Sinner

True Faith

August, 1985
POV | Micah Rosemond

Drip. Drip.

Drip. Drip. Sniffle.

Drip drip. Drip. Sniffle.

I lower the glistening shower heads as they jet lukewarm water on my body, fresh tears on my cheeks whispering their goodbyes into hot vapor. The chromium above me is a distorted mirror and I pause at my monstrous reflection. This sorrowful wave in my chest spreads to the heart on my sleeve. I'm attempting to veil what my eyes hold before me for the—

Dammit, how many times now?

I never thought I'd start losing count. As I shift the water temperature lever towards red and let it sit, the reoccurring steam inflates my eye dam. Scorching water punctures the small of my back when I pivot, making it soft and tender. After only a few minutes the feeling is indistinguishable from the brushing of soap on my arms, face and below my waist.

I've read in comic books, play scripts and news articles that heat is an illusion of energy, that people believe heat to cause excruciating pain if exposed to a certain amount, that that's the reason for the existing atmosphere, and that with or without it everything on earth would burn in a matter of seconds or the sun would be destined to swallow our planet. For a moment, the steaming water that should only remain in a kettle causes my senses to be alert for that short time described by the only scientists in the world that seem to have all the answers of obscurity.

My senses are screaming: I'm burning, I'm burning, it burns! I'm in pain, stop it! Please stop!

"Do you mind if I join?" A familiar, gruff murmur slices through the humidity and distracts me from washing off the reminants of the night, and suddenly I recollect the warning Pascal gave me about coming into his bathroom for the first time without his permission.

"What? One round wasn't enough?"

"Once is never enough with you." Through the silhouette of the shower curtain he removes his sleek clothing, slipping into the abyss of mist with me.

"You're red again, Mickey." Pascal remarks in amusement. His voice is especially deep for our age, and I can't help but perk up my ears and melt to his soft baritone.

"You know I always make the water hot, baby." That last word leaves a bittersweet taste on my already raw tongue, although I know I should be used to his lingo by now.

He waves a finger through the sizzling strings of liquid and hastily hisses. "Ah, fuck. Ow. Yeah, you should try to turn it down once in a while," He kneels and kisses the tip of my member, sending shocks of lightning through my genitals. I ruffle his light and layered silver hair and smooth his dark eyebrows. The day he bleached his hair was a rough one compared to all the others we had spent together. He had assumed that I liked it right away, when in fact I completely loathed it.

Sighing delicately, I send his mind elsewhere. "So, when—when is Jackie coming?"

"Oh, you don't have to worry about her coming," Pascal attempts to assure me between sucking motions. "You have to stop worrying so much, Micah."

"It's my middle name. Plus, I-I know you wouldn't want her to find out your secret too early."

He suddenly rises to my level, shocking me from my quick high. "Don't you mean our secret? Why do you always ask about her, anyway?"

I double-take the handsome, defensive yet defenseless and naked cherub before me. "Well, she just shouldn't know that I'm here, that's all it is. Isn't that what you wanted?"