jude says softly beside me.
I jerk my gaze up as he withdraws his hand, as though he was going to pat my shoulder and thought better of it. The aches detonating all throughout my body intensify when he pulls away.
“I’m sorry you feel crappy today,” Jude says, “but you’re goingto be okay. I think someone put something in your drink last night, which is a really, really awful thing to do. If I’m right about what it was, you’re going to have a bad day, but you’ll recover and be back to normal tomorrow.”
I rack my brain trying to put all these disparate pieces together, but one thing keeps springing up.
“Why are we naked?” I say. “Did…did something happen last night?”
Jude bursts into laughter so violent he almost spills his coffee. The freedom in that joyful sound makes me ache in a whole new way.
“No, nothing happened,” Jude says when he calms himself. “Don’t worry, Choir Boy. I did not sully your virtue. All I did was put you to bed. You took off your clothes yourself.”
I can’t look up at him as I ask this next question. “Why…were we sleeping like that?”
He doesn’t answer for a beat, and I grip my coffee mug harder.
“The stuff they dosed you with,” Jude says carefully, “if it was what I think it was, it made you sort of…crave being touched. You needed human contact. You weren’t doing super well, but you seemed better when I, um, when I…”
When he touched me. When he held me. Oh God, what did I do last night? I remember getting here, sort of, and I remember feeling really bad—then really, really good.
“Listen, it’s not a big deal,” Jude says. “That’s what happens to everyone when they’re on that stuff. I’ve seen it before, so I kind of knew what to do. All we did was sleep, and you really needed to sleep. I’m sorry I couldn’t ask for permission, but you would have had a way worse night if I left you here on your own. If you hate me, I get it, but I was only trying to get you through the night.”
I shake my head at my coffee and the watery, baffledreflection staring back at me.
“Don’t worry,” Jude adds in a lighter tone. “I didn’t take it personally. I was just the closest warm body.”
This makes me look up at last. My chest goes tight, even as he smiles at me. I want to tell him he’s wrong, that he shouldn’t be so casual about being used like that, but I’m too afraid it would suggest I neededhimin particular to hold me when I was in a vulnerable state.
“Anyway,” Jude says, rushing away from the terrifying moment hanging between us, “finish your coffee, then take a shower. I’ll set out some clothes you can borrow.”
He gets up, setting his coffee aside as he digs through the clothes on the floor. My heart races, panic fluttering through my chest.
“You’re leaving?” I say.
